Her tone is different. Alert. The need to research and investigate within her is waking up, pushing past the satisfied woman who’s been pliant in my arms all day.
I yank the zipper up with more force than necessary. “The kind that doesn’t concern you.”
Her eyes narrow. “Everything about you concerns me now, Xavier. I signed a contract, remember?”
“That doesn’t make you my business partner.” I grab my gloves from the dresser, avoiding her gaze. “It makes you my property.”
The words come out harsher than I intended, but I need the distance. I need to remember who I am when I’m not consumed by her.
“Is that what this is?” She sits up fully now, holdingthe sheet against her chest. “You fuck me senseless to keep me distracted?”
“Mira—”
“How convenient that you have ‘business’ the moment I start asking questions.”
The hurt that flashes across her face is telling, but Knox’s voice echoes in my head.
What’s your exit strategy when Mira starts digging again?
The warning pounds against my skull, drowning out the part of me that wants to crawl back into bed and lose myself in her again.
My chest tightens as my walls slam into place. This is what I do. This is who I am. I don’t let women get close enough to hurt me or my family. They don’t get an opinion, they get dick. Literally
“You’re hurt,” I observe, my voice turning stoic. Distant. “Because I won’t share business details with someone I’ve known for less than a month.”
Her eyes widen at the shift in my tone. “Xavier?—”
“You signed a contract to be my sexual property, Mira. Not my confidante. Not my partner.” Each word feels like swallowing glass, but I force them out anyway. “Don’t confuse a good fuck with intimacy.”
She flinches like I’ve slapped her. The sheet slips from her fingers, exposing her breasts fully, but she doesn’t seem to notice. All her attention is focused on my face, searching for the man who held her so gently earlier.
That man is gone. Locked away where he can’t make stupid decisions that become stupid mistakes.
“I have to go to a meeting.” I shrug on my leather jacket, the familiar weight settling around my shoulders like armor. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Xavier, wait?—”
But I’m already moving toward the door, my footsteps echoing in the silence between us. I can feel her watching me, can sense the confusion and pain radiating from the bed, but I don’t turn around.
Can’t turn around.
Because if I look at her face right now—if I see the hurt I’ve put there—I might do something stupid like apologize. Or worse, stay.
And Blackwoods don’t do either of those things.
The door closes behind me with a soft click that sounds like a gunshot in the quiet hallway. My hands are shaking as I walk toward the elevator, but I tell myself it’s adrenaline from the upcoming trade.
Not regret.
Never that.
The roar of my BMW’s engine cuts through the night air as I lean into the curve, accelerating more than necessary. The familiar weight of the bike beneath me does nothing to ease the tension coiled in my shoulders. Every mile between me and the penthouse should make this easier. Still, Mira’s face keeps flashing to the forefront of my mind—the way she looked when I called her property.
I shake my head, focusing on the road ahead.Business. This is what matters. Not whatever the hell is happening between us. She’s mine, she can wait. Better to learn her place quickly.
The warehouse looms ahead, its darkened windows reflecting the streetlights like dead eyes. I can already see the other bikes parked in the shadows—Knox’s neon blue Aprilia and Lars’s Triumph Bonneville.
I pull into the lot and kill the engine, the sudden silence deafening after the constant growl of the motor. Through the open bay door, I can see figures moving inside, their voices carrying across the concrete.
