Yes, that’s right. Lander’s mother died of cancer while his father was in the middle of divorcing her. Lander didn’t even bother to come back to see her until it was time for the funeral. And as soon as he graduated, he tucked himself neatly into his father’s organization and took a position at HGVB. They were side by side on the golf course in no time. As far as I can tell, Lander has never even bothered to visit his mother’s grave. He just sucked up to the rich parent, the one with the prestigious name and ability to dispense trust funds. That’s the kind of man Lander is—no matter what my body is trying to tell me now.

My mind falls back to the night before, the way Lander kissed my neck, pulled me against him, the way he entered me slowly, gently, only increasing in intensity once he was sure that my eyes were on his, after he felt secure in our connection. No one had ever looked at me like that. No one had ever managed that balance between gentleness, power, and passion before.

But it was an illusion. Nothing gentle lasts long in this world.

Perhaps Nick was gentle when he kissed my mother, for all the good it did them.

Again my mind travels back . . . back to that bed, back to the trail of kisses that had moved from my breast, to my stomach, down, lower, between my legs, the warmth of his tongue as he toyed with me, the sound of his voice when he raised himself back up, tugged gently on my hair, and whispered my name:

“Bellona, such a beautiful warrior.”

“I’m sorry, Lander,” I say as I open the top drawer of my desk and lightly caress the gun that I’ve hidden there. “But even beautiful warriors are killers.”

chapter nine

The dress I picked for the interview was based on Travis’s 1980s “Addicted to Love” aesthetic tastes. There’s nothing more pathetic than people who think “retro” and “modern” are interchangeable fashion concepts.

But that look isn’t for Lander. For him, I put on a pair of skinny jeans, a white tee that’s just fitted enough with a cropped secondhand brown leather jacket and a few long silver chains I picked up at the Hell’s Kitchen Flea Market.

Funny, but the clothes I know will impress Lander are the clothes I actually like to wear.

A tiny voice in my head tells me to be wary of that, that any commonality with the enemy is a warning sign, not a convenience.