Chapter 6 - Private Quarters
The heavy oak door of Suite 402 shut behind us with a definitive, mechanical click.
The moment the lock engaged, Larkin turned on me. He grabbed my wrist—firmly, but without hurting me—and spun me around against the closed door, trapping me between the solid wood and his towering frame.
His breathing was ragged. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that had nothing to do with ledgers or port permits.
"What the hell are you doing, Clara?" he demanded, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper.
"I’m saving your empire, Mr. Steves," I said, tilting my chin up, refusing to shrink against the door. "You brought me here to be a scapegoat. Don't deny it."
Larkin flinched slightly. The mask of the untouchable crime boss slipped, just for a second.
"Thomas told me you were leaking numbers to the feds," Larkin admitted, the words ripping out of his chest like jagged glass. "He set up this entire charade. He convinced me to bring you here, let the room chew you up, and see if you ran to your federal handlers. He said your fear would prove your guilt."
A bitter, dry laugh escaped my lips. "And you believed him? After three years of me cleaning up your bloodstained trails and balancing books that would give the IRS a collective heart attack?"
"I didn't believe him!" Larkin snarled softly, his face inches from mine. "That's why I agreed! I wanted to prove him wrong! I thought you'd freeze, I'd step in, clear your name, and send Thomas packing. I didn't expect..." His gaze dropped to my mouth, then swept down the black silk framing my waist, "...I didn't expect you to walk in looking like an empress ready to execute half my board."
"I am not your victim, Larkin," I whispered, dropping the formal honorific for the first time. "And I never was."
His hand moved from my wrist up to my jaw, his thumb tracing the sharp contour of my cheekbone. His touch was scorching hot.
"Who are you, Clara?" he murmured, his voice laced with awe and dangerous fascination. "No ordinary secretary has escrow templates for Zurich banks memorized. No ordinary accountant stares down Don Salvatore Rossi without breaking a sweat."
"I told you," I whispered back, my heart pounding violently against my ribs as his chest pressed closer. "I'm the woman who keeps you alive. Now let me do my job before Rossi decides thirty minutes is too long."
Larkin stared at me for another agonizing beat, his thumb pressing lightly against my lower lip, parting it slightly. The tension in the room was suffocating, crackling with pure, unadulterated desire and lethality.
Then, he stepped back, running a hand through his dark hair, exhaling sharply.
May you like
"The terminal is on the desk," he said, turning away to hide the tremor in his hands. "Show me what you've got."
***
