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 nod, forcing a half-smile. “Yeah, it was.”
Her gaze drops to my chest, where the top few buttons of my dress shirt remain undone, exposing a bit of skin. She swallows. “And dancing with you…”
I hold my breath, not sure if I can handle whatever she’s about to say. My mind replays the scene in strobe-lit flashes: her body aligned with mine, the hot press of her curves, the sound of her gasp when I trailed my hand up her thigh. Every muscle in my body tenses with the memory.
Finally, she looks up, eyes shining with vulnerability. “I guess it just felt real for a minute. Like we were actually—”
“Don’t,” I cut in gently, stepping back half a pace. If she finishes that sentence, I might do something I can’t take back. “It was part of the cover, right?” The words taste bitter, even as I say them.
Her expression falters. “Right. Part of the cover.” She forces a short laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. “That’s all.”
We stand in loaded silence, the unspoken tension swirling between us. I can see the flicker of disappointment on her face, and it kills me more than I care to admit. I want to bridge that distance, cup her cheek, tell her it wasn’t just an act for me. But that’s not fair—to her, to Dean, or to the mission.
I clear my throat. “We should probably get some rest. Tomorrow we can figure out our next move. Maybe reach out to Devereaux again, or wait for him to contact us.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, voice soft. “Sleep sounds good.” She hesitates, then turns toward the door. Before she leaves, she glances over her shoulder. “Night, Lincoln.”
“Night,” I echo, my voice husky with everything I’m not saying.
When the door clicks shut behind her, I stand there, staring at the worn wood grain, a thousand conflicting emotions tearing me apart. If it were anyone else—any other case—I wouldn’t let it get this personal. But Isabel isn’t just anyone. She’s strong, clever, and heartbreakingly beautiful in a way that breaks down all my defenses. And because of that, I’m lying to Dean, risking my career, and flirting with the possibility of something that could blow up in both our faces.
I rake a hand through my hair and let out a shaky breath. The tension in my body is coiled, like a tight spring ready to snap. Part of me is tempted to knock on her door, start a conversation we can’t finish. But I know better. If we cross that line, there’s no going back. And I still have a job to do—protect her at all costs, figure out who’s threatening her, and stop them before it’s too late.
I flip off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. My eyes adjust slowly, the shadows of the furniture turning to muted silhouettes. I kick off my shoes and peel away the rest of my clothes, muscles aching from the tension of the night. The sheets are cool when I slip between them, and I stare at the ceiling, trying to force my mind to slow down.
But I can’t stop thinking about how she pressed against me at the club, how she looked up at me with those wide, gray eyes. I can’t stop replaying the way she said my name—like she meant more than just “Lincoln, the bodyguard.” I shift, shutting my eyes tight. No, I can’t go there. Not when there’s so much at stake.
For a long time, I lie awake, listening to the hush of the air conditioning kicking on and off, the faint creaks of an old house settling in the night. It’s almost worse than the pounding music at Club Greed—at least there, the noise distracted me. Here, in the silent dark, I have no choice but to face the truth. I’m in deeper than I should be, and we still don’t have concrete answers about who’s after Isabel.
Eventually, exhaustion tugs me under, my mind drifting in a restless haze of neon lights, the swirl of her dress, and the taste of whiskey on my tongue. And just before I slip into real sleep, the final, traitorous thought that filters through is how right it felt, holding her in my arms, even if it was just pretend.
Chapter 10
Isabel
I wake up to the gray light of dawn, though calling it “waking up” might be a stretch. It’s more like I give up on any hope of rest and finally roll out of bed. My body aches from tossing and turning all night, and I can’t shake the vivid images of Lincoln that invaded every fitful dream. It’s frustrating. Part of me wants to blame him for my insomnia, but the truth is I can’t blame anyone. Not when the real problem is that I can’t stop thinking about the way he held me at that club, the look in his eyes when we danced, and the possibility that all of it might’ve felt too real.