Chapter 24
KANE
For a time that could have been minutes or hours, we just lay there tangled in the sheets, bodies still cooling from exertion.
Her head rested on my chest, blonde hair spread across my skin like silk. My arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close, protective even in stillness. Her leg thrown over mine like she was trying to anchor herself to something solid in a world that kept violently shifting beneath her feet.
I couldn't remember ever feeling so satisfied.
And not just physically, though that component was definitely there and undeniable.
My body felt thoroughly wrung out in the best possible way. Muscles loose and exhausted. Heart rate finally slowing back toward normal. The kind of bone-deep physical exhaustion that came from complete, mutual release.
But this was something else entirely.
Something I didn't have experience with or adequate words for.
Something deeper and infinitely more dangerous than just exceptionally good sex.
That crack in my heart that had first opened watching her crouch down to Sabine's level was now spilling wider, making me feel things I'd carefully locked away years ago when I'd learned that emotion was a liability.
Things I'd convinced myself I didn't need or want or deserve after everything I'd done and become.
Making me imagine things I had absolutely no business imagining.
A future.
Not getting too far down the road—I wasn't that far gone yet or that delusional.
But simple things started playing in my mind like scenes from someone else's life. Someone normal who got to have these things.
Going out to dinner together somewhere nice.
Not as part of a mission or pretense, but just because we wanted to spend time together.
Finding our favorite café in Paris and becoming regulars there.
The barista learning to make her coffee exactly how she liked it.
Waking up next to her tomorrow morning. And the morning after that.
And the one after that. Making her coffee in Rose's kitchen.
Listening to her talk about Sabine and watching her face light up.
Normal things.
Domestic things.
The kind of things normal people did when they cared deeply about someone.
When they were actively building something together instead of just surviving.
Then reality crashed back in like ice water over warm skin.
I remembered why I was actually in Paris in the first place.
St. Paul's rising from ashes I'd thought were cold.
The organization hunting the Nine across continents with resources we didn't understand yet.
The three men I'd put down in that abandoned building—two unconscious and concussed, one permanently game-overed with three bullets.
The danger circling closer every single day like wolves tightening a noose.
The threats multiplying faster than we could map them.
Ella wasn't safe.
Not really.
Not while I was still breathing and they were still hunting.
And being with me—being connected to me in any visible way—made her significantly, measurably less safe.
I was putting a target directly on her just by being here in her bed. By caring about her where anyone watching could see it.
The thought tightened my chest uncomfortably.
She must have sensed the shift in my body, the tension returning to muscles that had just been relaxed, because she lifted her head slightly to look at me with those perceptive eyes.
"You okay?" she asked quietly, reading me too well already for someone I'd known less than forty-eight hours.
"Yeah," I said, pulling her closer against me with deliberate intent. "I am."
It wasn't entirely a lie.
In this specific moment, with her warm and solid against me, I was genuinely okay.
Better than okay.
Better than I'd been in years, maybe.
We kissed then. Slow and deep and unhurried and perfect. Like we had all the time in the world to explore each other when we definitely didn't. When danger was probably already planning its next move while we lay here pretending tomorrow was guaranteed.
When we finally broke apart, breathing slightly harder, I said, "I want to take a shower."
She raised an eyebrow, something playful and vulnerable flickering across her beautiful face. "Sick of me already?"
I laughed despite everything weighing on me. Despite the operational complications and tactical concerns. "That's an impossibility, Manhattan. Physically, emotionally, completely impossible."
I got up reluctantly, every instinct telling me to stay exactly where I was, leaving her in bed looking thoroughly satisfied and absolutely beautiful with her hair messy and lips swollen from kissing.
I walked to the bathroom, turned on the water, adjusted it until it was almost too hot.
Steam started filling the small space quickly.
I stepped under the spray, letting it pound against my shoulders and back and neck, trying desperately to reconcile what the actual fuck was going on in my head and heart.
Because they weren't aligned anymore.
They were actively fighting.
My head said this was dangerous. Reckless. Tactically unsound. That I should create distance before someone—before she—got hurt because of my proximity.
My heart said something else entirely.
Something about how she felt right. About how I'd never wanted to protect something the way I wanted to protect her. About how the possibility of walking away felt worse than any physical pain I'd ever endured.
It didn't suck, this feeling.
This overwhelming want. This connection that had formed faster than anything I'd experienced.
But I needed a concrete plan.
Some way to keep her safe while not walking away from what we'd just started. What we'd just become to each other.
I wasn't technically supposed to leave The Sanctuary this morning at all.
Connor had been very clear in that calm, measured tone that meant he was dead serious—staying put while they assessed the full scope of the St. Paul's threat was the smart tactical move.
While Ellsworth gathered additional intel and established proper protection protocols.
And I was pretty damned sure no one had followed us to étienne's apartment or back here.
I'd been watching. Constantly. Scanning every face, every vehicle, every person who appeared more than once. Old habits that never died no matter how distracted I was.
Then I remembered something that made me pause mid-reach for the shampoo.
Ellsworth had promised to layer security at Rose's apartment.
Surveillance. Protection. Discreet eyes on the building and surrounding streets.
Which meant by now Connor very much knew exactly where I was.
What I was doing.
Who I was with.
Probably how long I'd been here.
Fuck it.
If Connor didn't understand why I'd left despite the explicit warnings and tactical concerns, that was entirely on him.
Some things were worth the calculated risk.
Some people were worth protecting even when it complicated everything.
I reached for the soap to start lathering up when the glass shower door slid open suddenly, billowing clouds of steam out into the cooler bathroom air.
Ella stood there in the doorway, completely naked and looking at me with eyes that made my breath catch in my throat and my heart stutter.
"Can I join?" she asked, voice soft but intent crystal clear.
I was instantly, almost painfully hard.
My cock standing at full attention like it hadn't just had her twice in the past few hours.
She glanced down deliberately, tracking the physical evidence of my want, and smiled that small satisfied smile that made something warm bloom in my chest. "I'll take that as a yes."
She stepped in carefully, water immediately hitting her skin, streaming down her body, darkening her blonde hair to honey.
She took the soap from my hand before I could use it and started working it into a thick lather between her palms.
Then slowly, methodically, with complete focus, she began washing me.
Starting with my head, fingers working through my short hair with gentle pressure, nails scraping lightly against my scalp in a way that made my eyes want to close in pleasure.
Down to my neck, thumbs pressing into tense muscles. My shoulders, working out knots I didn't know I'd been carrying. Working the soap in careful circles across my chest, fingers tracing old scars without asking questions about their origins.
To my midsection, abs flexing involuntarily under her deliberate touch.
She was teasing me. Taking her sweet time. Letting me feel every single movement of her soapy hands against my skin.
When she finally reached my cock, she wrapped soapy fingers around it once—firm, confident, deliberate—stroking from base to tip with agonizing slowness.
Then let go completely and moved on like it was nothing.
The tease nearly fucking killed me.
My hands clenched at my sides to keep from grabbing her.
She finished washing my ass with that same careful, maddening attention, hands sliding over muscles, fingers digging in slightly. Then down my legs, crouching gracefully in the spray to reach all the way down to my feet, washing each one thoroughly.
When she stood back up, water streaming over both of us, creating rivers down her perfect skin, she held out the soap with a small smile.
"Your turn."
I took it.
And I also took my absolute time.
Worshiping her body while washing it.
Because God, she was gorgeous in a way that made my chest tight.
Every curve. Every inch of wet skin catching the bathroom light. Every small involuntary sound she made when I touched places that were particularly sensitive.
I started with her hair, fingers massaging her scalp with firm circular pressure until she made this soft, satisfied noise that went straight to my already hard cock.
Down her neck, thumbs tracing the line of her throat. Her shoulders. Her arms, soaping every inch.