~ Cans of Worms ~

Amiir's POV

I ring the bell for the third time, my patience wearing dangerously thin. My heart hammers against my ribs—not from fear, but from need. I've driven two hours through late evening traffic to get here, to the only place in London where I can breathe without the weight of a thousand expectations crushing my chest.

Just as I lean forward to ring again, the door swings open.

Henry stands there, shirtless and beautiful in the golden lamplight spilling from inside. My breath catches despite myself. But he's blocking the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, that stern look on his face that I've come to know too well.

  "You should be at home with your wife, Blackwood." His voice is cool, controlled. "What are you doing all the way out here in the Brooks, outside your safe city?"

A small smile tugs at my lips. "I missed you too, Henry."

I know this game. He does this angry-hurt routine whenever too much time passes between visits, and every single time, it's adorable in a way that makes my chest ache. And every single time, I know exactly how to erase it.

I step forward and grab him by the waist, pulling him close. His skin is warm under my hands, familiar in a way that nothing else in my life is anymore. I kiss his forehead slowly, then his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, taking my time, letting him feel every ounce of how much I've missed this, missed him. When I finally capture his lips, I pour everything into it—all the frustration, the loneliness.

I feel his surprise at my hunger, my arousal pressing against him through my trousers. But then Henry responds with equal passion, melting into me the way he always does, and nothing else matters.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard, still standing on his doorstep like teenagers who can't wait long enough to get inside.

  "Well," Henry says, slightly breathless, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Someone's behaving like a hungry man."

  "I am," I tell him honestly. "I'm starving."

His expression softens completely then, and he pulls me inside, locking the door behind us.

--------

The warmth of Henry's flat wraps around me like a blanket. I've shed my coat, and I'm sitting on his worn leather sofa with a cup of hot chocolate warming my hands—something Lara would never think to make for me.

But Henry's sitting across the room in the armchair, keeping distance between us, and I don't like it.

  "Why are you sitting all the way over there?" I ask.

He ignores the question entirely. "Why did you drive all the way here, Amiir? Two hours in traffic when you made it very clear where you stand when you got married?"

I rub my face, exhausted. I knew this was coming. Every visit now starts with some version of this conversation, and I'm running out of ways to explain what I barely understand myself.

  "I had no choice," I say, and I hate how defensive I sound. "People were starting to dig. They were getting too close to finding out about you, about us. The marriage was the only way I could think of to protect you."

  "Protect me," Henry repeats, something bitter in his tone. "By marrying a woman you don't love and parading her around while I'm hidden away like some dirty secret?"

  "You're not—" I stop myself, take a breath. "Come here. Please."

He hesitates, but only for a moment. Who could resist? I've spent years perfecting the art of getting what I want, and with Henry, I don't even have to try that hard. He crosses the room and straddles my lap, exactly the way I like it, his weight settling against me. 

I reach into my pocket and pull out the small velvet box I've been carrying all day. When I open it, the diamond necklace inside catches the light, scattering tiny rainbows across Henry's face.

  "Amiir," he breathes, eyes wide. "This is—"

  "Three hundred thousand," I say casually, though we both know it's nothing compared to what he's worth to me. "Nothing too expensive."

  "Will you put it on me?"

I lift the delicate chain from the box and fasten it around his neck, my fingers lingering on his skin. The diamonds sit perfectly against his collarbone, marking him as mine in a way I can never do publicly.

  "Do you like it?" I ask, though I already know the answer from the way his eyes are shining.

  "I love it," he says, and his pure, unfiltered joy does something to me. 

His arms wrap around my neck, and we're kissing again, deep and hungry. Somewhere in the haze of wanting him, my shirt comes off, then his hands are on my chest, my shoulders, mapping territory they know by heart.

My phone rings.

I ignore it, too lost in the taste of him, the feel of his body against mine.

It rings again. And again.

  "Amiir," Henry murmurs against my lips. "You should get that."

  "I don't care," I say, pulling him closer.

But the phone keeps ringing, insistent and cutting through the moment.

Henry breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged. "Please. Just answer it."

I grab the phone off the coffee table, not bothering to hide my irritation. "What?"

  "It's done, Boss." Klein's voice is flat, efficient. "The deal went through. The package is ready."

My blood runs cold. "Already?"

  "You said to move fast. I moved fast."

  "Where is it now?"

  "Secure location. Waiting for your instructions."

I close my eyes. "I'll call you back." I end the call and set the phone down with hands that aren't quite steady.

  "Everything okay?" Henry's watching me with those observant eyes that see too much.

  "Fine," I lie, forcing my expression into something resembling calm. "Just work."

I pull him back down for another kiss, but my mind is already miles away, racing through possibilities and problems. Henry's lips are soft against mine, his body willing, but I can't lose myself in it anymore.

Because everything is far from okay.