Page 65 of Arranged Control

I let out a groan. “I hate this.”

“I love it.”

“Can I please shut the bathroom door and hide with my shame for a while?”

“Only if you stop calling it shame.” He kisses me again, soft and tender. “I like bringing out that side of you.”

“I like it too,” I admit, even if I’m still a little weirded out by my own feelings.

“Good.” He brushes a thumb down my cheek and over my lips. “Good girl.”

I shut the bathroom door in his face.

And grin to myself in the mirror.

I have a feeling the house is going to be a lot cleaner from now on.

Chapter 20

Seamus

I’m in a good mood as I head to Oliver’s place with a box of scarves.

Life’s strange right now. The apartment is covered in security equipment. There’s not a single inch of space that isn’t watched by at least one camera and one motion sensor. When the system’s armed, there’s not a human alive who could get inside.

And for the first time in my life, I enjoy cleaning.

I’ve never had a problem keeping my space neat. Obviously not to Alina’s standards, since those are unreasonable, but pretty good anyway.

Now I love it.

Doing the laundry is great when it involves breaking my wife up against the dryer.

I have a feeling she’s doing this on purpose. Like my whole cleaning naked thing was designed to mess with her, and now she’s fighting back.

By having lots of raunchy sex with me.

Which only encourages more cleaning.

It’s a virtuous cycle, one I’m happy to engage in.

I’m smiling to myself as I climb Oliver’s steps. I brought him a few extras from the latest shipment Alina got in at the shop this morning. I hope he likes them. A good information broker is worth all the fancy scarves in the world.

I knock twice and pause. The door creaks open like someone left it slightly ajar. I frown, staring at the gap, and drop the box.

My gun’s in my hand, the metal cold and comforting.

Oliver is as obsessed with security as I am. He’s in a difficult business. Most people use his services, but very few of them like him. Everyone knows he’ll betray them for the right price, and I’m sure he has more than a few enemies.

Which is why he’d never leave his fucking door open in the middle of the day.

I slip inside. The place is warm like the air hasn’t been running at all. Junk’s piled all over. I pause, listening carefully, but can’t hear anything.

“Oliver,” I call out, deciding it’s better to announce myself, just in case. If someone’s here to kill him, I don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.

Nobody responds.

I creep forward, going too slowly. This crap all over the place makes it hard to clear each room. I have to take my time, cursing all the terrible blind spots and hiding places. I reach the back patio, and that’s when the smell hits me.