Page 87 of Carnal Wagers

“Feed her when she wakes up, then escort her out.”

“Oh, that it? And where will you be, o captain, my captain?”

“I have to handle the bar.”

“A task you could easily delegate if you wanted to.”

I ignored him. “Be civil with her. Polite. Nice. None of your usual tricks.”

“Oi, no lady has ever complained.”

“Just keep your fucking hands to yourself. I’ll also need you to oversee the changing of my locks and the handover of apartment security. They’ll be installing new software and reviewing the network to prevent any cyber intrusions. You’re not to let her back inside and careful of her sweet-talking.”

“That mean you fell prey? Have you met your match, brother?”

I hung up and finished getting dressed, but not before taking a last gander at the woman in my bed. Everything about her called to me, and my chest tore open with each step away from her.

I messaged Cranwell.

Cillian

Alice Marine.

Keep her safe for me. I’ll owe you.

Cranwell

DNA came back negative, not that you asked.

Don’t get smart with me.

She better not be LK’s next victim.

That’s on you, not me.

I squeezed my phone, hating that truth, but it was exactly why I had to let her go.

Chapter 24

Something smelled delicious. I licked my lips with a groan and twisted around in silky sheets, groggy with sleep. The fabric feathered along my chest. My hands slipped through a long tear in the top of my outfit to my bare breasts.

What the…?

I sprang up in bed and swayed, a little lightheaded. A rush of memories assaulted me. Trying to seduce the man I wanted to divorce. Getting caught up in a panic attack because I forgot about his damn knife. Being comforted and soothed by my villain until I fell asleep. Oh, right, this was my dress from last night.

I patted the other side of the bed but found nothing but cold, empty sheets.

“Cillian?” I called out, fumbling through the sheets for my phone.

This was twice I slept in his bed. Twice I woke up alone. Except this time, there was no message on my phone.

A whirred hum picked up beyond the bedroom door, and a surge of relief swept over me. He was still here and baking breakfast from the smell. I inhaled the caky scent, delight pouring in. He hadn’t left without me, and he was feeding me. My cheeks heated. I bit my lip, buried my face in the sheets, and squealed, kicking my legs.

This was good, so good.

I hopped out of bed and smoothed the sheets back in place to appease his manic cleanliness. It was the least I could do. Goosebumps prickled up my exposed breasts, the room temperature not chilly but not super warm either, which reminded me—I needed clothes.

I cinched my dress top in a knot around my waist, then slipped on one of his shirts. On him, the fabric clung to his biceps and abs like a wet dream. On me, it swallowed me whole, potato-sack style, so I tucked it into the waistband of my dress. I gave a twist in his bathroom mirror.