He puts the phone to his chest to muffle the sounds, “Sapphire—
“Now!”
He rolls onto his back, and immediately, I spring up and start to gather my clothes. I pull on my pants, stuff my wet panties into the back pocket then snap on my bra.
But what happens next shocks me. Whatever Zade heard on the phone wasn’t good. He disconnects the call, swears colorfully in Italian, and then swipes his T-shirt from the floor, pulling it on in one smooth move.
Then Zade pins me with cold, assessing eyes. “Who is Cade Quinn?”
Aw s**t. It suddenly feels like a bucket of ice has been dumped right on my head.
I swallow the lump in my throat, my mind swinging from boiling rage two seconds ago to chilling fear now.
“Cade’s like my big brother, Zade,” I explain. “We grew up together. His father was club
