“I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
When he enters me, it’s with a leisurely pace that borders on worship, like he wants to memorize every inch of me from the inside out. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, needing to feel him everywhere. My hands roam his back, memorizing the muscles that flex under my touch, the scars that tell stories he hasn’t shared yet.
“God, Mira.” His voice breaks on my name as he moves inside me with devastating gentleness. “What have you done to me?”
I kiss him instead of answering, pouring everything I can’t say into the connection of our mouths. My hips surge upward with each thrust, chasing deeper connection, understanding, the promise that maybe we're both equally lost in whatever this is between us.
His forehead presses against mine, our breathing mingling as we move together. This isn’t fucking or claiming or any of the rough passion from before. This is making love, and the realization terrifies me even as I cling to him, kissing him like he’s my entire world, like I might die without the taste of him on my lips.
43
XAVIER
Iwake to cold sheets and an empty bed. My hand instinctively reaches for Mira’s warmth, finding nothing but rumpled silk where she should be. The penthouse feels too quiet, too still.
“Mira?” I call out, sitting up and scanning the bedroom. No response.
I pull on my pants and move through the living space, checking the kitchen, the balcony, and the guest bathroom. Nothing. A familiar tension coils in my chest—the same feeling I get when a deal goes sideways or when enemies get too close to my territory.
Then I hear it. The subtle creak of a floorboard from the direction of my office.
Rage flares instantly. My office is off-limits. Always. The one space in this penthouse that remains mine alone, filled with records and communications that could destroy everything my brothers and I have built.
I move silently down the hallway, each stepcalculated to avoid the boards I know will give me away. The office door stands slightly ajar, and through the gap, I can see her—Mira, illuminated by the glow of my computer screen, scrolling through files she has no business accessing.
Three days of tenderness, of thinking she’d changed, of believing she might care about me rather than the story. Three days of letting my guard down, and she’s right back to her usual investigative ways.
I slam the door open hard enough to rattle the frame.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
Mira spins around, eyes wide with surprise but no guilt. That might be the most infuriating part—she doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.
“Xavier, I?—”
“Get. Away. From. My. Desk.” Each word comes out like a bullet. “Now.”
She doesn’t scramble to close the computer or stammer out excuses. Instead, she lifts her chin with that familiar defiance that first drew me to her.
“I still need my answers.”
“Your answers?” The temperature in my voice could freeze blood. “After everything that’s happened between us, you’re still playing journalist?”
“Even if I never publish them,” she continues, her voice steady despite the fury radiating from me. “I need to know the devil I’m in bed with.”
The words hit their mark perfectly. Devil.
As if I don’t already know exactly who I am. As if thepast three days of tenderness between us meant nothing compared to her need for the truth.
“Get out.” My voice is deadly quiet now, which is infinitely more dangerous than shouting. “Get out of my office before I do something I regret.”
She stands her ground, meeting my gaze without flinching. “No. You can give me the answers I’m seeking.”
Her voice cuts through my rage like a blade, steady and unwavering. She’s not backing down, not even with me radiating enough fury to make grown men grovel.
“All I want to know is how corrupt your dealings are. How much of a criminal you are.”
The question hangs between us like a loaded gun. My hands clench into fists at my sides, every muscle coiled tight. She wants the truth. She wants to know exactly what kind of monster she’s been sharing a bed with.
