Page 14 of All Mixed Up

“Milo.” I stated it without a falter, boosting my fortitude. I wasn’t about to let this—what was his word?—rake turn the word into a verb across my self-control. “I’d better call him,” I asserted. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Where are you?”

“You mean you really don’t know?”

It came out snarkier than I intended. I wanted to feel bad about that and probably did, at least a little. After all the Google searches of the man I’d been subjected to by Leese and Greer, it was obvious Lucien Paget had earned his place as an investor in Avanti. Everything he wore, ate, drank, lived in, traveled by, and had on his arm for dates was the highest end of everything. It made sense that his technology access would match, right? Even if that wasn’t the case, there were apps for this kind of stuff now. Really easy, really cheap apps.

“No.” It was tight and unpleased—though this time, I sensed it wasn’t at me. “I don’t know, but I soon shall. Or you can just tell me.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why should I tell you?” I huffed into the line. “For that matter, why don’t you already know?”

“Know what?”

And who’s on first? And what is that red shell around gouda cheese? And why the hell didn’t anyone stop Quill from pissing off Thanos?

I shook my head, clearing it from those mind-crushing queries to retort, “Why don’t you know where I am? You could’ve had my phone tracked in minutes.”

He pushed out breath again. A lot of it. The export sounded like a sigh, though a reluctant one. “Because Gigi only relented the information to me thirty minutes ago, and sometimes, the process really does take longer than that.”

“Why?”

“When a cell signal is faint, and yours is, then it takes more precise—”

“No. Why did Gigi relent to you only a half hour ago?” And had he seriously gotten in all those calls since then?

A loaded silence. Or at least from my perception. The longer he held back his reply, the hotter and heavier the pressure in my senses. And my chest. And behind my eyes. And in the thick, hot magma stirring in the most intimate cavities of my body. But despite all that, I rejoiced. Had I actually thrown the wolf off his game? Welcome to the club, mister.

“I don’t answer any more whys until you answer me where.”

The weighted sigh was mine this time—as well as the reminder that playful or not, we hadn’t all compared him to a wolf for no good reason. That a lot of times, wolves wanted to know where you were before they ate you.

Not a thought that helped my cause at all. At least not when it came to all the stuff I’d just gone through the worst hell of my life for. The massive mistake I swore I’d never make again. Like letting a beautiful man—wolf, professor, billionaire, whatever—into my head. My thoughts. My bloodstream. My nervous system. My libido…

But damn it…he was already there.

I was so screwed.

“I’m…I’m on the train.”

So.

Screwed.

A pause. A really long one. When Julien answered, it wasn’t preceded by one grunt of the Professor Rake noises. Not a single frustrated sigh either. Instead, confusion seemed to be the new bite at his soft response. “All right.”

Oh, yes. That was confusion.

As well as an unspoken plea for further explanation.

Oh, yes. Definitely a plea.

Which I totally didn’t owe him.

“I…I saw Greer and Leese off at the airport.” Don’t owe him, remember? “And on the way home, I fell asleep.”