Page 55 of Lethal Torture
“Until I’ve completely reworked it,” he continues, “you don’t go down there.” He glares at the walls around us as if my apartment is an enemy to be contained. “And this place has more security holes than bloody Swiss cheese.” He inhales sharply and turns back to me, pinning me with a hard look.
“You’re not staying here tonight,” he says abruptly. “Get whatever you need. I’ll drive you back to the Mayfair penthouse.”
“What?” I stare at him, my mind whirling. “No. No way. This is my home.”
“Not until I’ve rewired the entire fucking thing, it isn’t.” He rubs a hand over the shadow on his jaw, glaring at me. “You hired me to do a job. This is me doing it. You’re not spending another night in here until it’s secure. Anyone could have—” He cuts off abruptly, clamping his lips together, taking a breaththat’s deep enough to be audible. “You’re not staying here,” he says with grim finality.
I push past him to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of Disaronno and tilting the bottle toward him.
He shakes his head curtly.
“I need to be up in five hours,” I say. “I don’t have time to move apartments.”
“Then you’d better pack quickly.” His tone is uncompromising, the turquoise eyes boring into mine implacable.
God, I want him.
The thought hits me so unexpectedly it knocks me off-balance. I spin away, swallowing a mouthful of the Disaronno and barely noticing the burn.
His reflection looms behind me in the still, dark glass of my kitchen window, so big he dwarfs the space. There’s something about seeing him here, one huge hand propped near the wooden chopping board, that feels oddly familiar. It’s too easy to imagine him lounging against the counter, drink in hand, half smile twisting his rough features as he listens to me talk, his eyes settling on me with that quiet, lethal focus that sends delicious warmth through my veins every time.
I need to get him out of here.
If that means doing a night in Mayfair, then so be it.
“And you’re working out in the gym at your club tomorrow morning,” Luke continues. “Until I’ve upped your security, no more running in the park.”
I look up at him, startled. “You know about that?”
His fleeting eye roll is answer enough. “You will not leave Pigalle Mayfair without a full security detail.” He pins me with a death stare. “I’ve given orders to that effect, and believe me when I say that those instructionswillbe followed. Even if my people have to physically restrain you.”
“Yourpeople.” I know how pointless my defiance is.
It’s also all I’ve got right now.
“I told you when I took the contract that I would take over every aspect of your security operation.” Luke’s grim expression doesn’t alter at all. “So yes, Zinaida. They’re my people now. And they’ll do exactly as I fucking tell them. I’d advise you not to get in their way.”
We stare at each other across the kitchen.
I could argue.
But the truth is that I’m more relieved than I want to admit.
That’s the funny thing about fear. When you’ve felt it for a long time, you stop noticing how much energy it takes.
All I know is that I feel suddenly flattened by exhaustion.
“Fine.” I walk toward my bedroom, resigned rather than surprised when he follows, barely a pace behind. “But I don’t like sleeping where I work. I want my apartment sorted out as soon as possible.”
“Understood.” Luke stands in the doorway as I pack, his eyes scanning every corner of my room.
It feels more intimate than being at the gynecologist.
I can deal with anyone looking at my body.
But my home is different.
It’s the only place that’s trulyme. Having Luke scrutinize it in microscopic detail feels as uncomfortable as the thought of a therapist rummaging around in my head, something that isnevergoing to fucking happen.
