“I know. I’m not going to take any unnecessary risks.”
“Okay.” He squeezed his eyelids shut for a moment. “That’s good.”
“I just really needed a hug. Like really needed one. From you, specifically.”
He nodded. His hands had moved around to cupping my ass cheeks through the denim of my jeans. Then he hid his face in my neck and did some more deep breathing. “What’s this?”
“Hmm?”
He lifted his head and snagged the platinum chain hanging around my neck. Nice and easy, he lifted the pendant out from where it had hidden underneath my top all day. “Is this real? Fuck. It is, isn’t it? That’s a big-ass diamond.”
“Yeah, um . . .”
“Like really fucking large.”
“I meant to talk to you about that. We can send it back, of course. I was just, you know, trying it on for size. Then I thought it might be safer on me than lying around the house. But it’s not like we’re up to the buying-expensive-jewelry stage of things,” I babbled on. Talk about busted. “The expensive everything else was quite enough.”
“I take it that came with all of the other stuff for you?” he asked, inspecting the solitaire round-cut rock.
“Yes. Thank you for organizing all of that, by the way.”
“No problem. I wonder . . .” He shuffled us around and reached out to open the pantry door so he could holler, “Smith. Come here a minute.”
A moment later, the big blond wandered on into the kitchen, cocking his head to see us through the partially open pantry door. “Why are you two hanging out in the cupboard?”
“I don’t suppose by any chance that the latest woman you ran away from worked at our manager’s office?”
Smith’s gaze turned wary. “Why would you ask that?”
Garrett showed him the rock hanging around my neck.
“Huh. That’s some sizeable bling.”
“So you pissed this girl off, and she’s using my money to somehow get back at you,” said Garrett. “Is that about right?”
Smith tugged on his short beard. “It would seem that way, yeah.”
“Because I asked them to send up anything Ani might need for the next few weeks. But I don’t recall saying anything about them hitting up Harry Winston.”
“Cartier,” I corrected. “Not that I was going to keep it. Let me just reiterate that oh so salient fact. But I didn’t think leaving it sitting around was a good idea and since I had the bodyguards, I thought . . . why not? Which I see now was a horrible, terrible decision.”
“It’s fine, babe,” said Garrett. “Not your fault.”
“You should keep it.” Smith’s expression was serious. “He can afford it. I mean, it can’t be worth more than, say, a couple of hundred grand.”
Garrett’s brows rose high on his forehead.
“What?” asked Smith. “Are you really going to take it off her?”
I reached back to undo the clasp behind my neck and carefully handed the very expensive baby over. “He’s not taking it off me. I’m giving it back.”
Smith just frowned. “It looked pretty on you.”
“Go away, man.” Garrett slipped the necklace into his jeans pocket. Then he closed the pantry door and turned back to me.
Before he could speak, I said, “Might be worth checking through the rest and returning some other items, since it seems she might have gone a little overboard.”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“No tiaras or swimming pools or anything else like that in there?”
“Not that I noticed,” I said. “Just lots of expensive clothing and shoes and so on.”
“Then no.” He crowded me against the shelves with his big body. “Have at it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” My smile was ever so slightly huge. “Thank you very much.”
“So I’ve learned two important things today.” Amusement lit his gaze. “One. You require regular hugging. Which I am happy to provide. And two. Whenever I fuck up, I can always try buying my way back into your good graces.”
“Those are both good things to learn. But I would remind you that I’m also highly susceptible to your hugs, And they, compared to other items, don’t cost the earth.”
His mouth covered mine and his tongue swept in, and yeah. So much better. The way his hands covered my ass and kneaded. How he gave himself over to doing just this here with me. Kissing him made me high. Nothing else mattered.
Which was when a certain Great Dane started to scratch and sniff and whine at the outside of the pantry door.
“While I’d much rather stay here with you and make out, we better go,” he said, placing a quick kiss on my lips. Then he said, “There’s some people I want you to meet.”
“About that . . . what’s going on? Why are all these people here?”
He flashed me a smile. “I’m getting The Dead Heart back together.”
“Oh,” I said with no cool whatsoever. “You’re Lucas Moulin.”
The dude seated behind the drum kit in the sitting room gave me a vague smile. It was of the kind you’d see on the cover of Vogue. Then he gave me serious side-eye. “This your new girl?”