Page 25 of Code Name: Atticus
“Not at all. I think you’ll find our circle particularly interesting.” Morrison stood when we did and shook hands with both of us. “I’ll look for you tomorrow evening, then. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
As he walked away, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. From my perspective, Atticus’ performance had been flawless. For me, the strain of appearing interested in criminal activity while fighting every instinct I’d developed as a prosecutor was exhausting.
We spent another hour at the event to finish making the rounds and establish our presence in the community. I watched Atticus track Morrison’s movements around the room, and noticed when he spoke briefly with the two men who’d been observing us earlier.
Several other attendees approached us with varying degrees of interest, but none with Morrison’s intensity. By twenty-one-thirty, we’d accomplished what we came to do.
The driveback to Sausalito was quiet, both of us processing what had happened. Morrison’s approach was exactly what we’d prepared for. He hadn’t made any overt offers or explicit suggestions. Instead, he’d simply tested our receptiveness.
“He bought it completely,” Atticus said as we pulled into our driveway.
“We’ll know soon enough,” I responded as he helped me out of the car, his hand warm and steady on mine.
Inside, I kicked off my heels and immediately felt smaller, more vulnerable. The heels had added four inches and a certain armor I hadn’t realized I was wearing.
“That was intense,” I muttered, sitting on the side of the bed and rubbing my feet.
Atticus came up behind me. “Let me do that.”
“You don’t have to—” I forgot what words were when he ran his hand up my calf as he pushed my dress out of the way, then pressed a thumb into the bottom of my foot while his opposite hand massaged from my ankle to my toes. “Oh my God, you’re good at this,” I said, lying back against the pillow and closing my eyes.
“I took a class once,” he said. “Well, technically, it was battlefield medicine, but foot massage was definitely part of it.”
“Liar.”
“Would I lie to my wife? Plus, it’s all part of keeping my woman satisfied.”
I opened one lid. “Woman or women?”
“You heard me.”
Even as he pushed my dress higher, partway up my thigh, I relaxed and let him. I wanted him to do it. When he pressed soft kisses from my knee upward, I knew I should tell him to stop, push him away, and get off the bed and as far away from him as I could. Knowing and doing it were polar opposites.
I brought my hand to my mouth, stopping myself from saying a word, whether to discourage or encourage him, but nearly groaned out loud when I no longer felt him touching me. I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t. Whatever I saw on hisface would devastate me. Whether I saw disinterest or desire, it would wreck me.
His weight left the bed, and tears filled my eyes. I turned my head into the pillow, then felt his hand stroke my hair. “I’m going to take a shower. Don’t fall asleep in your evening gown, Bug.”
Once I heard the door click and was certain he was gone, I sat up and brushed away the tears I’d managed to keep from falling.
Mason Finch was a dangerous man. The kind that made a woman feel like she was everything he wanted and desired, then turned it off like the flip of a switch. I retreated into the closet, dropped my dress in a heap on the floor, and pulled out my least flattering pair of sweats and an oversized fluffy sweater. Once I’d changed, complete with fuzzy slippers that I hadn’t realized were at the bottom of my suitcase when I’d unpacked it but was now so happy to find, I went downstairs to the kitchen.
The place was well-stocked with food. I’d noticed that this morning. After not consuming much of anything all day, I was hungry. Coupled with the need for emotional eating, I was famished.
“Where’d you run off to?” I heard him say from the stairwell.
Not thinking enough to talk myself out of it, I grabbed my cell and pretended to be on a call. When our eyes met, I held up one finger, then escaped out onto the deck, closing the door behind me. I stayed out there a full ten minutes, acting as if I was in the midst of an animated and very personal call, hoping that when I returned inside, he’d be gone.
I had no such luck.
ATTICUS
Istood in the kitchen, staring out at the deck where Brenna was having an animated conversation with whoever she was on the phone with. My jaw clenched as I watched her pace back and forth, gesturing with her free hand. A private conversation in the open, where anyone could listen.
But what really bothered me wasn’t the security breach. It was the way she’d fled when I appeared, the guilty flush on her cheeks, and the way she’d sprinted outside to avoid talking to me.
Who the hell was she talking to at twenty-one forty-seven?
The jealousy burning in my gut was unfamiliar and unwelcome. I’d never been that type—when you kept things casual, there was no reason to be. A few months max, then a clean break. No messy emotions, no one got hurt. But watching Brenna through that window, imagining her talking to another man, made me want to put my fist through something. What the hell was wrong with me?
