Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“I will,” I say, quiet but resolute. “That’s my job.”
“Good. Well, thanks, Lincoln.” Dean hesitates. “I owe you, big time.”
A surge of guilt hits me like a punch to the gut. He has no idea what’s really happening—or that I’ve helped his sister walk straight into more danger by hunting down her potential attacker. But it’s the only way to stop whoever’s threatening her, and I’ll be damned if I stand by doing nothing. “You don’t owe me anything,” I murmur. “Just doing what you hired me to do.”
We exchange goodbyes, and I end the call, staring down at my phone for a long moment. My reflection in the dark screen looks tired, haunted by secrets. I toss it onto the bed, then sink into the chair near the corner, elbows on my knees.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
She’s in danger—there’s no question about that. If we manage to lure Rolfe out, corner him, we might get answers about the threats. But the deeper I get, the more I realize that it’s not just her life at stake. My own sense of control is unraveling. I keep replaying images of her from the club: the way her lips parted when she laughed, the arch of her back against my chest as we danced. It’s like every boundary I’ve carefully set for myself is crumbling.
And now we’re married—pretend married, anyway. That’s going to complicate an already complicated situation. I draw in a long breath, then exhale slowly. I need a plan—a real one, not just reacting to each new twist. But right now, my brain is so wired from the evening’s events that I can’t think straight.
I lean back, closing my eyes, trying to slow my racing thoughts.
Knock, Knock.
A soft knock on my door jolts me upright. My heart thumps. Isabel. For a moment, I consider ignoring it, not sure I have the mental fortitude for whatever tension might unfold if we talk face to face. But my sense of duty—or maybe curiosity—wins out. I push myself to my feet, crossing the room in a few strides to open the door.
She stands there in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts, hair brushed out so it falls around her shoulders in a loose wave. The makeup she wore is mostly washed off, leaving her face softer, more vulnerable. Yet she’s still breathtaking, especially with a faint flush coloring her cheeks. Probably from scrubbing off all that club glitter.
“Hey,” she says quietly, glancing up at me. “Everything okay?”
I lean against the doorframe, trying to project calm when I’m anything but. “Fine. Dean just called.”
She winces a little. “He worried?”
“Yeah,” I admit, stepping aside. “You wanna come in?”
She hesitates for a moment, then slips past me, her bare feet making no sound on the carpet. I catch a trace of her usual scent—something subtle, like vanilla—and it tugs at a corner of my heart. Shutting the door, I turn to see her standing in the center of the room, gazing at the neat bed and the single chair.
“So,” she says, lifting her gaze to meet mine. “You tell him what we did tonight?”
I shake my head, slipping my hands into my pockets. “No way. He’d lose it. I just said we’ve been lying low. Didn’t want him interfering before we get the real story on whoever’s behind these threats.”
She nods, lips pressing into a thoughtful line. “Makes sense. Dean’s always been… overprotective. It’s why he hired you in the first place.” A wry smile lifts one corner of her mouth. “But, you’re lying to him for me now. That’s new.”
My chest tightens. “I don’t like lying to him,” I say carefully, “but yeah. If it keeps you safe, I’ll do it.”
She looks away, tension in her shoulders. “I never asked you to lie for me.”
I close the distance between us, stopping just a foot or two away. “You didn’t have to. We’re in this together, remember?”
Her gaze snaps back to mine, and the crackle of awareness flares between us. I can almost hear the unspoken question: Are we really in this together, or am I just doing my job? My pulse quickens. For a moment, I consider telling her exactly how I feel—how I’ve fought these emotions for months, maybe longer, but they only intensified once I was assigned to protect her. But that would be a mistake. I can’t risk letting my personal feelings compromise the mission.
She exhales, rubbing her arms as though cold. “It’s been a long night. I just… couldn’t sleep without making sure you were okay.”
Something about the concern in her eyes undoes me. She’s worried about me, the man who’s supposed to be looking after her. “I’m fine,” I say softly. “A little wound up, maybe, but fine.”
She gives a quiet laugh. “Wound up is an understatement. I still feel like I’m vibrating from that club. I’ve never been anywhere like that before.” Her cheeks pinken. “It was surprisingly fun, and different.”