Chapter 11 Graham
Graham
Willow’s father is pissed.
“Explain to me how he got that close.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, inhaling slow and steady as I sit in the sleek, overpriced office chair across from his desk. The city skyline glows behind him, a panoramic view of his empire—one that he’s willing to tear apart if it means keeping his daughter safe.
“He knew her schedule,” I say evenly. “He waited until she was alone. And he was smart about it. He didn’t linger. Didn’t give anyone a chance to react.”
Mr. Delong leans forward, his knuckles whitening where they grip the desk. “And you let that happen.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. “It won’t happen again.” I don’t mention the fact that he got past all of my guards and into her apartment when she was going through her heat. He would probably skin me alive.
His sharp blue gaze burns into me. Assessing. Testing. He’s used to men backing down, bowing to his authority, but I don’t work for him. Not in the way he’s used to.
“Make sure of that,” he orders. “I don’t give a damn what it takes. I want him gone.”
I nod once, standing. “Understood.”
I don’t tell Willow about the meeting. She doesn’t need another reason to push back, another excuse to test how far she can go before I pull her back.
But she knows something is coming.
She’s lounging on the couch when I step into her apartment, one leg draped over the armrest, a magazine in her lap. Her gaze flicks up to me. I close the door behind me, locking it with a loud click.
“We need to talk.”
She huffs, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. “You barge into my apartment without knocking and then act like an overprotective boyfriend. We need to talk,” she mimics me, “That sounds ominous and creepy, if I’m being honest.”
I cross my arms, leveling her with a look. “I’m not in the mood for games, Willow.”
Her lips press together, and for a second, I think she’ll push. But then she sits up, rolling her shoulders obviously preparing for battle. “Fine. Talk.”
I don’t sit. I don’t ease into it. I give it to her straight.
“You’re done going out alone.” Not that she’s been alone. Hell, he even got to her here in her own apartment.
She blinks a few times. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. No solo outings. No skating without us there. No coffee shop runs without one of us at your side. Including in the bathroom. And if I have to, I will lock you in this apartment myself.”
Her eyes narrow, pink-painted nails digging into the couch cushion. “That’s cute. But I don’t take orders from you.”
I exhale slowly, reining in the fire curling in my gut. She’s testing me.
I step forward. “You don’t have a choice.”
She stands quickly closing the distance, standing toe to toe with me now, her chin tilting up defiantly. “You can’t keep me locked away like some—some thing that needs to be protected.”
“That’s exactly what I can do,” I say, with deadly control. Because I will. Because I have to.
Her eyes flash, and I see it; the same fire in her that’s been driving me crazy since the moment I met her. Her scent flares, tangling with the heat of her anger, and something deep in my chest tightens, pulling taut and tight. My control stretches too thin.
I shouldn’t notice the way her chest rises and falls too fast, shouldn’t track the curve of her lips as she wets them, shouldn’t feel this damn aware of the inches between us.
But I do.
And so does she.
Her breath hitches, her pupils blowing wide, the energy between us crackling, charged and dangerous.
“Graham,” she says, but it’s softer now. Uncertain.
I clench my fists at my sides, forcing myself to stay still. To ignore the way my alpha is demanding I claim what’s in front of me. That I touch her. That I pull her against me and remind her why she needs to listen.
I can’t. I won’t. I will protect her. But not like that.
I step back, everything inside of me urging me to do the opposite. Putting the distance where it belongs. I watch as her throat bobs as she swallows, and when she looks at me again, it’s with something raw and shaken.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” she says.
“No,” I agree. “You need a protector. And you’ve got three.”
I don’t wait for her to argue. I turn, striding toward the door, because if I stay a second longer, I won’t leave at all. Carson can handle guard duty for the evening.