He listens intently.
“Has she been here before?” I ask.
“Never.”
“Well, she knew where she was going. It wasn’t like it was her first time in the house.”
“Hmm.”
“Anyway, she got into the office and took off her balaclava. At that point, I was relieved.”
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t a serial killer.”
“Trust me, a serial killer is the lesser evil.” He widens his eyes.
“She started going through your desk drawers, and I was freaking out. I didn’t want her to see me, and I couldn’t get you, so I went out onto the balcony and called the police. Why weren’t you answering your phone?”
“I left it in the damn car.”
I roll my eyes. “Then she was trying to get into your filing cabinet. She got the keys, and then she tripped over Bentley, so she kicked him.”
“She what?”
“She kicked him.”
“How hard?”
“Not really hard but enough for me to march down there. When I got there, she was rummaging through the top drawer. She put something behind her back.”
“What did it look like?”
“A piece of paper, I think. I don’t know for sure, but it was from the back of the drawer. I’ll show you.”
“Eat your breakfast first.”
“No.” I march down to his office and pull out the drawer. The dividers are spaced apart at the back. “Here. Whatever she took, it’s from around here.”
The divider heading reads:
Bank Statements
“Why would she want a bank statement?” I ask.
“To see how much money I have.” He frowns, deep in thought.
“Why would she want to know that?”
“I don’t know.” He takes my hand. “Your omelet is going cold.”
“I’m sorry I let her get away.” I sigh as I follow him up the hall.
“Don’t you worry about Helena. She’s not your problem.” He sits me back down at the kitchen counter.
I pick up my fork. “Yeah, well, she’s messing with the wrong woman.”
He smirks.
“If she wants to get to you, she has to get through me.” I thumb my chest.
He breaks into a breathtaking broad smile and reaches up to touch my eye socket. I wince.
“It’s such a relief to have a brave, burly bodyguard,” he says.
I smile, embarrassed. “Don’t let this black eye fool you, Seb. I am one tough motherfucker.”
“I know.”
“And if I wanted to take her down, I totally could.”
“Of course, you could, sweetheart.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear as he smiles lovingly at me.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m hideous.”
“I happen to think you look lovely.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“One hundred percent. You’re hideous.”
I giggle, and he leans over to kiss me. “Eat your omelet before I make you eat dick.”
It’s mid-afternoon and, like teenagers playing hooky, we are back in bed. It’s warm and dark, and we’re nestled up together underneath the blankets. Sebastian is leaning on his elbow, lying on his side, facing me. I’m wearing panties and a T-shirt, and his hand is roaming over my body as his eyes hold mine.
It’s the weirdest thing. We haven’t had sex for a long time-maybe a week-and yet I’ve never felt closer to him. There’s an unspoken tenderness passing between us. The same one that used to turn up when we’d lie in each other’s arms after we’d made love. Only now it’s there all the time.
Maybe the therapist did know what she was talking about?
“Maybe I should take your temperature.” He whispers as his lips softly take mine, he slides my panties down my legs to take them off.
I smile against his lips, “You really should.”
If I were stronger, I would tell him to stop, but I don’t want him to.
I need him.
This.
He spreads my legs, and his fingertips slowly trail up my inner thigh. Our eyes are locked, and the air between us is electric. He dusts the back of his fingers over the lips of my sex, and a trace of a smile crosses his face. “Just as I suspected, thirty, seven point two,” he whispers.
I giggle, best thermometer ever.
Unable to control it, my legs spread wider, and I put my top leg over his body to completely open myself up to him.
In.
I want you in.
His fingers start to circle my lips, and I hold my breath.
Deeper and deeper.
Oh…
He slowly slides a thick finger in, and we both inhale sharply as his lips take mine.
He adds another finger, and my eyes flutter closed. He takes both fingers out and explores again. He circles them over my back entrance, and I hold my breath again. “Why don’t we have sex here?” he asks. His voice is soft and husky. Aroused.
“That’s not my thing. We will never have sex there.”
“Have you done it before?”
I give a subtle shake of my head. “No.”
His eyes blaze with desire and I can almost hear his psyche screaming with excitement. “Why not?”
“It’s too much.”
“Too much what?” He whispers as he bends and bites my nipple through my shirt. He slides his thumb deep into my sex, his fingers still exploring that forbidden zone.
The double pleasure sensation makes my mouth fall open as we stare at each other.
“I’m saving that for my forever man.”
He smiles as he kisses me, his pinkie inching in a little. The feeling of his thumb pumping deep inside of me and his pinkie finger hovering there does things to me, and I moan with a shudder.
The need for a deeper connection steals my breath.
Fuck, yes.
He bites my bottom lip. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this. I can feel the need in your body.” His tongue delves deep into my mouth as he kisses my passionately, and I can’t deny it. When he touches me there, it feels too good. Who am I kidding? Every touch from Sebastian Garcia is out of this world.
He rolls over me and spreads my legs, just as the doorbell rings out from downstairs. He frowns, and keeps kissing me, but it rings again. His phone begins to buzz on the side table.
“Fuck off!” he snaps, annoyed at the interruption.
The doorbell rings once more, and another text comes in.
“Check who it is?” I whisper.
He sits up and reads his phone. It’s a message from Bart.
I’m at your front door.
He rolls his eyes and sits up. “Bart’s here.”
“Oh god.” My body is screaming out for more. “It’s okay, you go.”
He exhales heavily and stands. He leans down, and with his hands on the mattress above my head, he kisses me. “Don’t move a muscle.”
“You think I’m just going to lie here with my legs spread, waiting for your return?”
“You’d better.” He stands and rearranges his dick in his track pants. He pulls an oversized sweater on and checks himself in the mirror. “Don’t want to be scaring Bart with my hungry dick,” he mutters.
I lie still, all hot and flustered. “I’m pretty sure Bart’s seen hungry dicks before.”
“True.”
Ahh, so he knows Bart is gay. Another piece of the puzzle I didn’t know. I wonder if he knows about Jeremy.
He disappears downstairs, and I lie in bed. I hear him open the door, followed by Bart’s distinctive voice.