Chapter 3
Alec
Claire is sleeping in her bedroom while I wait outside, my stolen chair pressed against the wall in her living room so I can keep an eye on everything.
From where I’m sitting, I can see her sprawled out across the bed. One leg pokes out from underneath the covers, which are shoved up between her thighs. The tiny shorts she has on are no better than the ones she was wearing before.
There is far too much of that sumptuous curve available for me to see right now. I clear my throat quietly, forcing my eyes in the other direction.
I’ve waited about thirty minutes at this point, and I think she’s fully asleep. I’m still on edge about the person spying on her tonight, and I don’t want to wake her when I go outside to have a look for myself.
I get up, the floor creaking underneath me, and shoot a glance back at the bedroom to make sure I haven’t woken her.
When the coast is clear, I slip out into the night silently. I’m damn good at being sneaky and know what to look for when somebody else is doing distance reconnaissance like this.
I go over to where I saw the glinting binoculars and notice a lot of gum wrappers wadded up in the grass. Big Game Bubble—distinctive enough that it might come in handy later when I’m figuring out who this guy is.
While I’m down there, the scent of wet leaves from the sprinklers clinging to me, I check out the soggy earth for boot impressions.
Sure enough, I find footprints. But they aren’t boots. No tread to be seen. Just the outline of a dress shoe.
This guy wasn’t a professional. Just somebody Teddy had keeping an eye on things.
It doesn’t bode well that Teddy has people on his staff coming out here to keep tabs on what’s happened. I’m sure word has already made it back to him that I’ve broken the contract agreement.
I also have no doubt that Boss is going to be pissed when he finds out I angered a client. My record is pretty much spotless at Sentinel Security. Now, there’s going to be a huge smudge all over my ledger.
I take a picture of the shoe print and stuff my phone back in my pocket as I walk across the street to Claire’s house.
Part of me is thinking that I shouldn’t be doing this. I have no right stepping into Claire’s life, and if anything, it’s jeopardizing my career.
A different part of me—one that has turned out to be much larger and louder—is demanding that I ensure nothing more happens to that poor girl.
I don’t care what her job might be. No means fucking no. And Teddy touched her when she said no. She had to kick him with her goddamn heels to get him off.
The next time I see the guy, I have serious plans to grab him by the throat and squeeze until he begs me for mercy. And even then, I might not give it.
I take a moment outside on Claire’s porch in the cool night air, trying to steady my thoughts. I’m barreling toward something really chaotic and probably irrational.
Right now, I’m trying my damnedest to fight every urge to go into her bedroom and tell Claire that I can make her feel better. Cared for. Tended to.
Namely, with my head between her thighs.
That’s enough, Alec. You cannot be doing this. Off-limits. You’re basically taking her job pro bono. That makes her essentially a client, and you are aware of the rules. So, stop.
I release a heavy breath into the night air, watching it fog ever so slightly as the temperature has cooled. I put my hand on the doorknob, steadying myself so I can go back inside.
As I push into her townhome apartment, I lock the door behind me—just as a blood-curdling scream rips through the space.
Everything changes in an instant.
My vision narrows to a single point. The hallway. Her door. The space between me and danger. My heart slams against my ribs, and suddenly I’m not in Claire’s apartment anymore.
I’m back in the desert. Sand and blood and the screams of men I couldn’t save.
Move. Move. Move.
My legs eat up the distance before my brain catches up. I’m sprinting down the short hallway, my hand already reaching for a weapon I’m not carrying. Muscle memory from a hundred missions that ended in gunfire and grief.
The door is still open. There’s a window in her room. I didn’t check it thoroughly enough. Stupid. Careless. Just like before.
My pulse is roaring in my ears. The edges of my vision are going dark.
Get to her. Get to her. Don’t let it happen again.
When I burst into Claire’s room, I’m ready to kill whoever’s inside with my bare hands.
But no one’s there.
Just Claire, sitting up in the middle of her bed with her eyes wide and her breath sawing in and out.
For a long moment, I can’t make sense of it. My body is still screaming threat, threat, threat, adrenaline flooding my system, fists clenched so tight my knuckles ache.
I scan the room. The window. The closet. The shadows in every corner.
Nothing.
No one.
She’s safe. She’s safe. Stand down, soldier.
I force myself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The way they taught us after the bad missions, when the shaking wouldn’t stop and the faces of dead friends kept flashing behind our eyes.
The desert fades. Claire’s bedroom comes back into focus. Soft light from the hallway. Paintings on the walls—dozens of them, along with an easel and a shelf of paints near the window. The woman I’m supposed to be protecting, staring at me like I’m the threat.
“Claire?” My voice comes out rough. Wrecked.
“What are you doing here? Why…”
“You screamed.” I have to clear my throat. Force my hands to unclench. “I thought somebody had broken in.”
Guilt washes over Claire’s expression. She looks around her room before her gaze meets mine again.
“Oh, god. I’m sorry, I… It was stupid. I apologize. You can go back out in the other room and get some rest. I’m fine.”
I stand there in her doorway, still trying to get my heartbeat under control. Still feeling the ghost of sand under my boots and the weight of a rifle in my hands.
Claire’s words say that she’s all right. Even her tone is somewhat gentle and relaxed.
But I can see that she’s trembling. She looks down at herself, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Making herself small.
She’s not fine. She’s terrified.
Something cracks open in my chest. Something I’ve kept locked away for years.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, it’s no big deal. I have nightmares all the time.”
Yeah. Me too, sweetheart.
I should go. I should turn around and walk back to that chair and put some distance between us. That would be the professional thing to do. The smart thing.
Instead, I find myself moving toward her.
Claire watches me approach, her eyes wide in the dim light. I stop at the edge of her bed, looking down at her. She’s still shaking. Still wrapped up in herself like she’s trying to hold the pieces together.
I know that feeling. I know it too damn well.
Without thinking, I reach down and pull the blanket up over her legs. Gently. Like she might break if I’m not careful.
“Alec, you don’t have to—”
“Shh.”
I sit on the edge of her mattress. The bed dips under my weight, and Claire goes very still. Her breath catches.
There’s a strand of hair stuck to her cheek, damp with sweat from the nightmare. I reach out and brush it away with my fingertips, tucking it behind her ear.
Her skin is so soft. Warm.
Jesus Christ. What are you doing?
“You’re safe,” I tell her quietly. “I’m right outside. Nothing’s going to get to you. I promise.”
Claire stares up at me with those big, beautiful eyes, and I feel something shift deep in my gut. Something dangerous.
I pull my hand back like I’ve been burned.
“Get some sleep,” I manage. My voice sounds like gravel. “I’ll be in the other room.”
I force myself to stand. To take a step back. Then another.
But I don’t leave. Not yet.
I pause in the doorway and let myself look at her one more time. The blanket pulled up to her chin now. The long trail of mahogany hair spilling across her pillow. The curve of her shoulder where the sheets have slipped down just slightly.
Something about knowing she’s an artist hits me where it counts. Creative and talented… and gorgeous.
I can imagine her sitting at that easel, working on one of her masterpieces as I sit nearby with a coffee in hand. Watching her work. Watching the way she bites her lip when she concentrates.
I can imagine pulling her away from her latest project and throwing her down onto the bed where she lies now. The faces she would make as I claim her with my hands and tongue and cock.
The way she’d gasp my name.
Stop.
My pants are becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I’m hard as a rock just from looking at her, and this is exactly the kind of shit that gets people killed.
She’s off-limits. She’s essentially a client. She’s vulnerable and scared and depending on me to protect her, not fantasize about spreading her thighs and tasting her until she screams.
You’re a professional. Act like one.
“Goodnight, Claire.”
I don’t wait for her response because I know I can’t. I need to put some distance between us before I do something stupid. Something I won’t be able to take back.
I retreat to the living room and drop into my chair, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My hands are still shaking. From the adrenaline. From the flashbacks.
From wanting her so goddamn bad it hurts.
I can still feel the silk of her hair between my fingers. Still see the way she looked at me when I tucked that strand behind her ear. Like no one had ever done something that gentle for her before.
The urge to protect her is overwhelming. Primal. It goes way beyond professional obligation.
And that scares the shit out of me.
I scrub a hand over my face, trying to get my head on straight. I need to tell Boss about all this. I can’t put it off any longer.
I’d call—I really would—but I know Boss hates it when I keep him up so damn late. A text message is my best bet.
I pull out my phone, keeping my eyes locked on the screen, making sure I don’t turn my head and look toward Claire’s room.
A task that really shouldn’t be so damn hard.
Boss is one of only three people I ever text—him, Marco from the Delgado job last year, and my landlord. I shoot off a quick message.
Me: Hey, the client turned out to be a lowlife, and the woman he was having me harass is the actual victim. I’ll deal with the senator, but I’m not letting him hurt her.
It only takes a few minutes for the dots to appear. He’s probably sitting at that big oak desk of his, whiskey in hand, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into this time.
Boss: I’m sorry. What now? Have you lost your mind?
Me: Maybe. But I don’t care. You can dock my pay or whatever, but I’m not helping that fucker. He assaulted her, and she tried to report it. I’ll be here ensuring she’s safe.
The response comes even quicker this time.
Boss: HE was the paying client. Not her. You comfy taking this job pro bono because of your sudden morals?
Me: YES.
Boss: Fine. If you’re wrong about all this and thinking with your cock, it’ll be your ass.
Me: Fair enough.
I tuck the phone away and lean back in the chair, letting my head fall against the wall. I need to get some sleep if I’m going to be any good tomorrow.
From Claire’s room, I hear the soft rustle of sheets. She’s settling back in. Hopefully finding some peace.
I just fucking hope my dreams can play nice with me tonight. Because I’m not looking to wake up hard and aching, with Claire’s name on my lips.