Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 28033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“Yes.” The word came out smaller than she intended, so she said it again, stronger this time. “Yes.”
Something in his expression shifted, cracked open, and then they were moving again — through the door of his bedroom, across the floor she’d never set foot on in eight years of marriage, until her back met sheets that smelled like him and his weight settled over her and the rest of the world simply ceased to exist.
“Breathe,” he murmured against the hollow of her throat, and she realized she’d forgotten how.
His hands were patient in a way she hadn’t expected from a man who commanded boardrooms and never asked for anything twice. He learned her slowly, tracing paths along her skin that no one had ever traveled before, and every touch felt like a revelation—his mouth at the curve of her shoulder, his palm sliding beneath the hem of his own Oxford shirt that she was still wearing, the sound of his breath catching when he discovered just how much she wanted him.
When she trembled, he steadied her with quiet words she couldn’t quite make out.
When she tensed, he waited, his forehead pressed to hers, his thumb stroking her cheekbone until she softened again.
When she whispered his name—just once, barely audible—something in his careful control finally snapped, and the patience gave way to hunger, and the hunger gave way to something that felt like desperation, and Lexy stopped thinking entirely.
There was pain when he finally made her his. Brief and sharp, a bright flare that made her gasp and dig her fingers into his shoulders. But he stilled the moment he heard her, his jaw tight with the effort of holding himself back, his eyes searching hers for permission to continue.
She gave it without words.
And then there was only him—the weight of him, the heat of him, the way he moved like she was something precious and breakable and his, entirely his, and maybe she always had been.
When it was over, they lay tangled in sheets that had been crisp and white an hour ago and were now beyond salvation. The Manhattan skyline glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent to the fact that Lexy’s entire world had just rearranged itself into something she didn’t recognize.
She stared at the ceiling and tried to remember how to think in complete sentences.
Beside her, Leonidas was silent, his hand resting on the curve of her hip like it belonged there, his thumb tracing absent patterns against her skin. Circles, maybe. Figure eights. Her name, if she was imagining things.
She turned her head.
He was already looking at her.
Those tawny eyes, unreadable as ever, the silver streak at his temple catching light from the city outside. Her husband. The man who had just—who she had just —who they had—
“Stop spiraling.” His voice was lower than usual, rougher, like something had scraped it raw.
“I’m not spiraling.”
“Your eye is twitching.”
“I don’t have a condition.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, barely perceptible, and something in Lexy’s chest cracked open to match whatever had cracked in him.
“What happens now?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer immediately. His thumb kept tracing those patterns on her hip, and she watched his face in the dim light, searching for some indication of what he was thinking, what he was feeling, whether this had changed anything or everything or nothing at all.
“Now,” he said finally, his voice low, “we figure out—”
Both of their phones rang at the same time.
The sound was jarring, obscene, two separate ringtones shattering whatever fragile thing had been building in the space between them. Lexy flinched. Leonidas’s jaw went tight, his hand stilling against her hip.
He reached for his phone first, and she watched his expression shift as he registered the name on the screen.
“Aivan.” He answered with his voice clipped and professional, all traces of the man who had just been tracing patterns on her skin vanishing in an instant. “This had better be important.”
Silence as he listened. Then his body went rigid beside her.
“When?” More silence. His free hand curled into a fist against the sheets. “How much was compromised?”
Lexy’s phone was still ringing, the sound drilling into her skull. She grabbed it, saw Aivan’s name flashing on the screen, and answered with fingers that weren’t quite steady.
“Lexy.” Aivan’s voice was tight with the kind of control that meant something had gone very wrong. “Someone tried to hack your system. The adaptive technology files. We caught it before they could extract everything, but we need to assess the damage.”
Her stomach dropped. “How bad?”
“Bad enough that I need both of you here. Monaco. Tonight.”
She looked at Leonidas. He was already looking at her, phone still pressed to his ear, his expression unreadable.
“We’ll be there,” she said.
And just like that, the world came crashing back in.
Chapter Six
Leonidas knew he had two choices.
Pull away before it got worse, or fight until the end even though he knew he had already lost.