CHAPTER 48

THEY WILL COME FOR YOU..

Abigail stood outside the heavy oak doors of Luke’s study, fingers curled around the brass handle. The soft tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway filled the silence, each second stretching just long enough to remind her she was late.

Not by much only three minutes but with Luke, three minutes could be a deliberate choice… or a mistake.

She pushed the door open.

The study was dim, lit only by the desk lamp and the amber glow from the fireplace. Luke sat behind the desk, jacket gone, shirt collar undone, sleeves still rolled. A glass of dark amber liquid sat at his right hand, untouched.

“Close the door,” he said, not looking up from the paper he was writing on.

She obeyed, the soft click echoing in the quiet room. “You wanted to see me?”

He looked up then, pen still in hand. His eyes swept over her like a slow, thorough inspection, lingering just long enough to make her pulse spike. “I said half an hour. You came in thirty-three minutes.”

“It’s three minutes, Luke.”

“It’s the difference between following my instructions and testing my patience.” His tone wasn’t sharp, but it carried weight like steel wrapped in silk.

Her chin lifted a fraction. “Maybe I wanted to test it.”

He set the pen down with deliberate care and leaned back in his chair. “Congratulations. You have my full attention.”

The air between them thickened. She crossed the room slowly, the faint click of her heels on the wood floor sounding far louder than it should. When she stopped in front of the desk, his gaze hadn’t wavered.

“You’ve been holding things back from me,” she said, voice steady.

“I have,” he admitted without hesitation.

Her brows drew together. “And you’re not even going to deny it?”

“No and you already know that I am.” He stood, coming around the desk until he was in front of her. “Because denial would be insulting to both of us.”

She swallowed, but didn’t move back when he stopped close too close. “Then tell me what you’re hiding.”

“Not tonight.”

Her breath caught. “Then why am I here?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Because I wanted you in my study. Alone. With the door locked.”

She felt the weight of those words in her stomach, warm and sharp all at once. “And if I say no?”

He stepped closer, his hand lifting to trace her jaw, the faint scrape of his knuckles feather-light. “Then you walk out right now. But you won’t.”

Her breath was shaky now, and she hated that he could feel it. “You sound very sure of yourself.”

“I am.” His fingers slid down her throat to the hollow at its base, lingering just long enough to feel her racing pulse. “Because you came here knowing exactly what could happen.”

Before she could fire back, he kissed her not the slow, teasing kind from earlier, but something darker, deeper, meant to erase the space between them. His hand slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him, while the other anchored in her hair.

Her fingers found the firm line of his shoulders, then the back of his neck, holding on as his mouth claimed hers with the kind of focus that made the rest of the world irrelevant.

When he finally broke the kiss, his voice was low. “Still want answers?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then you’ll earn them.”

And then he kissed her again, this time guiding her backward toward the leather sofa by the fireplace. The heat between them was immediate, a current that made it hard to tell where anger ended and want began.

Luke had always been in control, but tonight, there was something raw under the surface, something that made his touch a little rougher, his breath a little less even. And Abigail realized maybe for the first time that whatever he was hiding wasn’t just about keeping her safe.

It was about keeping himself from breaking.

Abigail’s back hit the edge of the sofa, and Luke’s body followed, caging her in without touching more than necessary. That was always the most dangerous thing about him how much control he kept even in moments like this.

He wasn’t rushed. He didn’t need to be. Every measured movement told her that he could take her apart in seconds if he chose, but he’d rather drag it out until she begged.

The fire crackled, the only other sound in the room. Shadows shifted across his face, highlighting the hard line of his jaw, the depth in his eyes.

“You still think this is about three minutes?” he asked.

“I think it’s about more than that,” she said, keeping her chin lifted.

He smirked faintly. “You’re right.”

“Then tell me.”

“Later.”

Her breath caught. “Luke”

His hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her forward so she was forced to meet the heat of his body. The sudden closeness made her words falter, but she caught herself and pressed her palms to his chest.

“Don’t do that,” she said. “Don’t shut me out with… this.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, though not with anger. “And yet you’re not walking away.”

“Because you won’t let me.”

“No,” he said softly. “Because you don’t want to.”

She opened her mouth, but the truth of it sat too heavy to deny. She hated that he was right. She hated even more that the wanting wasn’t something she could turn off.

His fingers traced up her spine, slow enough to make her shiver, before he cupped the back of her neck. “You came here for answers,” he said, voice low, “but you’ll take me instead.”

Before she could reply, his mouth covered hers again. This kiss was unhurried, deliberate a slow claiming rather than a demand. His thumb stroked the base of her skull, sending sparks down her spine as his other hand rested at her hip, holding her in place.

She leaned into him despite herself, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. When his tongue slid against hers, the rest of her protest melted into the heat of it.

By the time he broke away, her breathing was uneven. His wasn’t much steadier.

“Sit,” he ordered, guiding her down onto the leather cushions.

She obeyed, pulse hammering, as he stood over her for a moment, watching. His gaze was heavy, almost assessing, and it made her want to fidget, though she refused to look away.

Luke’s hands went to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one without hurry. She’d seen him undress before fast, impatient but this was different. This was calculated, every movement meant to draw her eyes, to make her aware of exactly what he was revealing.

When the shirt was gone, he knelt in front of her, hands sliding up her thighs over the fabric of her dress. “You’ve been holding back too,” he murmured.

“Have I?” Her voice was unsteady.

He nodded once. “You hold back your fear. You hold back your anger. And you hold back the way you want me.”

Her breath caught when his fingers brushed higher. “Maybe I don’t want to give you all of that.”

“Too late,” he said, and there was something final in his tone like a lock clicking shut.

He leaned in, his mouth at her ear. “Everything, Abigail. Or nothing.”

Her skin tingled under the heat of his words. And then his mouth found her neck, slow kisses trailing lower until his teeth grazed the curve of her shoulder.

She tilted her head back, biting her lip as his hands explored with steady pressure, pushing her dress higher inch by inch.

The fire popped in the grate, throwing more warmth into the room, but she barely noticed. Every nerve seemed tuned to the path of his fingers, the scrape of his stubble against her skin, the way he was still holding back not taking, not yet, but making her feel the weight of his restraint.

“Luke…” she whispered.

He pulled back enough to look at her, his hand resting on her thigh. “Say it.”

Her brows drew together. “Say what?”

“What you want.”

“I” She hesitated, swallowing hard. “I want you.”

That earned her a small, almost satisfied smile before he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands sliding beneath her dress until they found bare skin. The shock of cool air against her thighs made her shiver, but his touch was warm, grounding.

When his mouth left hers, it traveled lower, down her throat, across her collarbone. She let her head fall back against the sofa, fingers tangled in his hair, her breathing becoming shallow.

Luke’s pace was relentless but unhurried, every kiss and touch deliberate, building tension until she was almost squirming. He loved this making her wait, keeping her on the edge.

“Luke, please…” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

He looked up at her, eyes dark and unreadable. “Better.”

His hand moved higher, and she gasped when his thumb brushed where she was already aching for him. The sound made his mouth curve in the faintest smirk.

“You’re going to come for me,” he said quietly. “Right here. And then I’ll give you the answers you want.”

She didn’t have time to argue before his touch became more insistent, his mouth reclaiming hers in a kiss that stole her breath. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips shifting involuntarily against his hand.

The pressure built quickly, faster than she expected, and when it broke, it did so in a rush that left her clinging to him, her pulse racing.

Luke didn’t move away. He kissed her slow and deep, his hand still holding her firmly as the aftershocks faded.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was low. “Now you’re ready to listen.”

Her pulse was still uneven, but she met his gaze. “Then tell me.”

He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. “There are people who would rather see me dead than see me with you.”

She froze, the words sinking in.

“And if they can’t get to me,” he continued, “they’ll come for you.”

She swallowed hard. “That’s what you’ve been hiding?”

“It’s part of it.” His thumb stroked her jaw. “And until I know who’s pulling the strings, you don’t get to walk into danger just because you feel like it.”

Her eyes stung, though she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or frustration. “You should have told me sooner.”

“I’m telling you now.”

And then, before she could reply, he kissed her again this time not to distract her, but to anchor her, to make her understand that whatever storm was coming, he intended to keep her in the center of his world, no matter what it cost.