from my first trip to London. Instead he was a tender, brilliant, funny, respected leader who had the magical ability to beckon my secrets from the most private corners of my mind. And was easily the world’s best kisser. But forty-eight hours was all that existed between us and a crucial break in the biggest case of our lives. If it was only sex between the two of us—only raw, physical attraction—surely we could resist each other until then?
30
Abe
The scream that tore through the hotel room ripped me from sleep. I gasped, fumbled for the lamp next to the trundle bed. Outside, London was being lashed by a powerful thunderstorm, rattling the windows with ominous rumbles amidst a torrential downpour.
And Sloane was sitting upright, hair disheveled, looking like she’d seen a ghost. I was up and onto the bed with her before a single rational thought could stop me.
“What happened? What is it?” I said quickly, reaching for her face.
She was panting, terrified. “It’s nothing. Nothing. I’m so sorry. I, uh…”
I’d never seen Sloane Argento look so unsure, and it fucking terrified me. Sensing her discomfort, I slowly flipped on the lights in the room until everything was ablaze. No more shadows. By the time I was done, Sloane was sitting up fully, hair pulled over her shoulder, a large shirt stretched past her knees. And from the steel of her spine, she was already trying to convince me she was fine when it was clear she wasn’t.
“You what?” I asked softly. I didn’t sit back on the bed. I wouldn’t, unless she asked me. I ran my hand through my hair, dislodging any remaining mental cobwebs. The clock on the nightstand said 2:30 a.m.
Her shoulders slumped a little. “I’m afraid of thunder.”
“Thunder?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I’d heard her.
She lifted a shoulder, attempting to be casual. “Thunderstorms. I’ve… always been… afraid of them.”
I’d watched this woman get tackled by a man five times her size and dismantle him with ease.
“Don’t make fun of me?” she asked. Her fingers clenched in the sheets.
“I would never,” I said with as much sincerity as I had.
There was a whack of thunder so loud the lights in the room flickered. She flinched like she’d been slapped across the face. My own fingers curled tightly with the repressed need to go to her.
“May I… sit with you?” I asked softly, fully expecting her to say no.
Avoiding eye contact, she said, “Can you?”
I was there before she’d even finished in the affirmative. With pillows piled behind me, I settled near her trembling form. When our eyes locked, I reached out and entwined our fingers. Her eyes fluttered closed.
“Thank you,” she said. “I feel embarrassed.”
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t ever feel embarrassed for what you fear. I’m here. I’ll be here.”
Even entwined, her fingers were shaking. I was out of my mind with fear for her. “Tell me what I can do, Sloane, please.”
Inch by slow inch, she slid across the bed. I opened my arms, and she curved into my side. The fit was perfect and utterly divine.
I laid one hand on her head, scratched her scalp. The other reached around and pulled her close. “Does this help?”
“It does,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
Thunder shook the room violently. I held her tight through each roll of sound, her body shaking as violently as the storm outside. The thought of Dresden security guards torching our rooms with flames to send a message made me furious. And yet, for a single second, I was grateful. Because it placed me here, for Sloane. When she needed me. My palm stroked firmly into the strands of her hair. “Like this?”
She nodded, clung to me. Any second and I guessed the storm would land right over us, if it hadn’t already.
“Can you distract me?” she asked—a request that, knowing her, was probably excruciating to make. “Tell me more about your mom? Something happy?”
I stroked her hair again. “Sure,” I said. “Let’s see… well, I was the officiant that married my mother and Jeanette on their wedding day.”
Her muscles relaxed an iota. “That’s adorable, and I’m listening.”
My lips nuzzled the crown of her head. “They got married on the beach in Miami, about four years ago—although they’ve been together for more than two decades. I was ordained online, and they requested I wear a Hawaiian shirt and shorts.”
Sloane’s laughter was muffled against my chest. “Abe Royal wore a leisure shirt? And you just told me you would never.”
“I did, and I