Page 49 of My Craving

I slip mine into his. Apparently, I’m staying with him tonight whether I agreed to it or not, which is a conversation we’re definitely going to have once there aren’t two other Murphys in the room.

At the front door, I offer Alessia my hand. She bats it away and hugs me instead.

The surprise only lasts a second before I hug her back. My mother has always been the standard I judge hugs against, but Alessia gives her some serious competition.

“I promise we’ll get back to Justin,” she says when she releases me. “For now, let us figure out who hired the photographer. We have Justin under watch, and if someone is watching you too, going anywhere near him could put both of you at risk.”

I hate leaving something unfinished, especially after already losing two opportunities to get Justin alone, but charging after him while someone is photographing my every move would be fucking stupid.

“I’ll wait.”

Kieran gets a handshake. Thank God. After the death threat earlier, a hug from him might be more intimacy than I can handle tonight.

The drive to Duncan’s house is shorter than I expect. I’d pictured him living in some glass penthouse above the city, but he takes us through a gated entrance and up a long drive toward a large stone house surrounded by mature trees.

I knew Duncan was wealthy. There’s knowing a man is wealthy, though, and then there’s pulling up to his estate and realizing the word doesn’t come close.

My family was comfortable growing up. My grandparents had money, and I never went without anything I needed. This is on an entirely different level.

Inside, polished marble stretches across the foyer beneath a chandelier that probably costs more than my car. A round table sits in the center with a huge arrangement of fresh flowers, and for some reason, the flowers are what get me.

I look at Duncan. “Do you buy those?”

His gaze follows mine. “Franklin handles the flowers.”

“You have a flower person.”

“I have Franklin.”

The way he says it makes me laugh. “Right. Obviously.”

He starts upstairs, and I follow, taking in enough of the house along the way to confirm that Duncan Murphy and I live in very different tax brackets.

At the end of the hall, he opens a pair of wooden doors and walks inside.

I make it two steps before stopping.

His bedroom is huge, but unlike the foyer, nothing about it feels designed to impress anyone. Dark wood furniture, a fireplace with a sitting area in front of it and clean, masculine lines make it feel unmistakably like Duncan.

He turns when he realizes I’m no longer following. “What’s wrong?”

“This is your bedroom.”

“Yes.”

“And the guest room is…?”

“Down the hall. But you’re staying here.”

Duncan removes his jacket and drapes it over a chair before reaching for his tie. He loosens the knot, opens the top button of his shirt and looks at me as if he hasn’t just informed me I’m sleeping in his bed.

“You look surprised.”

“I thought you were bringing me here because someone might be trying to kill one of us. Apparently, you also had sleeping arrangements planned.”

“I did.”

His tie comes free.