Chapter Five
brONCO
Who the fuck makes their daughter a business transaction?
I texted Gray the details Camille gave me as I finished patching her up.
About the early morning kidnapping, her suspicions about her father’s dealings with Aiden Frost, and also the things she didn’t say—that she’s terrified of marrying Frost and afraid of being forced into it.
Or that she wants to trust me, but she’s worried her daddy’s money will buy our loyalty.
Gray’s not the kind of man who would fold for the sake of money, but if her father put legal and financial pressure on him, it could force his hand. His family and the livelihoods of dozens rely on this company. I can’t ask him to jeopardize everything he’s built.
I also can’t stand back and watch a woman be coerced into a life she doesn’t want.
Gray, his sister Mae, and other operatives like Cade, Hayes, and Nash have become family, but I’d cut ties before I let any of them come to harm.
Sure as hell hope it doesn’t come to that.
Camille hides a yawn behind her hand and stirs the bowl of stew I made for dinner.
My mother made sure all her boys knew how to cook before leaving the nest. She said our future wives would appreciate it.
I rolled my eyes every time she said it, because love matches like the one she and my dad have don’t happen that often.
But ever since my brother Ford found Ember, I’ve wondered if maybe it happens more than I realized.
One thing I know, Camille is too tired to appreciate my cooking. She’s about to fall asleep in her bowl. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you into bed.”
She sits up and blinks. “It’s good. I’m eating.” She sags a little to one side and pokes at a noodle.
I snort, and reach for her bowl, setting it by the sink. “Let’s go.”
“You have a guest room?” she asks when I scoop her into my arms.
I tell myself that her feet still hurt, because I don’t want to admit the truth.
I’m her bodyguard, not her lover. Admitting that she feels good in my arms comes too close to crossing a professional boundary I live by.
“That’s my office,” I murmur as I move down the hall.
“You’ll take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch. ”
Her fingers twine between the buttons of my shirt. “I don’t like putting you out of your bed. I’ve never slept on a couch. Is it uncomfortable?”
Of course she’s never slept on a couch. My oil princess would have only the finest, including hotel rooms if there weren’t enough beds. “It’s fine. I’ve slept in much worse places.”
She studies me. “Like where?”
A hundred places I can’t tell her about and even more that I shouldn’t. “The hard ground. Rocky terrain. Even a couple caves.”
Her eyes flutter and she yawns. “The people you protect live in strange places.”
I pull the covers back and lay her on my bed.
She’s so damn pretty, with her auburn hair spread out in waves on my pillow and my flannel shirt brushing her curves.
Camille blinks those light blue eyes at me, the hint of a smile on her rosy lips—the first I’ve seen from her since we met—and I realize I’m too close.
“Sometimes,” I reply, retreating to the door. Jesus. I’ve never struggled like this with an asset. “Sleep. You’re safe here.”
Her smile never fully forms, and as I step into the hallway, I wonder if it would have if I’d stayed.
Locking down those thoughts, I send a quick text to Mae, asking her to pick up some clothes for Camille, then recheck the security system and cameras. Some deer are by the western fence, and back by the gully, a lanky bobcat wanders through the brush. The rest of the property is quiet, as expected.
I moved her far enough away from Aiden Frost that he won’t find her. That gives us time to sort this out and figure out what sort of deal—if any—her father struck with the man.
I spend a little time online finding all I can about Frost and Whitaker.
There are a handful of articles about each and the businesses they run.
Frost made his money in technology, which raises some flags.
Dumping Camille’s phone was standard protocol, but the itch at the back of my neck says the gas station was too close to here.
“Bronco?”
Camille’s soft voice has a nervous edge to it. She hovers in the doorway to my office, arms folded over her waist.
I cross to her before I think twice. “What is it? You okay, princess?”
She shakes her head. “Can I sleep out here? With you?”
I search her face, finding tiny lines of tension near her eyes and she’s paler than a few hours ago. She’s afraid.
“Please? I can’t...” Her shoulders hunch. “The bed is too big and the shadows—”
The tremor in her voice breaks me. I draw her to my chest and wrap my arms around her, offering comfort the only way I know how. “What if I lay down with you?” No way in hell we’ll both fit on my couch, and I’m not leaving her alone. At least in my king-size bed, there will be space between us.
She grips my shirt. “I’m sorry I’m such trouble.”
“You’re not any trouble, Camille.”
“I’m usually much more put together.”
I think back to the photo I first saw of her, and the forced smile. How often has she put on that facade? Her entire life? “I’ll be strong for you tonight, sweetheart.”
Camille lets me lead her back to bed. I tuck her in under the covers, then lay down on the other side. Once she falls asleep, I’ll slip out and lie on the couch.
“Are you going to sleep in your clothes?” she asks, watching me in the near darkness of the room.
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You are. Because I know you’re accommodating me.”
“It’s my job.”
She looks down at where she’s worrying the sheet between her fingers. Then she turns to her other side and whispers, “Good night, Bronco. Thank you for rescuing me.”
Silence settles between us.
Five minutes pass. Ten.
She hasn’t moved, but I know she’s still awake. Maybe sleeping in my clothes really is making her uncomfortable. Like some part of her can’t trust that I’ll stay.
Fuck it. She needs sleep and if it will help, I’ll get comfortable.
I slide from the bed and remove my shirt and jeans. Socks too. Lifting the covers, I crawl back into bed and do my damndest not to touch her.
All my plans of leaving after she fell asleep evaporated once I settled down. As dawn breaks over the ridge and floods the room with light, it pulls me from sleep.
I should have closed the damn curtains before going to bed last night.
Grumbling, I sink back into the warmth of the bed and breathe deep, the scent of roses filling my senses.
Silky hair tickles my chin as I bury my nose in the scent, pulling her warm body even closer.
Her legs are tangled with mine, as they should be, and I’m wrapped around her sweet body, more content than I’ve ever felt.
Her ass nudges back against my morning wood, drawing me further from sleep.
Trailing my lips over the shell of her ear, I work my way down, pressing soft kisses to her neck and fill my hands with her curves.
She smells so good. Like a garden with a touch of sweetness.
My hands skate over flannel as I finally blink my eyes open, ready to roll her under me and wake her up with my mouth.
I freeze.
Sleepy, ice-blue eyes open as I hover over her, caging her in with my arms.
Camille’s hand raises to my cheek, petting my beard. “You stayed,” she murmurs, still half asleep.
I lean into her touch before I can check the reaction.
What the hell am I doing? I’m supposed to protect her, not turn her into my breakfast. My cock pulses with approval. I roll away before she can feel it and dig the heel of my hand in my eye, trying to remove the last of the sleep.
“Bronco?” Camille turns on her side and props her head on her hand. An auburn lock falls forward over her shoulder, and my fingers twitch, wanting to touch it.
“Sorry, princess. Didn’t mean to wake you... like that.”
She licks her lips, watching me. “I liked it.”
Jesus. She can’t say things like that. “It’s not appropriate.” I shove out of bed, and cold air hits my skin. I’m burning up with this unwelcome ache, so the sudden shift in temperature is perfect.
Her eyes rake down my body, lingering on my chest and the obnoxious tent in my boxers. I’m half tempted to cover it with my hand, but it’s already out there. No denying it. I try anyway. “Morning reflex,” I grunt.
“Hmm.” She doesn’t say more.
I don’t know whether I’m glad or disappointed. Embarrassed as fuck for sure. I pull on my jeans, grab my shirt off the floor, and book it from the room, calling, “Gonna make coffee,” as I flee.
In the kitchen, I toss the shirt on the counter, grip the marble countertop, and hang my head.
She was kidnapped yesterday, almost forced into a wedding, and ran for her life. I’m here to protect her. Not feel things. Not kiss those pretty pink lips that she moistened as she stared up at me as I covered her body with mine.
I scrub a hand down my face.
That was...
Close.
Wrong on so many levels.
Utterly tempting.
Madness.
I shove away from the counter and find my phone. Maybe to call Gray. And what? Confess that I’m losing my professional edge? He’d assign someone else.
My gut clenches. Denial rises up sharp.
No. Camille is mine to protect.
I’d never be able to rest, knowing someone else was responsible for her safety. What if they missed something? What if she was taken again? She has to stay with me.
I won’t let anyone near her as long as I’m breathing.
Gray can’t know that I’m compromised. I’d lose my job, and with it, Camille.
I’m not sure which one scares me more.
Lone Star was the only thing keeping me together after I left the military. Too many bad memories. Too much blood on my hands. Lone Star gives me purpose and the ability to use my skills to help people the only way I know how—by improvising.
Following strict rules gets people hurt or killed.
If I can’t work for a place with the flexibility I need, I’m afraid I’ll sink back into that dark place where the demons haunt me at night, and the sun never quite reaches me.
I reach for my phone again, this time to check the perimeter alarms and cameras.
There’s a red warning on the west fence.
I bring up the closest camera, but it’s offline. Ice slides down my spine.
I have to get to Camille.