4. Clay
Chapter Four
CLAY
My breathing finally steadies as I stare at the storage room wall, still feeling the ghost of Ruby’s body against mine.
Fuck.
Fifteen years in special ops and security work, and I’ve never once crossed the line with a client. I flex my fingers, still warm from her skin, her taste lingering on my lips.
But Christ, the way she came apart for me... The sound of her whimpers echoes in my head. The memory of her small body trembling against mine sends another rush of heat through me.
I straighten my shirt and adjust myself in my pants.
This isn’t me. I don’t mix business with pleasure. I don’t compromise security for a pretty face. But there’s something about Ruby that bypasses all my usual safeguards. Something that makes me want to claim her, possess her, protect her.
The shop is quiet when I return, just the steady buzz of Ruby’s tattoo machine as she works on a client’s forearm. She doesn’t look up, but the slight stiffening of her shoulders tells me she knows I’m there. I resume my position by the door, scanning the street outside through the large front windows of Fit Mountain Ink.
The next few hours are torture.
Every time Ruby glances in my direction, a flush creeps up her neck, and I know she’s thinking about what happened in that storage room. About my hands on her body. My mouth claiming hers. Her soft gasp when I touched her where she needed me most.
The final client of the day leaves just after six, sporting a fresh compass rose on his shoulder blade. Ruby locks the door behind him and flips the sign to CLOSED. The sudden quiet in the shop amplifies the tension between us.
“So,” she says, her voice overly cheerful as she begins wiping down surfaces. “I guess that’s it for today?”
“No,” I say simply. “That’s not it.”
“What do you mean? It’s after hours. Shop’s closed.”
“I’m not just here for the shop hours, Ruby. I’m here to protect you. Twenty-four seven.”
She blinks. “That’s not what my dad said. He just wanted security during business hours.”
I move closer to her, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Your dad hired me to keep you safe. This isn’t a nine-to-five threat.”
She turns away and starts gathering her things. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, Clay. I don’t need a babysitter to tuck me in at night.”
The sound of my name on her lips does something to me. Makes my resolve harden.
“I’m not asking, Ruby.” My voice drops lower. “Wherever you sleep tonight, I’ll be there too.”
She whirls around, eyes flashing. “Excuse me? You don’t get to decide that.”
“Actually, I do.” I close the distance between us, standing close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body. “Your father hired me because I’m the best at what I do. And what I do is keep people alive when someone wants them dead.”
Fear flickers across her face before she masks it with anger.
“That’s dramatic, don’t you think?”
“No, it’s reality.” I soften my tone but not my stance. “Look, you don’t have to like it. You just have to live through it. And for that to happen, I need to be where you are.”
Ruby stares up at me, her jaw set stubbornly. But I can see the calculation happening behind those brandy eyes. She’s smart enough to know that Holloway is dangerous. That her father wouldn’t have hired someone like me if he wasn’t seriously concerned.
“Fine,” she finally says.
Relief washes through me, though I don’t show it.
The truth is, this twenty-four-hour protection detail wasn’t part of her father’s arrangement. It’s mine. Born from something deeper than professional obligation. Something that took root the moment I first saw her, and has only grown stronger with every defiant glance, every stubborn word.
Something that makes me certain I won’t be sleeping on any couch tonight.
* * *
I grip the steering wheel tighter as we pull away from Fit Mountain Ink, the memory of Ruby’s body against mine in that storage room still burning through my veins. She sits beside me in my truck, close enough that I can smell the faint vanilla scent of her skin mixing with the ink and antiseptic from the shop. Too close. Not close enough.
I can’t help stealing glances at her profile as I drive. the delicate curve of her jaw, the slight pout of her lips. The same lips that were parted and gasping against my mouth just hours ago.
Fuck. I need to get it together.
The drive to her apartment is mercifully short. But as we get out of the truck and approach her building, my instincts sharpen to a knife’s edge.
Something’s wrong.
I look around and that’s when I see it. There’s a window propped open on her floor. I did a perimeter check this morning before we left for the shop. That window was closed.
My hand automatically moves to the small of my back where my Glock is holstered beneath my jacket. Ruby is chattering about Spike needing fresh crickets, oblivious to the danger signals screaming in my head.
I interrupt her mid-sentence, keeping my voice calm but firm. “Get back in the truck, baby.”
She stops talking and her eyes follow my gaze upward. “What is it?”
I step slightly in front of her, creating a barrier between her and the building entrance. “Your bathroom window is open.”
“Maybe I left it open this morning.”
“You didn’t.”
“How would you know?”
“I checked before we left.”
Ruby shifts Spike’s carrier in her arms. “You checked my windows?”
“I check everything. That’s my job.”
A flash of annoyance crosses her face, but it’s quickly replaced by concern as she looks back up at the window.
“You think someone’s in there?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I gesture toward the parking lot. “Go back to the truck and lock yourself in. I’ll clear the apartment.”
“What? No, I’m coming with you.”
I turn to face her fully, my expression leaving no room for argument.
“No. If someone broke into your place, they might still be there. Go wait in the truck.”
Something in my tone must get through to her. She hesitates, then nods, backing toward my truck with Spike’s carrier clutched to her chest.
“Five minutes. Then I’m coming in.”
“Stay in the truck until I come get you.” I wait until she’s safely locked inside before approaching the building.
I draw my weapon as soon as I’m in the stairwell, moving silently up to the third floor. Ruby’s apartment is at the end of the hall. I listen at the door for a moment. Nothing. Using the key she gave me this morning, I unlock it silently and push the door open, staying to the side.
Fuck.
The place is trashed.
Not the casual disarray of a burglar looking for valuables, but the methodical destruction of someone sending a message. Ruby’s belongings are scattered everywhere. Books pulled from shelves and thrown across the room. Clothing dumped from drawers. Couch cushions slashed open. But it’s the art that tells me this was personal. Ruby’s sketches and paintings have been deliberately torn into pieces.
I clear each room, gun raised, checking closets and under furniture. The bathroom window is indeed open wider than it had been this morning, wet footprints leading from it across the tile floor. They came in through the bathroom, but almost certainly left through the front door. More convenient for carrying anything they took.
Once I’m sure the apartment is empty, I holster my weapon and head back downstairs. Ruby’s face is pressed against the truck window, watching for me. I tap on the glass and she rolls down the window.
“Well?” she demands.
“Someone definitely broke in.”
Her face pales. “How bad?”
“Bad enough that you can’t stay there tonight.”
“I need to see it.” Ruby’s jaw sets in that stubborn line I’m getting too familiar with. “And I need to get some things if I’m staying somewhere else.”
I consider arguing, but she deserves to see what happened to her space.
“Alright. Five minutes to grab essentials. But after that, we’re leaving.”
Ruby steps over the threshold slowly, Spike’s carrier held protectively against her chest.
“Oh no,” she whispers, taking in the destruction.
“Don’t touch anything,” I warn as she steps toward a particularly large piece now lying in shreds. “There might be fingerprints.”
She nods numbly. “I need to get some clothes. And Spike’s things.”
“Grab what you need for a few days.”
I follow her closely as she picks her way through the wreckage to her bedroom.
When we’ve loaded everything into my truck, I place a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. She’s been quiet, too quiet.
“We need to go to my place,” I tell her.
“Why your place?”
I expect an argument. Some push-back against my directive. But she just nods, the fight temporarily drained from her.
“What about my car?”
“Leave it here. If they’ve been watching you, they might have placed a tracker on it.” I guide her toward my truck. “We’ll come back for it when it’s safe.”
The drive to my cabin takes forty minutes, mostly on winding mountain roads that grow progressively narrower and less traveled. Ruby sits silently beside me, Spike’s carrier secured on her lap. Through the rearview mirror, I check repeatedly for any signs of being followed, but the roads are clear.
“You live all the way out here?” Ruby finally asks as we turn onto a gravel road that disappears into dense forest.
“I like my privacy.”
And the tactical advantages of a remote location with clear sight lines. My cabin sits on ten acres of wooded land, the nearest neighbor over a mile away.
The cabin comes into view as we round a final bend—a sturdy two-story structure of timber and stone. Not large, but solid. Defensible. Mine.
“It’s beautiful,” Ruby says softly as I park beside the covered porch.
I grab her duffel and Spike’s supplies while she carries the lizard’s carrier. The evening air is cooler up here in the mountains, carrying the scent of pine and approaching rain. I unlock the heavy front door and usher Ruby inside, flipping on lights as we enter.
The main room is open-concept with a stone fireplace, kitchen, and dining space beside large windows that in daylight would show the forest and mountains beyond. A staircase leads to the loft bedroom above. The décor is minimal but comfortable. No clutter. Nothing unnecessary.
Ruby steps into my space, and something primal stirs in my chest. Her scent fills the air, that intoxicating mix of vanilla and ink that’s been driving me crazy all day. Watching her move through my cabin, her fingers trailing along the back of my couch, sends me right back to that storage room. Those same delicate fingers gripping my shoulders as I pressed her against the wall, her body arching into mine.
My cock hardens at the memory.
Fuck. Does she remember it the same way? Is she thinking about it now, standing in my home, knowing we’ll be alone here all night? The way she avoids meeting my eyes tells me everything I need to know.
“Make yourself at home,” I tell her, setting her bag down, fighting to keep my voice steady. “I’ll get a fire going.”
She stands in the center of the room, still holding Spike’s carrier, looking smaller than usual in the aftermath of the break-in.
“Where should I set up Spike?”
I point to a spot near the fireplace. “That area gets good warmth from the fire. There’s an outlet nearby for his heat lamp.”
While Ruby busies herself creating a temporary home for her lizard, I build a fire in the stone hearth, the familiar routine helping to calm the storm of desire and protectiveness raging through me. Once the flames are crackling, I move to the kitchen.
“Hungry?” I ask, opening the refrigerator.
“I guess.” Ruby sounds distracted as she arranges Spike’s terrarium to her satisfaction. “I haven’t really thought about food.”
I pull out ingredients for a simple pasta dish. As I work, I watch Ruby finish setting up Spike’s home and release the small lizard into it. She smiles slightly as the creature immediately goes to bask under his heat lamp.
“He adapts quickly,” she says, turning toward me.
“Good survival instinct.” I slide a cutting board of chopped vegetables into a pan. “Not all creatures are so adaptable.”
Ruby moves to the island, taking a seat on one of the barstools.
“I’m sorry about earlier. At the apartment. I just... wasn’t expecting that.”
“No one expects their space to be violated like that.” The protective anger I’ve been suppressing flares again. “We’ll file a police report tomorrow. And I’ll have the security company I work with install better locks and cameras at your place.”
“You think I’ll be able to go back there?” She sounds doubtful.
I look up from the stove, meeting her eyes. “Eventually. When we deal with Holloway.”
“My dad didn’t tell me much about him. Just that he was an old business associate who held a grudge.”
“He’s more than that.” I pour wine into two glasses, sliding one toward her. “Vincent Holloway is a sociopath who blames your father for his downfall. Your father’s testimony put him away for fifteen years. He escaped three weeks ago.”
Ruby takes a long sip of wine. “And he’s coming after my dad through me.”
I nod, turning back to the stove. “It’s a common tactic. Hurt the people someone loves to cause maximum pain.”
“That’s why my dad hired you.”
I plate the pasta, adding freshly grated parmesan. “Your father is worried, Ruby. With good reason.”
I set our plates on the dining table, where the firelight casts a warm glow across the polished wood. Ruby takes the seat across from me, the flames reflecting in her eyes as she twirls pasta around her fork.
“So,” I say, watching her take her first bite. “Tell me about your family. Your father mentioned you two had a... complicated relationship.”
Ruby’s expression shifts, a slight hardening around her eyes. “That’s one way to put it.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
She takes another sip of wine, considering. “No, it’s fine. It’s not exactly a secret.” She sets her glass down. “My dad had my entire life planned out from the moment I was born. Private schools, Ivy League education, law school, joining his firm. The Wilson family legacy.”
“But you had other ideas,” I prompt.
“I’ve always been artistic. Drawing, painting. It’s the only thing that ever made sense to me.” A small smile plays at her lips. “I majored in fine arts instead of pre-law. That was our first big fight.”
“I’m guessing it wasn’t the last.”
Ruby laughs, the sound warming something in my chest.
“Not even close. When I told them I was dropping out of college to apprentice at a tattoo shop, my dad threatened to cut me off completely.”
“And did he?”
“Not at first. He thought I’d ‘come to my senses’ after a few months of ‘playing artist.’” She makes air quotes with her fingers. “When he realized I was serious, that’s when the ultimatum came. Law school or no financial support.”
I watch her face as she speaks, the determination in her eyes, the slight lift of her chin. This woman chose her passion over security, her independence over her family’s wealth. The realization makes her even more attractive to me.
“So what did you do?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“I chose ink.” She says it simply, but I can hear the pride beneath the words. “Haven’t taken a dime from them since.”
“That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t. Me and Lainey lived on ramen for a year.” She shrugs. “Worth it, though.”
I lean back in my chair, studying her.
“Your father still cares about you. Enough to hire me when he thought you were in danger.”
“I know. In his own controlling way, he loves me.” Ruby sighs. “We talk occasionally. Holidays, birthdays. It’s civil now, but there’s always this undercurrent of disappointment from him.”
“He’s proud of you,” I say, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. “He might not understand your choices, but he respects your determination.”
Ruby studies me across the table, her gaze more penetrating than I’m comfortable with.
“You’re not what I expected, Clay.”
The sound of my name on her lips sends heat through my veins.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Some robotic security guy who’d just see the tattoos and make assumptions.”
“I try not to judge books by their covers.” I hold her gaze steadily. “You’re not what I expected either.”
Her eyebrow arches. “Oh? And what did you expect?”
I take a slow sip of wine, considering how much to reveal.
“Someone spoiled. Entitled. A rich man’s daughter playing at rebellion.”
Ruby’s eyes flash, but I continue before she can respond.
“Instead, I found a woman who walked away from privilege to build something of her own.” I lean forward, letting her see the admiration in my eyes. “Someone who creates beauty with her hands and stands her ground even when it costs her. That kind of strength is... rare.”
The firelight catches the flush spreading across her cheeks. She looks down at her plate, suddenly intensely interested in her pasta.
“You don’t know me that well,” she says quietly.
“I know enough. I know you’re stubborn. Independent to a fault.” I set my glass down. “I know you’re talented. I know you’re brave, even when you’re scared.”
I pause, watching her reaction carefully before continuing.
“And I know that whatever this is between us, it’s not just about me being hired to protect you.”
The air between us grows thick, charged with unspoken tension. Ruby’s pupils dilate slightly, her breathing visibly changing. She opens her mouth to respond, then closes it again.
“Clay, I?—”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I interrupt gently. “I’m just being honest about where I stand.”
She stares at me for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering across her face before her walls come back up.
“Where you stand is as my bodyguard,” she finally says, but there’s no conviction in her voice. “That’s all this can be right now.”
“Is that what you want?”
“What I want is complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Yes, it does.” She pushes her chair back abruptly and stands up. “My life is being threatened. My apartment was just violated. This isn’t the time to?—“
She cuts herself off and shakes her head.
“To what?” I press, needing to hear her say it.
Her eyes meet mine, defiant and vulnerable all at once. “To want things I shouldn’t.”
The confession hangs in the air between us, raw and honest.
Every instinct in my body screams to go to her, to close the distance, to show her exactly how much I want her too. But I force myself to remain still, giving her the space she needs.
“I should take a shower,” she says suddenly, breaking the tension. “It’s been a long day.”
I nod toward the hallway, not trusting myself to speak immediately. The image of Ruby naked in my shower threatens to shatter what remains of my self-control.
“Bathroom’s that way,” I finally manage. “First door on the right.”