Page 118 of Vow Of Fire

I guessed that’s what you called a double-edged sword.

“I got a new customer today,” she said, as we ate. “One you might be interested in.”

“Oh?” I’d just about cleaned off my plate and was contemplating seconds. That in itself was amazing. I’d never had much of an appetite.

“A Spanish-speaking gentleman by the name of Pablo Ramirez.”

Suddenly, I was very interested.

“What does he look like? He could be linked to the cartel.” I could send the image to Nico, see if he could run it and get an ID.

She frowned. “That’s why I’m letting you know. He was interested in one of my newest acquisitions, Delia Hubert.”

“Who’s she?”

“A contemporary abstract artist. She’s up and coming, and while her work is still affordable, I suspect it won’t be for much longer.”

“If he’s after a deal, it’s not related.” I exhaled and sat back in my chair. No cartel buyer would want an “affordable” piece. They’d be looking to spend big bucks, the more the better.

“Still, I thought it was worth mentioning,” she said.

“You’re right. It is. Do you have his details? I’ll get Nico on it straight away.”

She gave a tiny nod. “Of course.”

We finished the meal, and I had only a small second plate before I loaded the dishwasher. Marco had staff, as did my mother. Nico lived in a big warehouse whose location nobody knew, and Izzy had an apartment in Brooklyn and ordered out a lot.

I preferred to look after myself. The army had taught me how and I wasn’t afraid to admit I still carried many of those habits with me. Routine. Structure. Predictability. They brought me comfort in a life that offered none of those things.

Then there was Evelyn.

I watched as she curled up on the couch, a blanket over her legs, and turned on the TV. She had one in her room but had taken to spending her evenings here, while I worked in my office, or more frequently, at the dining table just to be near her. I told myself it was so I could keep an eye on her, but I knew it was a lie.

I half watched the programs she did. Trending series, romcoms, and the occasional thriller. Sometimes I even joined her on the couch, my arm around her shoulders, her body tucked into mine.

If you’d told me I’d be doing this even a month ago, I’d have laughed in your face. Me? With a live-in girlfriend? What the fuck?

Yet here I was, eager not to let her out of my sight. Wanting to hear her throaty chuckles, see her eyes light up when she saw something amusing.

I grimaced. There was that double-edged sword again.

The best time I’d ever had with a woman and it wasn’t even fucking real.

The show ended and she stretched like a cat, lifting her arms into the air and curving her back. I noticed how her shirt rode up, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach along with that little freckle I liked to kiss.

My cock responded in a way that only Evelyn could make it do.

Getting up and making no attempt to cover my instant erection, I made my way over to her and held out a hand. She took it, allowing me to pull her off the couch. A little smile curved her lips, and her eyes met mine, filled with unspoken promises.

My heart swelled, as did the heat in my groin, and I led her wordlessly to the bedroom. I didn’t want to think too closely about what I was doing. Or the many, many ways this could go wrong. Because I wasn’t ready to stop. Didn’t want to stop.

I’d tried to expel every other man from her head, but in a cruel twist of irony, what I’d actually done was fill my own head with her until there was no room for anything else.

32

A SLY FOX

Evelyn