Chapter 7
chapter
seven
Mitchell
I close the bathroom door with more care than necessary, then lean back and stare at the ceiling.
These split baths that some hotels have can be convenient if you need to brush your teeth or wash your hands and someone is already in the shower or using the toilet.
But on the whole, they’re kind of impractical.
I shift to take my clothes off and catch a glimpse of myself in a small framed mirror on the wall. The mirror reflects a man who looks steady enough. Calm. In control. Same as always. The kind of man people trust with their lives.
Right now all of that feels like a lie.
Because my pulse is still too loud in my ears, and the image of her standing there wrapped in a towel—hair damp, eyes wide, sensual in a way she probably doesn’t even recognize—won’t let go of me. I strip quickly, then step into the glass enclosure.
I turn on the shower and step under the spray, letting the water pound against my shoulders. Maybe the steam will knock some sense back into me.
She didn’t mean to undo me. That’s the worst part. There was no calculation in her eyes. No practiced seduction. Just embarrassment. Determination. Pride, she didn’t want to admit, was bruised because she’d needed help.
She wanted to prove something—to herself more than to me.
And I’d wanted to help her without taking anything from her in the process.
Christ.
My cock is heavy with need, and I grip my fist around it. Lust thrums through my body like a nightclub beat. Demanding and insistent. Maybe I just need to take the edge off. Maybe it’s just been too damn long since I’ve had sex. That’s probably it, and poor Evelyn is just the woman closest to me.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I know I’m lying to myself, but right now, I need the deception.
Just like I need this release. I shuttle my hand up and down my hard length and swallow the groans that rise in my throat.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying desperately to ignore the way the towel barely contained her full breasts.
“Fuck,” I growl.
My entire body tingles as pressure builds in my balls.
I twist my hand when I reach my tip. Two more strokes and I’m painting the tiled wall of the shower with my seed.
I rest my forehead against the cool tile and let the water run down my face. My heart pounds, reverberating in my ears.
Goddammit!
I shouldn’t have done that. But it makes as much sense to cry over spilled seed as it does milk.
This is why lines exist. Why I’ve lived my life inside them. Because wanting is dangerous. Because the moment you start imagining what it would feel like to be chosen instead of assigned, you’re already in trouble.
Evelyn doesn’t belong to me.
She’s my brother’s responsibility. My job. A woman whose life is already complicated enough without my feelings getting tangled in it.
I dry myself off and step out of the shower
I need advice.
Normally, I’d talk to Mike about a situation like this. Obviously, I can’t talk to him at the moment. Not about Evelyn.
I grab my phone and pull up my contacts. Dillon is a fellow guard with Lone Star Security. We’ve worked on some assignments together in the past, and I trust his judgment.
Me: You got a minute?
Dillon: Sure. What’s up?
Me: I think I’ve fucked up.
Me: Pretty sure I’m close to breaking our cardinal rule.
Dillon: Falling for an asset?
Me: Yeah. But it gets worse.
Dillon: Explain.
Me: She’s supposed to marry my brother. I’m protecting her and escorting her to Vegas for the wedding.
Dillon: That’s shit luck.
Me: Tell me about it.
Me: The thing is, theirs is a marriage of convenience. They don’t know each other. There are no feelings involved.
Dillon: Sounds like you need to have a conversation with your brother.
Dillon: Tell him how you feel about her.
Me: I’ve known her for less than 24 hours.
Me: I don’t even know how I feel.
Me: I just know I feel something.
Dillon: Figure it out before she gets hurt.
Dillon: Before you cross a line with an asset, you best make sure she’s worth it and that you’re in it for good.
He’s right. Of course, he’s right.
And then there’s my brother. This is the first time he’s even considered marriage; shouldn’t I be willing to step aside and give him a chance?
I picture the way she looked when I told her she was doing great. Like no one had ever said that to her before. Like the words mattered more than I realized.
My chest tightens.
I’ve protected assets. Witnesses. Politicians. Heiresses. I’ve never once confused duty with desire.
Until now.
Until a princess asked for a towel and thanked me like I’d given her something precious.
I pull on my sweatpants and t-shirt, then hang the towels on the rack. I feel when my resolve clicks back into place the way it always does.
I will do my job.
I will get her safely to Vegas.
I will keep my distance.
I will not touch what was never meant to be mine.
Even if, for one quiet moment outside this bathroom, she looked at me like I was something she could choose.