Page 147 of Carnal Urges

I don’t know who we’re playing this polite pantomime for, or if the black-haired man telling me he’d know if I told Declan about our conversation was only a hollow threat. But every game has its rules. I’m sure the spy game has plenty that involve covert surveillance. Better to play the part to a tee than be caught unprepared.

We take the helicopter to the private terminal at the airport. Declan’s jet waits on the tarmac, the engines already running. He whisks me from one to the other with emotionless efficiency, like he’s delivering a package for UPS.

At the bottom of the airstairs of his jet, he kisses me formally on both cheeks.

“Goodbye, Sloane.”

He turns and walks away without a glance.

Pretending his cool demeanor doesn’t hurt, even though it’s a ruse, I trudge up the airstairs and take a seat in one of the big captain’s chairs in front near the galley. On the table between the chairs is a book.

The Prophet,by Kahlil Gibran. One of the pages is dog-eared. When I turn to it, a single passage is highlighted.

Love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

My throat constricted, I whisper, “Me, too, gangster. Me, too.”

The cabin door closes. The plane takes off. I buckle my lap belt, close my eyes, and do box breathing until I realize that stupid shit never works.

Then I raid the booze cabinet in the galley and get drunk on a five-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne, because I miss him already.

FORTY

NAT

Kage refused to let me go to LaGuardia to pick up Sloane. He wouldn’t go, either. He said it was too dangerous. Said everything was too volatile right now, and until it all settled down, I wasn’t leaving his sight.

I put up a fight, of course. She’s my best friend, I said. She needs me.

He said the only thing Sloane needs is a container big enough to keep all the broken hearts she collects.

Then I realized it could be a trap. Declan has already killed off every other mafia boss Stateside over the last few weeks. Drawing Kage out into the open would be the perfect way to get the last one standing.

I only agreed not to go because of that. Because the thought of losing Kage is as terrifying to me as the thought of losing Sloane.

He finally had to delete the security video of her abduction from the parking garage. I watched it so many times, I nearly wore out my tear ducts.

By the time Kage’s driver calls to say he’s en route from the airport with Sloane, I’m having a panic attack.

“Did he say how long it would be?” I demand, wringing my hands as I pace back and forth in front of the big executive chair in the office.

“Take it easy, baby,” he says softly, watching me with those sharp dark eyes that never miss anything. “Come sit on my lap.”

“I can’t sit. I’m freaking out. What if she’s hurt?”

“She’s not hurt.”

“But how do youknow?”

“Because she’s indestructible, like Styrofoam peanuts.”

“Or your ego.”

His eyes grow heated. “Is that sass I hear?”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

In a throaty voice, he says, “Come here and let me show you how much.”