Page 21 of Professional Liar
Seven
Pierce
A weekendof warm bedding and more sex than I’d had in a year gave way to Monday. Kat woke early so she could get to her penthouse and start packing.
I tried to drag her back to bed. “You can pay someone to do that for you. Between my money and your inheritance, you don’t need to do anything but make a call.”
She pinched my thigh, and I let her go with a hiss. She took the escape, wading through the tangled linens to her suitcase at the foot of the bed.
I sat up and scooted to sit next to her. “We could put someone on packing and go on a honeymoon. Like normal people.”
She didn’t answer as she shoved her legs into her jeans and stood to bounce them over her hips and ass. Once she buttoned the top, she spun and placed her hands gently on my shoulders.
I refused to kiss the delicate bone of her wrist. We hadn’t discussed our feelings past that first night, and Kat rarely did in all the years I knew her. I feared scaring her with the intensity of mine.
“I don’t trust other people with my stuff. I’ll get help to pack, but I’m overseeing everything myself. I also need to see the lawyer today.”
I captured her hand before she could pull away. “Please take one of the guys with you.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“Your safety is important.”
“And I can take care of myself,” she said, muffled while she pulled a t-shirt down.
I forced some growl into my loud sigh. “I never said you couldn’t take care of yourself, but I’d feel better, happier, knowing you had protection in case something happened.”
She leveled her face with mine and leaned in close. I liked the mingling of our scents on her skin. Smelling her made me want to bury my nose in the curve if her neck and stay there. “My father couldn’t convince me to have a guard, even after I was attacked. There is no way in hell you will.”
I grabbed her ass in both hands and placed her between my open knees. “Yes, but your father didn’t have my vast arsenal”—I lifted her shirt and kissed the scar on her belly—“of techniques at his disposal.”
She swatted at her hem of her shirt and headed toward the door. “Nice try, Mr. St. James. Not going to happen,” she called over her shoulder.
I grabbed my jeans off the floor and shrugged into a t-shirt. I’d have to put on real clothes later to see my father, but for now, it would do.
She rifled around near the front door for something, when I came out. I leaned on the corner leading to the kitchen to watch her. “What are you looking for?”
“Your phone, so I can call a car.”
I put on a face of mock innocence. “Oh, I just assumed Ms. Independent would call an Uber or something.”
She glared over her shoulder, her own phone and one of my beat up old leather jackets in her hand. “I’m independent, sure. I’m not pedestrian.”
“And that’s what I’m putting onyourtombstone.” I laughed and shot a text to the on call driver. “He’ll be out front in a second.”
She opened the door and paused in the entry. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”
“Home,” I supplied.
She rolled her eyes and shut the door with a quiet click.
In only a couple of days, she’d infiltrated my life completely. Something in my gut rolled around in protest of her leaving. As if I feared she’d never come back. I went to the kitchen to make some coffee. At least with caffeine, I could overthink on a higher level.
Gerry came in through the patio door which lead to the back staircase leading up to where the staff lived on the upper level. Gerry was in mid-forties with salt and pepper hair. His age was only a number, though, as he’d built himself like a brick wall. He’d been one of my guards since I was old enough to have any. “Hey B, got an appointment request for you. An interesting one.”
I finished the coffee, poured Gerry a cup, and handed it to him while I leaned on the counter. “What kind of an appointment?”
“Not the usual kind, that’s for sure.”
