Page 135 of The Finish Line

“It’s okay. We’re expecting company.”

“It’s close to three in the morning. Who is it?”

I nip at her lips as she pushes at my chest, impatient for an answer.

“Our ride.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Cecelia

Tobias slides into a freshly tailored Tom Ford that arrived sometime after I slept by way of bird messenger, no doubt for this very reason. He tugs the cuff of the shirt to button it, his eyes catching mine in the mirror before a smirk graces his face. I’m turned on beyond comprehension as he surveys me in nothing but my black lacy bra and panties while I run a hot iron through my hair. I’m indecisive at the moment on whether to fuck him or kill him, but I’m pretty sure this will be the norm as long as we’re together.

But the reason for my fraying nerves at this moment is because I’m readying myself to travel to D.C. to meet. The. President.

He played me, yet again with his plotting and scheming, making more plans I wasn’t aware of, and disguised it as a “surprise.”

“This isn’t deception,” he assures me, his voice even. “This is my plan B, my Hail Mary.”

“It feels a lot like manipulation. And you have yet to tell me what’s going on.”

“You locked the door on me,” he says, gathering his cufflinks, “so I’m opening a window.”

“Meaning?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” My eyes drift down to his fingers as he secures his cufflinks and lifts a brow. “Is your hair supposed to be smoking?”

I pull out my hot iron and am relieved to see my hair didn’t come with it.

“Stop distracting me,” I snap.

His lips twitch. “Trésor is cranky when she hasn’t gotten her full eight hours.”

“Don’t blame it on sleep deprivation, Frenchman, I haven’t had a full night in weeks.”

“Those were moans that kept you awake, not objections.”

“You smug bastard.”

“Ton salaud.” Your bastard. He moves toward me, the fit of the suit enough to have me salivating. Though he’s denied it, he’s still every bit the arrogant King I fell in love with. The buzz in my veins no longer exists due to gin or the endless orgasms from hours earlier.

It’s him.

This buzz is all him, us.

He reaches me in two confident strides and slowly lifts the form-fitting dress I chose from the hanger, unzipping it for me to step in. I do before he pulls it up and lifts my hair to press a kiss to the nape of my neck.

“This is just a house call. Don’t think too much. I’ll explain on the ride in.” He turns me in his arms and backs me into the dresser, his eyes dipping.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warn.

“Against this dresser or in the back of that limo, your choice.”

“Dream on, pal, back in the doghouse you go.”

“It’s a surprise,” he reminds me as I grab my purse. He follows me out of my bedroom, tipping his chin at the raven charged with housesitting Beau. There’s a spring in his step, and if I’m honest, in mine too, but I refuse to let him see my elation because once again, I have no idea what his plans are.

After locking the front door, I turn with Tobias at my back to head toward the limo, and he stops me, blocking me, his eyes intense.