‘No!’ I flip out, skidding to a stop and swinging around to confront him, but Becker doesn’t anticipate my move and fails to stop in time. He crashes into me, our chests slamming together, his arms locking around me to steady me. An electric current sails through me, sizzling and robbing me of breath. How? How, after everything that’s happened, do I react like this?
Our hearts are pounding into each other. The front of our thighs are pressed together. His groin is pushed into my lower tummy. We’re welded together. Everywhere. Stuck. Negative on positive. My heated breaths are ricocheting off his suit jacket, my eyes fixed on his stubbled throat, watching him swallow repeatedly as he holds me. It’s not Becker’s firm grip keeping us locked together. It’s something else, something powerful and unrelenting.
Something I positively hate. Because it feels like it is out of my control.
‘Curious not to,’ he finishes on a shallow breath of air, his hand sliding onto the back of my head and fisting my hair. He pulls me out of his chest and gazes down at me, face straight. His hazel eyes flit over every piece of my face, a slight frown on his lovely brow. ‘I was meant to find you, Eleanor,’ he whispers. ‘You were supposed to find me.’ He nods mildly, like he’s instructing me to do the same.
But I don’t nod, so he goes on.
‘I know I need to prove . . .’ His words fade, and I wait pensively for him to find his tongue.
It’s a few uncomfortable seconds before I realise that he isn’t going to. ‘What?’ I push.
He looks past me to the wall, evading my eyes.
‘What?’ I repeat, standing firm. ‘Prove what?’ I have to force my breathing to become steady, have to force myself not to hold my breath. The lingering silence leaves space for my mind to warp, to think of what he might say.
‘I . . .’ His mouth opens and closes, his face twisting as the visible evidence of his internal battle holds my attention. ‘I . . .’ A long inhale of air swells his chest and puts extra pressure on mine. ‘It’s . . .’ He shakes his head in frustration, mussing his hair, closing his eyes tightly behind his glasses. ‘Damn it,’ he sighs, his refined body going slack. Everything against me softens. The muscles beneath his suit seem to lose their sharp edges, his tense arms fall limply to his side, his face drops, and his eyes take on an edge of desperation. ‘I need to prove to you that I’m not the bad guy, princess. And I’ll do anything to make you see that. Anything.’
Anything? Would he lie? I don’t know, and that’s a serious problem. Every time I thought I’d figured him out, felt a fraction closer to being safe by putting my heart in this man’s hands, he proved me wrong.
‘I should have told you about my suspicions. I should have told you I thought the break-in was connected to me. You’ll never know how much I regret that, Eleanor.’
‘Do you know who did it?’
‘No,’ he answers assertively. ‘We couldn’t find a thing – no fingerprints—’
‘We?’ I recoil, and Becker bites at his bottom lip nervously.
‘Percy,’ he murmurs, blinking and looking away. ‘Percy was there, too.’
My eyes widen. The geeky tech dude? ‘Where?’
His expression takes on an edge of shame. ‘Behind your front door. He got out undetected.’
‘But why?’
‘Because he studied forensics. If there’s anything to be found, he’ll find it.’
‘So you dragged him in on your crimes, just like you dragged me into them?’
Becker laughs, and it’s all I can do not to slap him for it. ‘I dragged Percy nowhere. He works for me. Think Q.’
For a moment, I’m completely confused, but then . . . ‘As in James Bond?’
‘Yeah, except he’s more qualified.’ He shrugs. ‘I met him at university. Been friends since, although he’s somewhat of a recluse.’
Oh my days, someone wake me up. ‘And your high-tech genius forensic expert employee friend found nothing?’ I ask, and Becker shakes his head. ‘And you expect me to believe that?’ I move back. ‘Like I believed you called the police. Like I believed your pile of horseshit about opportunist thieves?’
‘What the hell did you want me to say, Eleanor? That I was worried one of my enemies had infiltrated your home?’
‘Yes! At least then I would know what I was dealing with, Becker. You can’t drag me into your corrupt fucking world without giving me the ammo I need to survive it.’ Or the ammo to survive you!
‘You don’t need to survive,’ he retorts, almost angry. He has a nerve. ‘You just need me by your side.’
‘Oh, I do? Because since I’ve had you by my side, I’ve become a fucking victim, Becker.’ My head could explode with stress, but more so with anger. I think, remembering the interest in my position from so many people who I’ve met since I started working for the Hunt Corporation. Brent, the man who grilled me at Countryscape, Alexa, Paula, various people who I’ve dealt with on the phone. The list is endless. But what on earth do any of them think they’ll find in my apartment? I’m not stupid. Everything I know is in my head, safe, and that’s where it’ll stay.
The gravity of my situation suddenly feels suffocating. How many people will try to break into my apartment in an attempt to get information? How much danger have I put myself in? Or, more to the point, how much danger has Becker put me in? And what the fucking hell do they think they’ll find lying around my home? A long-lost sculpture? ‘I am not a victim, Becker. And I won’t let you make me one.’ I barge past him and get precisely nowhere. I flinch when his hand meets my arm and whirls me around, and an electric charge materialises from nowhere and assaults my nervous system.
‘If you think I’m going to make this easy for you, Eleanor, you can think again,’ he grates. ‘I haven’t re-evaluated my entire life and purpose for nothing. I haven’t changed all my plans, just for you to walk away from me. No fucking way.’ He moves in closer, bringing his mouth uncomfortably close to mine. ‘You know in your heart that we were always meant to be,’ he whispers. ‘You know you can tackle me and everything I throw at you, and I know it too. Do not give up on us, princess. Quitting doesn’t suit you.’ Becker pulls back a fraction, searching my eyes, swallowing. ‘And if you want brutal honesty, I’m fucking lost without you. And though I can find anything in this world I put my mind to, I know I won’t find myself if you leave me.’
My backbone goes ramrod straight. My lips part. His angel eyes holding mine are devouring my resilience, eating away at my invisible layers of protection. His words are denting my resolve. Reason is being distorted by the pleading look on his face. Sensibility is being crushed by a familiar riot of relentless hope.