Chapter 89: Loaded Guns

He stood there for another few seconds before getting back into his car. Maybe tonight wasn’t the night to meet Marianne’s former neighbor after all. He had finally managed to track the woman down. She could potentially give him exactly what he needed.

But showing up at some innocent woman’s home while someone might be following him?

No.

Dorian wasn’t willing to drag her into whatever the hell this was. He could reschedule. Preferably after figuring out whether the gray Audi was connected to a client or an old enemy. He started the Mercedes and turned back toward home.

As he drove, Dorian opened the security controls for the townhouse on his phone and activated the full system.

Normally, he handled that once he was inside for the night. Tonight was different. Naomi was there.

His eyes kept moving between the road and the mirrors. He continued toward the townhouse, remaining alert the entire way.

When he finally entered the street leading toward home, he didn’t immediately approach the garage.

Instead, Dorian pulled over again. He waited, watched the mirrors, checked the sidewalks. The neighborhood remained quiet.

Only then did he drive the remaining distance. The garage recognized the Mercedes and began opening before he reached it. Dorian pulled inside and waited until the door closed completely behind him.

By then, it was well past midnight. So much for his promise to Naomi. He checked the security system once more from his phone.

Everything showed secure. Only after he was satisfied did Dorian grab his things, step out of the car and head toward the elevator.

He pressed the button for his floor still pissed. First, there was the small matter of someone possibly following him through New York for reasons he couldn’t identify.

Then there was Naomi who had blown him off in the middle of a perfectly good phone call for absolutely no reason he could understand.

tonight’s theme was people behaving suspiciously. He showered first, mostly because he needed to get the tension out of his shoulders. Afterward, he changed into a pair of shorts and headed toward the safe in his bedroom.

Dorian punched in the code, opened it and retrieved one of his handguns. He checked it, then placed it securely in the bedside drawer then he headed back downstairs.

The garage was quiet when the elevator doors opened. He crossed toward the wall where the house keys and vehicle fobs were kept, retrieved the Range Rover fob and unlocked the SUV.

The lights flashed. Dorian opened the driver’s side door, leaned inside and reached into the compartment.

His fingers found the gun exactly where he remembered leaving it. He pulled it out and turned around.

Naomi was standing behind him. She was wrapped in a proper robe now. Not the transparent black lace she had sent him earlier.

This one actually served the traditional purpose of covering a person’s body rather than deliberately causing cardiac problems.

Her eyes dropped to the gun in his hand then widened. "Oh my God... what?" She stared at it. "Has that been in there this whole time?"

Dorian immediately slammed the Range Rover door shut. "Forgot to get it." He crossed toward the Mercedes, unlocked it and placed the gun inside. He could practically feel the questions building behind him.

"What do you need a gun for? Are you in some kind of trouble?" She was genuinely curious.

"You should go back to bed."

"Dorian..."

He turned around. "What?!" He yelled.

Naomi flinched. It looked instinctive. Her shoulders jerked, and she immediately took a small step backward. "I’m sorry...I’m... I’ll... I’m sorry."

Dorian’s stomach dropped. She started to turn away. "Naomi! Naomi!" He reached out and caught her arm before she could leave. "I’m sorry I yelled, okay? I’m a bit wound up."

"Because I hung up?" Naomi asked.

"You know what? That too. That too!" He dragged a hand over his face, frustration climbing all over again. "I thought we were having fun."

"Yeah, we were."

"Then what the fuck happened?"

Naomi shifted her weight, suddenly fascinated by somewhere over his shoulder. "You... you got all personal and shit."

"What?" he was genuinely confused.

Naomi looked annoyed that she had to explain it. "You called me love. I panicked."

"You panicked because I called you love? I..." Dorian frowned, searching his own memory. "I don’t even remember doing that."

"Well, I remember, okay!" Naomi threw up a hand. "You said... you said, ’I won’t survive, love.’" She made a dismissive gesture, rolling her eyes as though that somehow made the entire thing less ridiculous.

Dorian’s eyebrows lifted. "We were being silly on the phone! What did you want me to call you instead? Something along the lines of bitch, slut, cunt?" His tone turned cutting. "Would that make me a man more your speed? Because that’s not who I am."

Naomi’s eyes widened. "That’s not what I mean!"

"Then tell me what the fuck you want from me?"

She looked frustrated, cornered by a question she clearly didn’t have an answer for. "It spooked me."

"What does that even mean?"

"I thought... I assumed..." She stopped, then shook her head hard. "I shouldn’t have."

Dorian exhaled and looked away for a moment. This was ridiculous. They had discussed this already. "We already established that neither of us needs the complication," he said, looking back at her. "So why would you even take something I said in the middle of a hard-on so seriously?"

She had no answer. he had asked a very good question. Why had she taken it seriously? She looked away from him.

People called her love all the time. Customers at the restaurant did it constantly.

Thanks, love.

That was delicious, love?

There was even an old retired soldier who came into the bakery three times a week and called every woman under sixty love.

It had never meant anything. She never even thought twice about it. So why had Dorian saying it made something inside her stop?

Why had one stupid word, thrown carelessly into dirty talk suddenly felt like a warning bell? It wasn’t as though he had said I love you.

He hadn’t declared anything. He probably hadn’t even realized the word had left his mouth. And yet she had heard it.

She had felt it. Dorian saying love hadn’t sounded casual to her. It had sounded intimate. She swallowed, still not understanding it herself.

"Naomi, of all the times I need you to be quiet—and there have been quite a number of times—this isn’t one of them."