Page 249 of Things We Left Behind

It was the main reason I hadn’t yet demanded that Lucian take me home to Knockemout.

Anthony Hugo had been in custody for four days. The danger was officially over. But I was still here, enjoying four days of dinners out and walks under the cherry blossoms. Four days of working out of the same office together, sharing the same bed. Four days of having an astronomical amount of sex with Lucian Rollins.

I unpacked my toiletries from the bag I kept hanging on the linen closet door and finagled the settings on the shower’s touch screen.

“I can program your preferences into the system,” Lucian offered from behind me.

I eyed him as he prowled into the bathroom naked. “Nah. I like pushing buttons,” I said as I took in the obscenely fine view. He looked like a moving statue. A marble ode to perfection come to life.

I stepped into the tiled shower and let the rain head faucet pelt me from above. I groaned. “Ugh. This makes me want to renovate my bathroom.”

Lucian joined me, his hands immediately finding the curves of my hips.

We showered in silence, luxuriating in the hot water and each other’s bodies. But I could feel a tension in him that hadn’t been there before.

“What’s wrong? Is there a problem with the Hugo case?” I asked as Lucian watched me pensively in the mirror while I towel dried my shampoo and conditioner bottles before slipping them back in the bag.

“My problem is you,” he said, turning to face me.

“Me? Now what did I do?” I demanded, trying not to be dazzled by the water droplets sprinkled across his chest.

“I gave you drawers and closet space. I gave you vanity space,” he announced, yanking open one of the empty drawers next to the sink he’d designated as mine. “I made room for you in my shower,in my home.”

“And I told you I don’t need any of that.”

He stuck a finger in my face. “Thatismy problem. How are we going to share a life together when you won’t even unpack your shit, Sloane?”

“Seriously?” I scoffed. “You’re mad because I’m not taking up enough of your storage?”

“You won’t unpack here. You didn’t make space for me in your place. I had to bring in a closet company just to make room for myself. You’re not committing to us.”

“Lucian, we haven’t even talked about being an ‘us’ beyond you stubbornly announcing that we were a couple.”

His scowl darkened. “You want to talk? Fine. We’ll talk.”

“You could have at least let me dry my hair,” I grumbled as Lucian stabbed the bell on a swanky three-­story brick home on a tree-­lined street in Georgetown. Every vehicle at thecurb looked as though it cost somewhere in the six-­figure range.

The door opened, and a white-­bearded, bespectacled man peered out at us. “You’re early,” he announced. He wore a white apron over a black, orange, and neon yellow speckled cardigan.

“Emry, meet Sloane. Sloane, Emry,” Lucian said as he towed me across the threshold and toward a stately study.

“Sorry about Lucifer. I think he’s hangry,” I explained over my shoulder.

“Well, this should be fun,” Emry announced, rubbing his palms together and following us inside.

It was the office of a man with means, intellect, and great taste, I decided, scanning the titles on the dark mahogany bookshelves.

“Work your therapy magic and fix her,” Lucian announced, taking a stance near the fireplace.

“I thought we were going to dinner at your friend’s?” I pointed out.

“We are friends. He forgets that from time to time,” Emry added, crossing to a cabinet and producing a bottle of wine. He gestured toward one of two leather armchairs in front of the bookshelves. I sat.

“I don’t need your friendly advice. I need a therapist to talk some sense into this woman,” Lucian announced, crossing his arms and glaring at me.

I glared back. “Seriously?”

“This is highly unusual. Even for you,” Emry said to Lucian.