Chapter 5
Ranger
Holy fuck. I can’t believe I’m standing so close to her, feeling the soft, tentative brush of her hand as it roams over me. Her touch is light, almost hesitant, but it sets my body on fire, igniting something I can’t control. My heart hammers wildly in my chest, like a caged beast threatening to break free.
She blinks up at me with those big, innocent eyes, her lips parted slightly as if she’s about to say something but can’t quite find the words. Her hand moves higher, grazing over my biceps, then my chest, and my breath catches. I’ve been touched before—plenty of times—but not like this. Never like this.
“Are you intimidated by big things?” The question tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it, my voice rougher than I intended.
I can’t believe I’m asking her this. It’s reckless, crossing a line I swore I wouldn’t cross. But to hell with it. The moment I saw her picture, I knew she’d be trouble for me. The kind of trouble you don’t walk away from.
It’s not just physical. Sure, her beauty is enough to bring a man to his knees, but it’s more than that. She’s got this quiet brilliance about her, this way of looking at the world that’s so different from anyone I’ve ever known. It draws me in, makes me want to know more, to see everything through her eyes.
She’s not like other women I’ve known in the past. She’s not about shallow conversations or fleeting connections. She’s deep, real, and utterly fascinating—a lethal combination.
But it’s not just admiration. Just being around her makes me feel different. Grounded and electrified all at once. I know, without a doubt, that I could make something with this woman. Something real. Something lasting. If she’d let me. If she could see what I see.
Her hand pauses on my chest, and I feel her swallow, her throat working as she struggles to find her voice.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her hand pulls away, and the loss of her touch feels like a blow. “I shouldn’t be touching you,” she whispers, ignoring my question.
“I’m enjoying it,” I say, my voice low, steady. I don’t even think about the words—they just come out, raw and honest.
Her eyes widen slightly, and she stares at me like she’s not sure if she heard me right. “You are?”
I nod, stepping just a fraction closer, my hand lifting as if it has a mind of its own. I hesitate for a moment, then gently place it over hers, pressing her palm back against my chest. “Yeah, I am.”
She looks down at where our hands meet, her fingers trembling slightly beneath mine. “I don’t… I don’t know why I did that,” she says, her voice shaky but genuine.
“I do,” I say softly, tilting her chin up with my free hand so she’s looking at me again. Her breath catches, and I swear I can feel the electricity sparking in the space between us. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
Her lips part, and for a second, I think she might say yes. But instead, she looks away, her lashes fluttering as if she’s trying to hide. “I don’t know,” she whispers.
I let out a low chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. Just frustration, longing, and a burning desire to make her see what’s so damn clear to me. “I think you do.”
Her gaze snaps back to mine, and for the briefest moment, the world around us seems to fade away. It’s just her and me, standing so close I can feel the heat radiating off her skin.
If she’d never stop touching me like this, I’d spend the rest of my life making her happy. Hell, I’d devote myself to her, body and soul. All she has to do is let me in.
I raise my hand, the roughness of my fingertips grazing her soft skin as I trace a slow line down the frame of her face. My finger pauses just beneath her chin, tilting it up slightly so her wide, trusting eyes meet mine. The setting feels like something out of a dream—the sun dipping low in a sky painted with hues of pink and gold, the waves lapping gently in the distance. The soft sea breeze carries the scent of salt and possibility. It makes me braver than I should be.
My pulse thunders as I lean in, my eyes dropping to her ruby-red lips. They’re parted slightly, tempting me, daring me.
She closes her eyes, her breath hitching, and I know I’ve crossed the point of no return.
I move in all the way, capturing her mouth with mine. The moment our lips touch, it’s like a dam breaking. She responds instantly, her kiss needy, almost desperate, as though she’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have. Her hands fly up around my neck, pulling me closer, and I wrap my arms tightly around her waist, anchoring her to me.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding along hers, and everything else fades away—the sound of the waves, the cool breeze, even the sand beneath our feet. It’s just her, her warmth, her taste, her everything .
A growl rumbles deep within my chest, raw and primal, as she melts into me. Her fingers thread through my hair, and it’s like she’s cast some kind of spell over me, her touch igniting sensations I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.
Electric shocks shoot down my spine, and I tighten my hold on her, pressing her against me. My body reacts instinctively—heat pooling low, my dick throbbing to life as she molds herself to me.
My hands slide down to her backside, my palms pressing firmly against the curves of her ass. Fuck, she feels so good. The soft warmth of her body under my touch, the way she gasps softly into my mouth—it’s enough to drive me insane.
Reluctantly, I break the kiss, needing to catch my breath. My forehead rests against hers for a moment as we both try to steady ourselves, the air between us charged and heavy. Her blue eyes meet mine, wide and filled with something I can’t quite put into words—vulnerability, desire, maybe even trust.
“Do you kiss all the women you protect?” she whispers, her voice shaky but teasing, her lips still slightly swollen from the kiss.
I let out a low chuckle, my hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “No,” I murmur, my voice rough with emotion. “Just the one who’s worth breaking every damn rule for.”
Her cheeks flush, and a soft smile tugs at her lips, but there’s still a hint of uncertainty in her gaze, like she’s waiting for me to take this back, to retreat.
I don’t.
Instead, I tighten my hold on her, my thumb gently brushing against the curve of her jaw. “You don’t know what you’ve done to me, Tory,” I say, my voice low and serious. “I told myself I wouldn’t cross this line, but you… you make it impossible not to.”
Her lips part slightly, but no words come out. She just stares at me, and I swear I can see the exact moment her walls start to crack.
“Tell me to stop,” I say softly, searching her eyes. “If this is too much, if you don’t want this, tell me now, and I’ll walk away.”
But she doesn’t say a word. Instead, her hands tighten around my neck, pulling me closer, her eyes shining with a mix of determination and something deeper.
“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispers, and the words hit me like a punch to the chest.
I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring every second, every taste. Whatever comes next, I know one thing for certain—I’m never letting her go.
But reality comes crashing back in. I shouldn’t be doing this.
Fuck. I step away and run my fingers through my hair. “No, we can’t...” I broke the one major rule I have for protecting someone. Never mix business and pleasure.
I couldn’t help myself, but still. I should have drawn a stronger line. One with more definition and boundaries.
I shouldn’t have touched her.
It was just too hard to resist.
“We should probably head back,” she says, moving away from me and back toward the house.
“Tory, wait,” I call after her. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I never let that happen with the people I’m protecting. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says with a small smile. “We’ll just pretend it never happened.”
Oh, but it happened. It fucking happened. And there’s no way I can pretend it didn’t, no matter how hard I try.
I grab The Hound of The Baskervilles from the coffee table, my favorite Sherlock Holmes book, and settle into the armchair across from her. I find my place from earlier and let the familiar, suspenseful prose pull me back in.
The room is quiet except for the occasional clink of her tools against metal and the soft rustling of the pages as I turn them. It’s a peaceful kind of silence, the kind that feels natural, not forced. I like this between us—her working on the sofa, me reading in the chair. It’s a glimpse of what a future could look like with her, and the thought surprises me.
But I like it.
I really like it.
I catch myself glancing at her more often than I should, watching the way her brow furrows in concentration, the way she tilts her head slightly as she examines her work. The way the light catches in her hair and makes it shine like gold.
I set my book down on the small end table beside me, the story suddenly unable to hold my attention. My thoughts are too focused on her, on us, and on the quiet comfort of this moment.
I lean forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees as I decide to ask her something that’s been nagging at me. “What is your father discussing that people wouldn’t like?”
Tory sets her jewelry tools and the piece she’s working on down carefully, turning to face me. “Ways to use modern technology to feed people,” she says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“What’s so bad about that?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She sighs, her shoulders rising and falling with the motion. “People usually fear what they don’t understand.”
No truer words have been spoken. I nod, letting that sink in. “I guess that makes sense.”
“They feel it will make the food harmful,” she continues, her voice tinged with frustration, “but if they’d just listen to my father, they’d see he naturally synthesized plant reproduction.”
“That sounds complicated,” I say, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“It is,” she admits with a faint laugh. “But it’s also brilliant because it would mean more food at a quicker pace. We could feed a lot of starving people in the world.”
The passion in her voice is unmistakable, and it makes me smile. She’s not just brilliant; she cares deeply. About people. About the world. It’s rare, and it makes her even more incredible in my eyes. “I hope so,” I say honestly, and I mean it.
For a moment, she studies me, her gaze searching my face as if trying to figure something out. Finally, she asks, “What about you? What’s your family like?”
The question catches me off guard. I wasn’t expecting her to turn the conversation to me, and for a second, I’m not sure how to respond.
I lean back in the chair, my hands resting on my thighs as I think about how much—or how little—to say. “It’s just me and my sister now,” I start, keeping my voice even. “Our parents passed away when we were younger.”
Her face softens, her blue eyes filling with a quiet sympathy that makes my chest tighten. “I’m sorry,” she says softly.
“It was a long time ago,” I reply, brushing it off like I always do. “My sister and I looked out for each other, though. I try to see her when I can.”
“That must be nice,” she says, and there’s something wistful in her tone.
“It is,” I admit. “But my job keeps me busy, so it doesn’t happen as often as I’d like.”
She nods, her fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the chain of her necklace. “I can’t imagine what it’s like, having siblings. It’s just me and my dad. He’s always been so protective, which I appreciate, but…” She trails off, her eyes flicking to the floor.
“But sometimes it feels like too much,” I finish for her, and her head snaps up, her eyes wide.
“Exactly,” she says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s like you’re reading my mind.”
I chuckle softly. “Maybe I am.”
The tension in the room shifts, softening into something warmer, something deeper. For the first time, it feels like we’re not just two people thrown together by circumstance but like we’re truly getting to know each other.
And I realize, sitting here with her in this quiet moment, that I don’t want this to end. I don’t want her to leave once the job is done.
I want more moments like this. With her.