Intercepted (New Hope #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

He should look as horrible as I feel. No, he should feel as horrible as I do.

Instead, he's wearing a slate grey three-piece suit, as well as shiny Italian loafers and a gold Rolex. His honey-streaked hair is styled away from his face, but he hasn't shaved in a few days, which adds to the ruggedness of his jawline. His features soften when he sees me, his chocolate eyes melting with relief.

"Baby." He sighs, holding his hand toward me, palm facing up.

I brush past him, knocking his arm aside. "Where are they?"

"They're sleeping upstairs," he answers immediately, his voice trying to soothe, but failing. "Second door on the right."

It's impossible to ignore the cold, hard beauty of his living space. I make my way up the stairs, noting the panoramic views of Downtown Dallas, the setting sun painting the sky a cotton-candy pink with creamy orange swirls. Beams of light pierce the floor-to-ceiling windows, adding warmth to the leather sofas. Impersonal modern art adorns the walls, and recessed lighting lines the vaulted ceilings.

He has not one but four terraces, equipped with outdoor seating areas, a barbeque, and an infinity pool. The water spills over the side of the building, like if you just kept swimming, you'd eventually fly through the air.

I hate how empty it feels. Our home is far superior, with its wood-burning fireplaces, too-full calendar stuck to the fridge, muddy boots on the shoe rack, and family photos perpetually askew on the walls. Our home smells like Christmas cookies and sleepy mornings. This place doesn't smell at all, apart from the faint citrus aroma, which I'm sure came out of a housekeeper's spray bottle.

Pausing in front of the second door to the right, I peek my head into the crisp, generic guest bedroom. When I spot the twins on a giant mattress, arms and limbs draped around each other, tears spring to my eyes. I'd planned on giving them an earful for running away, but my anger immediately subsides, replaced with a tsunami of relief that makes my tired legs wobble.

Aidan is curled into his twin sister, his giant, protective embrace locked around her little frame. They're both sleeping soundly, inhaling deeply. Grace's long eyelashes flutter amidst a sweet dream. I rest against the doorjamb for a moment, shaking with ebbing adrenaline.

After dropping Blake at my parents, I emailed Dean Clark and notified him that the twins may miss the next few days of school due to a family emergency. He replied while I was boarding the plane, spewing bullshit about them already having been suspended and how they shouldn't be absent for any more of their education.

What matters most is that my babies are safe. I just have to get the three of us back to New Hope, but that'll have to wait. Like me, they probably didn't sleep on their flight, meaning we've collectively slept less than sixty minutes in the last day and a half.

Feeling woozy, I descend the stairs, hand on the iron railing. Mason is waiting in one of the living rooms—why does he need more than one?—when I reach the main floor. He unbuttons his suit jacket as he takes a seat on a sofa, gesturing with his long fingers at a steamy cup of coffee on the table.

My feet propel me toward him, but I sit on an armchair in the corner of the room, clasping my hands between my legs. I make no move to accept his offer of caffeine, although I'm in desperate need. Either that, or I'd gladly sleep for a week.

I clear my throat, eyes dancing around the giant room. "Nice place."

Mason doesn't speak. He merely leans back, one ankle draped over his knee, his inquisitive gaze flitting across my face. I grit my teeth, his silence louder than any words in his vocabulary.