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281 pages, Paperback
First published November 30, 2021
I’d tried to be better. I’d gotten out of the East End, tried to do some good to make up for my mistakes. Didn’t that count for something?
As a latent, who’d come out as gay, I’d been judged every second of my life. It was supposed to get better, but my skin just got tougher.
None of this would have happened if Kempthorne hadn’t bought me and I’d returned to the East End like I was supposed to. This was what swimming against the tide got me. I should have stopped fighting and just gone with the flow instead. I’d have walked right back into The Business, taken up the mantle, and hated every second of it. I’d either have been dead by now, or so messed up in the head, I’d have probably wished to be dead.
Kempthorne was a chameleon. I’d noticed it before, but at times like this, his lies were truly beautiful to watch, when they weren’t directed at me.
It wasn’t that at all. It had tasted like almonds. He’d drugged me.
God. I chewed on a piece of toast too long, making it tasteless.
Betrayal.
I knew it well.
“Yes, I’m aware. So there’s really only one course of action.�
“Have me killed?�
Shocked, he blinked. “What?�
“Seems reasonable,� I added, watching his face carefully. I’d been joking, but he wasn’t laughing. “How much can a hit cost? I know a few ex-military guys who’ll do it. Maybe thirty grand? Pocket change, right? Once I’m out of the way, so are your secrets.�
He angled toward me, brow furrowed. “Thirty grand? Is that all? My suits cost more than that.�
Wait. Was he considering it? His smile twitched. Oh Christ, he was joking.
Getting hard for the boss during a work dinner was not what good artifact retrieval agents did. But shit, it was too easy to imagine it. Holding him against a wall, his firm body under mine. My hand on his arse, mouth on his, teasing his lips open. He’d hate the teasing. Oh, he’d handle a bit, then take control.
“I’m not averse to restraints,� Kempthorne croaked, sliding his gaze to me. “Providing they’re consensual.�
My runaway thoughts screeched to a halt. He smiled, just a twitch, but it felt to me like a full-blown grin. He knew what he was doing, and that little throwaway line was designed to trip me off my slippery homicidal slope.
Gently nudging him aside, I took over making the tea. “Are you allergic to kettles or something?�
“You don’t need one, when you have a microwave right there.�
“You can’t make tea in a microwave. It’s against English law.�
?�
I snorted. “No.� Christ, he was too cute. “But it should be.�
He leaned back against the countertop, dipped his chin and peered through soft lashes. No words were needed—that look said it all. Hollywood was checking me out, measuring me up, deciding which part to lick first, and bloody hell it was distracting.
❝i won’t let them take you.� he said it with fervor, with passion. like he meant it. “you have my word.�
�. . . My point is, our past changes us. Some of us more than others. Whoever you were yesterday, I’m only interested in who you are today.� Under his spotlight gaze was a dangerous place to be. A nervous smile skittered onto my lips.
“Interested how?�
“Professionally, clearly.� Then why was he saying it while holding my gaze, like he was daring me to call him out, to challenge him.