Chapter Eight #3
She hesitated but followed him to the small sunroom. It was her plant sanctuary, soft-lit and humid and smelling faintly of soil and peppermint. It felt like her in here—warm, vibrant, stubbornly alive.
Chloe shifted uneasily. “Kayne, what is it?”
“You know that car wasn’t someone texting or distracted. They aimed for us.”
“Well, they missed.”
“They tried twice.” His jaw flexed. He hadn’t stopped seeing the scene replay in his head. The blur of steel, the screech of tires, the feral snap of instinct that had him yanking the wheel. “That ain’t chance.”
She swallowed, throat working.
“Listen, Chloe, I’m going to insist you wear a Kevlar vest whenever we go outside.”
She inhaled sharply. “You think someone is going to shoot at me?”
“I have no reason to believe that.” His voice stayed even, deliberate. “I’m being proactive.”
“Leo’s going to freak.”
“I’ll handle Leo,” Kayne promised. “What I need is you not trying to be brave for my sake. Or his. Or anybody’s.”
Her chin lifted stubbornly. “I’m not fragile, Kayne.”
“I know.” He reached out and caught a strand of her hair where it had escaped her ponytail. His fingers brushed her cheek before he dropped his hand, restraint etched into every line of him. “But being strong doesn’t mean being reckless.”
Chloe’s breath wavered. “I hate this.”
“I know that too.” He nudged a leaf on one of her plants, careful and gentle, like everything he did around her. “But I’m not losing you. Not to some bastard who thinks he can scare you out of your own life.”
Her eyes shone. Not with tears, exactly, but something weightier. Something he felt too deep to put words to. Then she whispered, “Kayne?”
“Yeah, cher.”
“You saved me today. Twice.”
Kayne didn’t touch her. Didn’t move. But something in him leaned, shameless and hungry and dangerous.
“Get used to it,” he murmured.
Her lashes fluttered, and then the moment shattered when her phone buzzed sharply on the table.
Chloe startled. Kayne’s hand automatically went to his weapon.
She reached for the phone, glanced at the screen, and all the color drained from her face.
“What is it?” he asked, already moving toward her.
She held it out with a trembling hand. A text from an unknown number.
Thought you’d be home by now. Cute boyfriend.
Kayne’s blood went ice cold, a flash-freeze that cut straight to the bone.
He texted his office to trace the message, already knowing it would go nowhere, the motion more hopeful than anything else.
There was no doubt the perp used a burner.
They were anonymous, disposable, and provided enough confidence to taunt.
The casualness of it bothered him more than the threat itself.
This wasn’t panic or impulse. It was someone enjoying the game.
For a split second, instinct roared to bundle her up and disappear her into the safe house BeBe had secured.
There, he could hide Chloe from the world behind layers of concrete and cameras.
But he shut that down just as fast. Right now, she didn’t need to feel hunted.
She needed normalcy. The illusion of it, at least. She needed the familiar comfort of her apartment and the quiet reassurance of her bed, not the sense that life had been stolen from her.
He’d stand guard instead. Let the walls stay the same while he became the barrier.
“I’m staying close,” he said, voice dropping into something unyielding. “No arguments. That means tonight, tomorrow, and until we figure this out. If I tell you not to open a door, you don’t. If I tell you someone’s off, you listen.”
She blinked. “Are you asking me to trust you, or telling me to?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
Her lips nearly curved despite everything. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one that matters.”
Charged silence stretched between them. Kayne could feel it in the air, thick enough to drag through with his hands. Chloe’s shoulders loosened a fraction, and she let out the smallest breath, as if his certainty steadied her more than she wanted to admit.
#
Kayne stood, scanning Chloe’s apartment.
His loose, relaxed posture disguised the strategic sweep happening behind those green eyes.
She noticed him cataloguing every shadow and reflective surface.
Tonight, though, he lingered at the single narrow hallway leading to her bedroom, gaze sharpening just a little, as if he was already calculating exits, threats, and, God help her, sleeping arrangements.
“Where am I sleeping?” he asked.
Chloe’s brain short-circuited. “Um. Well. I only have one—”
“Queen bed, yeah.” He gave a lazy half-smile that did devastating things to her blood pressure. “I’ll take the floor. Your sofa isn’t big enough for a full-grown man.”
Talking about a bed and using the words “grown man” made her body tingle inappropriately. As in deeply inappropriately. As in, please stop talking inappropriately.
“The floor is hardwood,” she warned. “You’ll wake up shaped into an origami crane.”
“I’ve slept on worse.” His gaze caught hers and held. “You won’t rest unless you know I’m here.”
Chloe’s breath snagged. Her dignity tried to intervene but subsequently failed. “Wow, arrogant much?” she muttered. Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong. “Okay. You can take the floor.”
His eyebrow lifted, and she was sure he could see every bit of internal flailing she was desperately trying to repress.
“And you,” he said, “can stop looking like I asked you to hand over your firstborn.”
She rolled her eyes. “I do not look like that.”
“You do.” His mouth tipped up. “A very cute version of it.”
Cute.
Great. Perfect. Just what every frazzled woman wanted to hear from a devastatingly handsome Cajun wall of muscle she was absolutely not thinking about in a bed-adjacent context.
She stood too quickly, nearly launching herself into orbit. “I’m going to get you a blanket.”
His smile widened knowingly, smug in that infuriatingly gentle way of his. “Much appreciated.”
She spun toward the linen closet, muttering under her breath. Something about manners, men, and muscle mass not being allowed to smirk like that.
Behind her, Kayne chuckled as if he knew exactly what she was doing. Which, of course he did. Because Kayne noticed everything. Especially things she wished he didn’t.
She grabbed a blanket and returned to find him crouched on the floor, measuring the available real estate as if he planned on negotiating with it.
“You sure you’re going to fit down there?” she asked, instantly regretting the phrasing.
One brow rose. “Why? You offering alternatives?”
She choked. Actually choked. “No! I mean—I was just—the floor—Kayne, oh, my God.”
His grin unfurled slowly and sinfully. “Relax, cher. I’m teasing.”
Relax? Ha! She wasn’t even remotely settled. Her molecules weren’t mollified. Relaxation was a myth.
He accepted the blanket, brushing her fingers in the process, accidentally, devastatingly. Her pulse spiked so fast she was surprised she didn’t pass out like a Victorian heroine hovering near a fainting couch.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
“Sure,” she croaked, even though the air between them felt dense enough to swim through.
He smoothed the blanket out, moving with that efficient, quiet competence that made her insides do unforgivable things.
“Chloe?” he said without looking up.
“Yeah?”
“You did good tonight.” A pause. “Better than you think.”
The compliment caught her by surprise and felt almost too heavy.
She swallowed. “You, uh, did pretty good too.”
His amused eyes lifted to hers as if he knew exactly how hard she was fighting not to turn into a puddle on her own hardwood floor.
“Go on,” he said. “Get ready for bed.”
The way he said bed did not help her in any way whatsoever.
She fled before she did something stupid. Like stare. Or melt. Or ask what he thought he was doing to her sanity. Or, heaven help her, invite him to climb in next to her.
Behind her, Kayne chuckled again.
And despite her exhaustion, despite the fear, the texts, the danger, her cheeks warmed and her lips twitched.
Because somehow, maddeningly, she felt safe.