He’d felt it.
He’d felt them all.
Last, she’d been burned.
Badly.
Burns that were signatures of her father’s favorite method of torture, something Nick knew for certain because he’d seen it in a goddamned FBI file.
That was no accident and it was no coincidence.
Her father had burned her.
Her father had scarred his youngest daughter.
But why?
And now she lived like a ghost but out in the open. Not like her sister who could loosen up and definitely enjoyed her life.
No.
Nick was the first man she’d fucked more than once in four years.
Again, why?
Both women were in their thirties, and as far as anyone knew, neither of them had a steady man in their life, nor did it look like that was imminent for their future.
And again…
Why?
A mystery.
She had been before, he knew it, so did everyone.
But his game was not solving the mystery of Olivia Shade so when he went into it, he didn’t care she was a mystery.
Now, that burn…he did.
“Fuck,” he whispered into the dark.
The bathroom door opened and it opened after she turned out the light.
He watched her shadow walk to the bed.
There was an unusual hesitancy in her soft voice when she said, “I think I should go home, Sebring.”
His response was to push up, reach across the bed, tag her hand and yank her into it.
She fell hard on him.
He didn’t give a fuck.
He tangled his limbs in hers and both of them in the covers.
“Shut up and go to sleep, Shade.”
She shut up but her tense body told him she was nowhere near sleep.
He tested her, sliding his hand down her spine.
Before he could hit scar, she rolled to her back, taking him with her so he was on top, both his hands trapped under her.
She’d rolled him on top.
She hadn’t done that. Not once.
He settled in, doing it shifting one arm out from under her to put some of his weight into it at her side, the other hand he moved to her hip where he stroked.
“See?” he joked. “Not as top as you think you are.”
She sighed.
He grinned and kept stroking her hip.
He was wiped but she fell asleep before him, relaxing under his body and his touch which he used to smooth not only her hip, but her side and in, avoiding her scar, to slide up her back and hold her to him.
As she melted into sleep, Knight’s words came to him.
Mysterious * can be good. But mostly, mysterious * is just a trap.
His brother was right about both.
But he’d missed one.
Mysterious * could also just be a mystery.
And Nick was now drowning in the mystery of Olivia Shade.
Which meant he had no choice but to solve it so he could surface.
And maybe survive.
Chapter Eight
Have a Care
Olivia
I heard my phone ringing and my eyes opened.
I saw mattress covered in a rumpled white sheet, sunlight and a hotel room.
I also heard something more.
This being Nick’s voice saying quietly, “Yeah.”
My eyes shifted up.
He was naked and standing by the bed, his head turned to where the noise was coming from my cell that was in my purse on the dresser across the room.
“Large pot of coffee, orange juice, a bottle of champagne, fruit plate, granola and yogurt,” Nick said, still talking low, and I saw he was on the hotel phone. “That’s fine. Right. Thanks,” he ended and I watched him hang up.
I heard my phone stop ringing but Nick walked that way.
My gaze followed and I enjoyed watching him move.
Since we’d met, I’d had no occasion simply to take him in.
And right then I saw his casual confidence in manner also was reflected in his movement, not to mention in his nudity, all being extremely appealing.
I tensed when he picked up my clutch.
It would not make me happy if he dug into my purse. I hadn’t even had the occasion to watch him walk, unless that walking was dragging me, lifting me to throw me across the room to the bed, or while he was inside me, again to put me in bed.
We were definitely not at a place where he could help himself to the inside of my purse even if it was only to help me out by bringing me my phone.
And we’d never be at that place.
Considering the fact he’d been talking quietly, he likely thought I was sleep.
So if he helped himself to my purse, it would be for curiosity and not to help me out at all.
My purse in his hand, he turned back toward the bed and I closed my eyes, suddenly more concerned about him discovering me watching him than him looking through my bag.
I felt the bed depress.
I felt a gentle hand at my hip over the covers.
And I felt him give my hip a light sway and his breath on my cheek when he whispered, “Olivia, wake up. Someone’s tryin’ to get in touch with you.”
I opened my eyes.
His blue ones were smiling.
God, I could open my eyes to that every day.
I’d give my life to have that.
“Hey,” he greeted.
Damn.
This had to stop. What we were doing had to stop.