Chapter 22
My fingers close around Rowan’s wrist, stopping him before my jeans come open.
His skin burns my palm, pulse hammering beneath my fingertips.
We hover inches apart, rapid, shallow breaths feeding on each other.
I’m flushed with want, aching for his touch, but for once, my mind breaks through the fog of desire.
“We can’t keep doing this.” The words scrape my throat, raw and painful, but necessary.
Rowan’s body stills, his weight balanced on his forearms, caging me in place. His pupils are blown, the amber of his irises reduced to thin rings of fire.
A muscle jumps in his jaw as he processes my words. “Doing what?”
“This.” I push against his chest, creating space without force. “I can’t let sex be the reset button. I can’t let my body make decisions my head hasn’t agreed to.”
His breath catches, nostrils flaring as he inhales our combined arousal, hanging thick in the air as a reminder of what we’re both denying. His fingers flex at my waist, torn over whether to drag me closer or release me.
“It’s not just sex.” The words rumble from his chest.
“I know.” My thumb traces the ridge of his wrist where his pulse thunders. “That’s why we can’t use it to avoid talking.”
I slide off the bar, my feet finding the floor. Rowan stays still while I straighten my clothes, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, unsure where to put them now. The loss of contact leaves my skin cold, but I welcome the chill as clarity.
“Okay, let’s talk.” He steps back, the flush of desire still coloring his cheeks, but his amber eyes clear as he regains control. “Say what you need to say.”
My belt buckle clinks as I refasten it, the sound loud in the quiet room, while fallen napkins slip beneath my shoes.
“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me,” I say, trying to convey everything he took from me. “Not personally. Not professionally. Not without consulting me.”
Rowan releases a slow breath, as if he’s trying to keep himself contained. “I canceled one job. One. Because you were coming out of a Heat and struggling to stand.”
“That’s not the point, so stop pretending you don’t understand.” I dig my back into the edge of the bar, the pressure reminding me to stay calm. “You made a decision about my work based on our private relationship.”
His jaw flexes. “I made a decision because I could see you pushing past your limits.”
“You didn’t ask me, though,” I say, forcing the reality of what he did out into the open. “You didn’t consult me. You didn’t treat me like a professional partner. You treated me like someone fragile you needed to manage.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s accurate.” I take a step closer, forcing him to meet me on equal ground instead of looming over me. “What happens in your bed does not give you authority over my career. My body is mine. My work is mine. Those lines do not blur just because we sleep together.”
Rowan’s shoulders tighten, tension radiating through him. “You were suffering.”
“No, I was trusting you enough to allow myself to be spoiled for once in my life, and you took that moment of vulnerability as proof I wasn’t capable of doing my job.” My gut clenches as I force the words out. “How am I supposed to let my guard down when we’re together if you use it against me?”
Silence stretches.
“If you can’t keep those boundaries,” I say, laying the truth down and refusing to soften it, “we don’t work. Not as partners. Not as anything.”
His hands clench. “I was protecting you.”
“From what? From taking risks? From my own judgment?” Afternoon light spills through the darkened windows, long shadows crawling across the floor as dust motes hang suspended in the sunlit air.
“I survived on my own long before you came into my life. I don’t need your protection. I need your respect.”
“I do respect you.” Rowan’s hands open in a gesture that’s almost supplication. “That’s not what this was about.”
“Then what was it about?” I push off from the bar, standing on my own power. “Tell me why you canceled the job without consulting me. Without telling me until I found out myself.”
His tongue drags across his lower lip before he speaks, choosing each word with care. “This isn’t only about us. You keep framing it as me crossing a personal boundary. I’m telling you I made a professional call.”
My chin lifts. “A professional call based on personal information.”
“A professional call based on performance.” There’s no defensiveness, only certainty. “You weren’t operating at full capacity. I would have pulled anyone else on my crew for the same reason.”
I stiffen. “So I’m just another employee now?”
“You can’t have it both ways, Ash.” Rowan shakes his head in frustration. “Either I make decisions based on business, or I blur the line.”
My mouth opens, but he doesn’t give me a chance to break in. “Both versions end the same, though. I’m responsible for my crew, and that responsibility doesn’t disappear because you’re sharing my bed.”
“That responsibility doesn’t erase my autonomy, either.”
“I didn’t erase it.” He takes a breath to force himself to stay calm. “You’re free to walk away from any job you want. But when you’re working under me, I make final calls when someone isn’t in peak condition.”
Silence stretches, heavy and charged.
“I need a partner,” I say, quieter now but no less firm. “Not someone who decides when I’m capable.”
“And I need you to understand that being your partner doesn’t mean I stop being in charge of the crew.” Rowan never wavers. “If Orien showed up compromised, I’d pull him. If Ghost tried to work sick, I’d send him home. This wasn’t only about you.”
“It felt like it.”
“Intent and impact aren’t always the same thing, precious.” The admission is rough, almost reluctant. “I’m sorry that canceling the job made it look like I was abusing your vulnerability. But I’m not sorry I canceled it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
His resolve hangs in the air.
“And I wouldn’t debate that call,” he adds softly. “Because when it comes to operational risk, that decision sits with me.”
Pain twists in my gut. “What if I’m not okay with that?”
Softness flickers beneath the steel of Rowan’s expression. “Then you don’t take those jobs under my command.”
A band tightens around my chest.
“You can take contracts elsewhere. You can run your own jobs. I won’t stop you.” His shoulders tense. “But when you step onto a job under my control, you accept that I’m responsible for the outcome. For everyone.”
The finality of the words cuts deeper than anger ever could.
This is the moment when I have to decide how deep I want to entrench myself in Rowan’s life.
I could still have him, still be in his bed, while taking contracts where I want and answer to no one.
He’s offering me the choice. But it would mean cutting myself out of part of his life.
There would always be pieces of him out of my reach, and I can’t be with him and live without having all of him.
Rowan lets out a long sigh and walks behind the bar, as if he needs the physical barrier. “I will admit deleting the files before I told you the job was off was a bad call. I should have spoken to you first instead of letting you find out on your own.”
A concession, not an apology, but it’s more than I expected after he laid down the law.
“Orien said the job is still going forward, but you’re splitting the teams, which means it’s riskier.
” I straighten, spine locking into place, the uncertainty settling.
“We can still go with the original plan. The shift rotation will mean we go in during the changing of the guard. We use the confusion of handover to our advantage.”
Rowan studies me, his gaze traveling from my face down to my steady hands and back up. “You’ve already figured out a new way in.”
“Of course I have.” My challenge is evident. “It’s what you hired me for.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and he turns to pour more whiskey into his glass. “It would go smoother with you on board.”
Hope blooms. “So?”
He considers me for a long moment. “I’ll reinstate the original plan, with your revisions.”
Victory shoots through me, but I understand Rowan well enough to hear the unspoken condition. “But?”
“But we establish new parameters.” He props his elbows on the bar and leans forward. “If I question your condition in the future, it doesn’t mean I’m trying to control you. It means I have legitimate concerns that deserve consideration.”
My first instinct is to refuse any conditions, to demand complete reinstatement without strings. But the past week of separation has worn on me and Lena and the fragile peace we’d begun to build. Pride is cold comfort in an empty bed.
“And if I disagree with your assessment?” Caution tempers my words.
“Then we discuss it, but in the end, the decision is mine to make.” Rowan straightens and comes back around the bar, though he stops short of invading my space. “And you don’t walk away. You don’t threaten to disappear every time we disagree. That’s not a partnership.”
The word “partnership” holds meaning beyond business.
“I can’t promise I won’t walk away if you make a unilateral decision about my life.” My hands curl into fists at my sides. “That’s my boundary.”
Rowan holds my stare, and after a long moment, he inclines his head. “Fair enough.”
He extends his hand in a formal gesture. “The Harmon job is reinstated. We plan it together, execute it together. Team decision on whether you’re fit for field work.”
I study his hand, the familiar calluses and scars, the strength capable of crushing bones that only ever held me with care. This isn’t a surrender on either side. It’s a negotiation.
My hand meets his, our fingers clasping in agreement. “Deal.”
With the Harmon job settled, at least for now, the weight of another unspoken issue needs to be addressed.