Love the Way You Kiss Me (Love The Way Duet 1)

Ella sleeps peacefully in her room.

There’s no other movement in the house. Damon won’t be here for several hours.

Which gives me plenty of time for more research. No matter what I said to Damon, I won’t be reading that file. Especially not now when I promised her I wouldn’t. The drinking … however, is something I had already noticed from the videos the other night. There might be evidence of a substance abuse problem. It wouldn’t be shocking. She wouldn’t be the first person in the world to self-medicate.

The initial search turns up nothing. Not even a hint. Nothing indicating the existence of any sealed files.

Searching takes up most of the space in my mind. I don’t take my mind off of Ella completely—that would be reckless, and a dereliction of duty. But I do allow myself a calm focus on the search. I ignore my aching cock and my pounding heart and keep typing different phrases and terms, all of them paired with Ella’s name.

When nothing comes, I research my options with her. The therapy I once had and the steps I took back then compared to what’s available to me now.

All the while, she sleeps. If she dreams, I hope it’s of me.

“Morning.”

I curse under my breath but manage not to reach for the laptop. “Make a little noise coming in, would you?” I look up into Damon’s face, intending to make this a joke.

His usual smile is gone. His expression is dead serious, and his dark eyes travel over me on the couch and my laptop sitting in front of me. “Everything go all right last night?”

“Yes.” Now I do reach for the computer and close the top with as much casual indifference as I can muster. “Ella’s still sleeping. She slept most of the night after we had a brief conversation. I don’t have any other notes.”

“You sure it went all right?” Damon’s brow furrows a little. He doesn’t hide the suspicion in his gaze.

For a moment, I think of telling him. I could open my mouth and do it right now. I could say I was supposed to be giving her emotional support, and I didn’t cross any lines. Except in my own goddamn head.

Damon, of all people, would understand. Hell, he’s even kept secrets for me in the past. But telling anyone is a risk I’m not willing to take.

“I’m sure,” I tell him. “It was an uneventful night.”

Ella

Any and all crucial information pertaining to the state of the client must be provided without hesitation to all partners of The Firm by the client or custodial guardian. It is critical that any source of threat or trigger is identified so as to establish a safe space for the client.

It feels as if I’ve slept more last night than I have in a year. And I didn’t take a pretty little blue pill to ensure those hours of sleep. It’s the afternoon by the time I finally wake. Although I do so with a migraine that pounds at my temples. It happens sometimes, after a hard night of crying. Yet another reason I despise tears.

Shuffling to the bathroom, I take my time taking two Advil, washing my face, brushing my teeth, combing my hair. All the while last night plays back in my mind as if it were a dream.

It’s not until I step out of the bathroom and find my robe folded in half that I register not remembering coming to bed. The image of Zander, laying me down in bed, ignites far too much heat for what it was.

The racing of my heart is also unjustified, since I know it will be Damon downstairs waiting for me, not the man I dreamed about last night.

“What are these?” My brow pinches as my black ballerina house slippers tap on the porcelain floor. Three notebooks lay at my spot at the kitchen island. Damon is always on the left side with me at the right when I start my day. We’ve developed a sort of routine. And at my spot, piled on top of one another, are three thick binders and a cup filled with colored pens and highlighters. Inhaling a steadying breath, I peer across the island and dare him to tell me he expects me to start coloring my doodles.

Damon’s attire is business casual, which is at complete odds with the silk camisole and matching tap pants I slipped on. The only commonality is that we’re both wearing black. It’s a suitable color as I mourn the state of my headache.

It would be almost comical to compare the two of us. This man exudes strength. I think he could make the cheapest of clothes look expensive. There’s even a hint of danger in his deep brown eyes, and a charming smile. The cadence of his voice is far too soothing for a man who could do so much damage.