up, annoyed. If there’s anyone who needs to understand shit around here, it’s me. I’ve had a tidal wave of revelations poured all over me. ‘Understand what? Us?’
‘Yes.’ He steps into me and nuzzles my cheek, the bristle coating his jaw comforting. I could cry for him. I could cry for me, too. My morals and conscience are demanding I run. Yet my heart is refusing to let me give up on him. This crazy revelation hasn’t made a scrap of difference to how I feel about Becker. If anything, it’s made me realise how passionate and lost he really is. How determined. And how fragile. This has given a whole different perspective on his therapy. Women are a side effect. Something to distract him when he allows them to. Because in every other facet of his life, he’s on a hunt. An unrelenting, solitary quest. For that sculpture, but also for retribution. For peace. To find what his father and his grandfather couldn’t.
A small part of me wants to leave because I know it’s the right thing to do. To ease my conscience. But I can’t win. By easing my conscience, I’ll be breaking my heart. I need to figure out which one I can live with.
My answer comes out of nowhere.
I relax into his body, accepting how right it feels, my hand coming up of its own accord and cupping his cheek, holding him to me, soothing him . . . tumbling deeper into his corrupt, conflicting world.
I’m choosing to stay.
Chapter 24
I wait patiently in Becker’s office while he goes to find some snacks. I didn’t offer my assistance. I don’t know where his grandad and Mrs Potts are, and I didn’t want to risk bumping into them. Smart? Yes. Gutless? Definitely.
Becker returns with a tray and slides it on to his desk, revealing a selection of picky bits – breads, cheeses, pâté, and olives. ‘Bon appetite,’ he says, brushing his hands off. He’s taken his jacket off and pulled his shirt out of his trousers. The first few buttons are unfastened, his tie loose and hanging low, and he’s rolled his sleeves up. He looks casually relaxed and delicious. ‘Don’t ever tell me I don’t know how to treat a lady.’
I frown at what Becker’s chosen as our sustenance. ‘Really?’ He’s hardly gone to much trouble.
He drops down into his chair, unravelling his tie with lithe fingers. Slowly. Watching me. A heavy, distinctive pulse drops into my nether regions with an almighty bang. He smiles. That damn smile disarms me in a flash. And the bastard knows it.
‘Let me reword that.’ He tosses his tie aside and reaches for an olive, popping it in his mouth and chewing purposely slowly. My eyes are glued to his lips. Double bastard. ‘Don’t tell me I don’t know how to treat the devil woman.’
‘Hey.’ I grab a pen and throw it at his head, but he ducks and it sails past his ear. He stops chewing and his surprised face follows its path until it comes to land on the floor, bouncing a few times by the clock. His sharp inhale is loud. And fake. I devilishly wish he’d choke on the olive he’s storing in his mouth. ‘Why, princess . . .’ His hazel eyes, full of light and humour, slowly reveal themselves as he swallows deliberately. It’s a calculated move designed to drive me nuts, but not in a mad way. In a seductive, teasing, torturous way. ‘That feisty side coming out to play?’
‘It’s ab—’
‘Ah, ah, ah.’ That finger appears. ‘Shhhh.’
My mouth closes speedily. I didn’t tell it to. The cocky fucker sitting opposite me did. Triple bastard. He’s pulling out all the stops, the smile, the teasing, the humour, the sexy shush. And I want to kiss him for it. This is better. Normal. This is us.
Trying to fool him into believing his gallant attempts to bring me back around aren’t working would be . . . well, foolish. But I do, anyway. I shrug nonchalantly and take an olive for myself, slipping it past my lips. I’m buying myself some time to think carefully about what my next words should be. I’ve learned a lot today, almost too much to process. It’s been a tidal wave of revelations.
‘I have a whole lot of shit on you, Hunt,’ I say quietly.
‘Maybe that’s the point.’ He regards me closely. ‘You’re in Becker’s Circle of Trust now, and once you’re in, you never get out.’ He picks up an