He rolled his eyes. “Right, of course, because you care so much about the purview of my job.”
“Just make sure the girl’s protected.”
“You know I will.” He finished his drink and placed it back on the side table. “Is there anything else? I need to set tonight’s shift.”
“Cassie left her bike at the banquet hall. Send someone to get it.”
“Cassie left her bike,” Erick repeated, and he gave me another smile.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“You like this one for some reason. What do you see in her?”
I glanced away toward the wall. If I had an answer to that question, I might actually tell him—things would be easier that way.
Except I didn’t have a clue.
She was like a ghost in my mind, haunting my thoughts.
“I just need a good night’s sleep.”
“Maybe you’re going soft.”
I gave him a look. “If that’s the case, then I suspect we’ll all be dead soon.”
“Fair enough. I’ll get the bike. Sweet dreams, boss.” Erick walked to the door but hesitated before he left. “It’s been three months, by the way.”
“Three months?”
“Since you took a woman to bed. I know, it’s creepy, but I’m your bodyguard. I notice these kinds of things.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” I said, frowning at him. He was right, it was creepy. “Please stop thinking about my sexual habits.”
“Believe me, I don’t exactly enjoy it, but you can’t stay all pent up. You need a release.”
“Go away, Erick.”
He grinned and left. The door clicked shut behind him.
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.
Three months? It couldn’t have been that long. I closed my eyes and tried to remember—but he was right.
How hadn’t I noticed?
I’d been busy, true. Working every day, planning and scheming and setting up an important alliance between two of the largest crime families in the country. My life was on a tightrope at the moment, and anything could push me off into the darkness.
But three months? Normally, I was insatiable.
My appetites were vast—commensurate with my stressful life.
That could be it then. I desperately needed a release and Cassie was convenient.
Except I knew that wasn’t it, wasn’t even close to right.
I stood and drifted to the far wall. I pulled a hidden latch in a carved lion’s head at the end of the mantel, and a hidden door popped open. I stepped through into my bedroom and stood at the foot of my bed, staring down at the Egyptian cotton sheets, and pictured Cassie squirming on top of them, stripped bare and beautiful, her pussy dripping wet as she moaned for me, on the verge of losing her mind—so much like a panic attack, but built from pleasure instead of fear.
I pictured taking the flat of my hand and slapping her taut little ass, over and over, until it turned pink and she begged for me to enter her.
God, what was wrong with me?
I went to bed, rock hard and dreaming of her.
5
Cassie
I woke up dripping wet and breathing hard in an unfamiliar bed with a light sheen of sweat on my body. I sat up, shook my head, and tried to get that nasty dream out of my mind.
Only ghostly memories still remained. Roman pinning me down, his fingers pistoning inside my body, the sound of the ocean, his lips on my throat—
I couldn’t remember anything else.
But a sex dream. I didn’t have sex dreams.
Probably a product of that panic attack.
After the incident, I’d had crazy nightmares for weeks and weeks. Some were straight-up terrifying and some were confusing and strange and twisted, but they always left me dizzy and drenched in sweat the next morning.
Sort of like today, except I was buzzing with aroused excitement instead of paralyzed with horror.
I got up and padded across the room into the attached bathroom. I splashed water on my face and opened a fresh toothbrush. I hesitated at the door, not sure what to do. I could put on my clothes from the night before, or I could go downstairs in the robe.
I didn’t love either option. Those clothes were soiled for me, and the memory of all that blood, of Dia getting her skull shot open into little pieces, infected that outfit somehow. I’d rather burn those clothes than put them back on.
The robe then. I opened the door and paused.
On the floor was a small bundle in a laundry basket. I picked it up and carried it to the bed.
Fresh towels, fresh sheets, and clean clothes. A pair of jeans and a simple gray sweatshirt, plus clean underwear that looked like it might fit.
No bra, of course. I’d survive in the old one.
I pulled on the clothes. They were a little long, but they fit in the hips at least. I rolled the hems, put on my shoes, tied my hair back, and stepped out into the hallway, brushing the wisps behind my ears.