Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology 2)

‘Hi.’ Another reflection appears, one of a woman, and I swing around to find an immaculate blonde clad in an impeccable trouser suit. I look around, wondering where she’s come from.

‘Hello,’ I say warily. ‘Eleanor.’ I offer, taking her hand. ‘You are?’

‘Emma,’ she sings, but says no more, leaving me still wondering who she is and where she came from. Dropping my hand, she gestures around the courtyard. ‘I’ve never had the privilege. He always comes to me.’

Why is she talking in riddles? ‘You mean Becker?’

‘Who else?’ She laughs, sending her hand into the beautiful Stella McCartney handbag that’s suspended from the crook of her arm. She drags out her phone and starts tapping on the keys while I stand like a plum before her, admiring her well-turned-out form. ‘He’s just gone to check the delivery,’ she says, keeping her focus on her phone.

I’m beginning to get irritated. She’s said plenty and told me nothing, except her name. ‘What have you bought from him?’ I ask, curious. I don’t recall any mention of an Emma and I haven’t seen one in the endless client files that I’ve encountered here at The Haven.

She laughs and drops her phone back into her bag. ‘Oh, I don’t buy from Becker. He buys from me.’

I frown, just as the man himself appears from the showing room across the courtyard. He looks pleased with himself. That could change when he finds out what I’ve just endured in his office.

‘Emma.’ Becker gives her a devilish grin, and she giggles, turning her full attention onto him. Why wouldn’t she? He looks heavenly, as always, but he’s changed out of his suit and is now in a pair of grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt that accentuates every line on his chest and stomach. Is it even possible for him to ever look like a bag of shit? A shadow on his cheek catches my eye – a grey smudge. He’s been in his secret room again. What’s he up to in there?

‘Anything take your fancy?’ Emma asks, returning his devilish grin.

‘A few options.’ He stuns me when he snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me into his side. Emma, surprisingly, doesn’t bat an eyelid. She just smiles at me, like she’s privy to something secret. I cock my head and flick my eyes between the two of them, not liking her obvious discretion. ‘Invoice me for what I’ve taken.’ Becker tells her. ‘And good call, by the way.’

Emma smiles and backs towards the alleyway. ‘This way?’ she asks, pointing over her shoulder.

‘That way,’ Becker confirms. ‘Thanks, Emma.’

‘Anytime.’ She bashes her lashes and saunters off, disappearing down the alleyway.

‘Who was that?’ I ask, reaching up to wipe the smudge of dirt from his face.

His eyes follow my hand to his cheek, and he holds still until I’m done. ‘Emma.’ He takes my hand and leads me to the showing room.

‘And who’s Emma?’

‘That woman you just met.’

He’s being vague. ‘Have you . . .’ I don’t know why the hell I’m asking. I’m a glutton for punishment.

‘Yes.’ He doesn’t hesitate, astounding me.

My stomach bottoms out. Nice. I break our held hands. ‘I truly relish the thought.’ My quip sounds as sarcastic as I meant it to.

‘About as much as I relish the thought of your ex-boyfriend.’ The enhancement of the word boyfriend is piercing. And like my previous quip, meant to be. I skid to a stop, as does Becker. My face is outraged, whereas his is deadpan.

‘One man, Becker,’ I point out, holding a finger up in demonstration. ‘Just one.’ I can’t bring myself to even think of all the women who have had a piece of him. It would be pointless; I’d lose count. ‘You cannot compare.’

His jaw tightens. ‘One is one too many.’

‘Are you for real?’ I ask on a laugh.

He pushes his face to mine, stopping my amusement with the flash of fire in his eyes. ‘How many times have I told you? I am very real, princess. Would you rather I lie to you?’ He looks angry. His audacity stokes my irritation, and I draw breath, prepared to let loose on him. But a firm palm slaps over my mouth, silencing me. ‘He had your heart, Eleanor. Before you, no one has ever had mine.’

I gulp behind his hand and press my lips together, even though my chances of speaking are limited with his hand firmly wedged against my mouth.

‘So yes,’ he continues. ‘One is one too many.’

I have no come back to that. Not a jiffy. So I reach up and take his hand, slowly pulling it down. I need to get shot of this silly possessive streak. I can’t change his past, and, actually, I should be grateful that he’s being so honest with me. Even if it stings. ‘I’m sorry.’