Page 59 of He Knows When You're Awake

His thumb works another knot in my shoulder and my eyes flutter closed. The question about Claire dissolves on my tongue.

God, that’s unfair. How am I supposed to interrogate someone when they’re basically turning my brain to mush?

“You like being right, don’t you?” Cole murmurs, his voice dropping to that register that makes it hard to think straight.

“It happens so often, I’ve gotten used to it,” I manage to reply, trying to sound casual despite the way his touch is short-circuiting my brain.

His chuckle is low and so deliciously dangerous. “That kind of talk might work out here, but in the bedroom...” He leans closer, his lips brushing my ear. “In the bedroom, it’ll get you punished.”

My breath catches. Julian Voss suddenly seems very distant and unimportant.

Focus, Sloane. The rumors about Claire. Julian’s business connection to Cole. The whispers about what might have happened.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he murmurs, and for a heart-stopping moment I think he’s actually reading my mind. But no, he’s just noticed me spacing out while having an internal crisis. Which is probably better than knowing I’m mentally rehearsing how to ask about his ex–business partner without ruining everything between us.

Just say something. Anything. Open your mouth and—

He slides my hair aside and kisses my neck.

—and apparently make a small noise that definitely isn’t words because holy hell, that’s distracting.

This is ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. The man’s probably just a regular billionaire with regular billionaire secrets. Like tax evasion. Or a private island. Or a collection of rare sports cars he never drives.

“I should finish this,” I manage, gesturing vaguely at my workspace and trying to remember what exactly I was working on. Something about winter. And diamonds. And definitely not about how good he smells or how that suit fits him or—

“It’ll still be here tomorrow.” His voice has that low, rough edge that makes my stomach flip. “Come to bed, Sloane.”

Right. Bed.

He nips lightly at my earlobe.

This is so not fair.

“Ten minutes,” I say, proud that my voice sounds almost normal. “I just need to finish this one thing.”

“Ten minutes,” he agrees, straightening up. His fingers trail across my shoulders as he steps away. “Then I’m coming back to get you.”

I nod, not trusting my voice. He turns and leaves, and I collapse back in my chair.

I catch my reflection in the design mirror—flushed cheeks, bright eyes, that look that says I’m absolutely going to allow this man to ruin me tonight.

I can always ask the heavy questions tomorrow. Get the real story about Julian, clear up all these ridiculous theories. But tonight? Tonight I think I’ll let myself enjoy the mystery. After all, what’s one more night of sin with a man who’s probably-almost-definitely not a criminal? One more night of loving that dangerous glint in his eye.

Besides, good girls who play it safe don’t get to design winter collections worth millions. Maybe it’s time I embrace my darker side. Just for tonight.

The cameras blink steadily in each corner, and I smile at my reflection. My mother always said I had terrible taste in men. Might as well prove her right in spectacular fashion.

Nine minutes...

Eight minutes...

I force my attention back to the necklace. The thorns need to be sharper, more threatening. I adjust one with my pliers, trying to ignore how the shadows make them look like claws reaching for—

Seven minutes...

Focus. Work. Deadlines. Very important things that have nothing to do with the way his hand felt on my shoulder or how his voice gets lower when he—

Six minutes...