Truth or Dare (Shadows of London Book 4) by Ariana Nash

Author:Ariana Nash [Nash, Ariana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crazy Ace Publishing
Published: 2022-04-21T16:00:00+00:00

19

Dom

Was there such a thing as being dangerously in love with someone? Like… being so far out of your mind infatuated that it had to be an unhealthy obsession?

I had Alex tucked against my chest, either asleep or close to it. Warm and, right now, so stupidly soft—all of his stiff, upper-class persona had melted away, leaving a man so caring, so vulnerable, a man nobody knew existed. If anyone had asked me if I’d ever feel protective over Alexander Kempthorne, I’d have laughed. But I’d dragged him back from death, and I knew the man he pretended to be was a front for the stubborn, slightly neurotic, brilliant but vulnerable man he was. I loved him. There was no use dancing around it. I kinda hoped he loved me too. Because if he didn’t, I was thoroughly fucked.

I had no idea what time it was, or which day. Too much had happened. And then last night, in the shower. I didn’t even know how to begin to describe that. He’d been wet, and raw, and desperate, but still so bloody Kempthorne, in his drenched suit—shirt clinging to his wet skin—teasing me, giving orders. Our tricks had lit us both up like fireworks in the shower. It was a miracle we hadn’t burned the building down.

I circled a finger on his shoulder and stared at the ceiling.

How could I tell him this was serious, without offering my heart to be crushed? We’d known each other for years. It shouldn’t have been this difficult to say the words. But it was. It wasn’t him holding me back, it was me. Christ, I needed Gina’s input.

I extracted myself from Alex as he dozed, threw on a T-shirt, and plodded downstairs.

Hey, G. I texted. I’m in trouble. Not the bad kind. Need advice.

It was late in the UK, early in the US. She was probably still awake.

I flicked on the TV and let it play with the volume down, then rustled up some breakfast.

My phone buzzed.

G: Wassup.

I sat and agonized over what to say for so long that Kempthorne descended the stairs, impeccable in black trousers and a dark purple rib-knit sweater. If I was expecting any morning-after softness from him, the troubled expression on his face dashed all that. “Trent messaged me.”

I rolled my eyes. “He doesn’t take a hint, does he?”

“Well no, but look…” Kempthorne slid his phone across the counter for me to see and picked up a piece of toast from my plate.

I know who your sniper is.

I arched an eyebrow. “You think he’s had more to do with all this the whole time?”

“Hm. Possibly, but not by choice. We should meet him.”

“We have to. But we say where and give him twenty minutes’ notice. I’m not making it easy for the sniper to pick us off.”

My phone, by Kempthorne’s elbow, buzzed again. He glanced down, then slid it over to me. The message on the lock screen read: G: I think I know. If you love him, you gotta go get hi— The rest was cut off.

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