Page 60 of Deep (Chicago Underground 8)
“And who do you back into a corner?”
“You have to ask, kitten?” He leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss against my lips. “You.”
A shiver ran down my spine, like someone walking over my grave. “About last night…”
“Adrian can get you a pill,” he said gruffly.
“Oh…oh.” I hadn’t even thought of it, so doped up on sex endorphins and exhausted from him moving in me all night long. “I guess that would be good.”
“You guess?”
Did he think I shouldn’t? I mean, it had been crazy last night, even in a lust-daze. And now it seemed impossible—adding a child to this mixed-up relationship. In a short time, we might not even have a relationship. “Yes. Of course. It would be crazy not to. I mean, two weeks ago our only contact was a blank postcard.”
Silence. His body slowly tensed, the way I imagined a panther would feel before striking—motionless to anyone observing, but powerful. Dangerous.
“Philip?” I whispered.
“That’s what I was missing,” he muttered, already pulling away. “Someone else knew about my obsession with you. Someone knew every fucking detail.”
Then he leaped from the bed and was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I HAD NEVER been to the basement, but I knew this was where Adrian slept. There was an entire apartment down here—a small living space and kitchen off to the side. Was every safe house equipped with a space like this? The separation of master and servant. So vital until Philip ripped it away.
He’d left the bedroom in a matter of seconds, pulling on slacks but not bothering with a shirt. He was already at the foot of the basement stairs by the time I’d grabbed a tank top and jeans and followed him.
“Wait. Philip.”
He ignored me, heading to the right. He may not have visited down here often, but there was no hesitation in his step, no doubt who was the owner of this place.
I made it to the narrow hallway—which was dark until light suddenly exploded from the room.
My feet seemed heavy and sluggish. Even though I was running, it felt like it took forever to reach the bedroom. When I got to the doorway, Adrian was on the floor—on his ass, wearing only a pair of boxers. I had always thought he was on the skinny side, but seeing him almost naked, I could see lean muscle. Combined with a handsome face, he was a great catch for any guy. Except here he was, sleeping alone beneath Philip’s safe house.
Adrian shook his head as if trying to clear the sleep away. “What the hell?”
“What the hell?” Philip sounded furious. “What the hell? You told someone, that’s what. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. I should put a fucking bullet in your brain. Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
Now fear seeped into Adrian’s expression alongside awareness. “I didn’t.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Adrian. Not right now. Not about this.”
Adrian shoved himself off the floor and ran a hand over his face. He paced away a step and then—maybe realizing it wasn’t safe to turn his back on Philip right now—faced him again. “I didn’t fucking tell. I’m not lying to you. I would never do that.”
“Who else knew? Are you telling me Shelly told?”
“No, I’m just—” Adrian’s eyes were wild, his breath coming faster. “I’m not saying it was her. I’m just telling you that I would never do anything to hurt you.”
Philip stared, clearly weighing the truth of Adrian’s words. They sounded completely honest to me, and I suspected that Philip saw the same thing I did—the intense loyalty. I wasn’t as sure whether he saw the unrequited love.
Adrian continued in a low voice, nostrils flaring. “And I would never do anything to hurt Ella either. I care about her, regardless of what happens between us.”
The words between us seemed to ring in the air, dark and forbidden. There was no shock in Philip, only stillness. “Maybe you were jealous,” he said softly.
I sucked in a breath and stepped into the room. “He wouldn’t do that.”
Adrian had always been kind to me—both when I’d been a broken little girl and now. I couldn’t let him be accused of this without any proof, any more than I could have let Philip invade Shelly’s house with weapons.
