Chapter 23
The mansion settles into an unfamiliar kind of quiet after the ambassador leaves. It’s not silent, because there’s always movement somewhere, but without his constant meetings and staff traffic in every hallway, the embassy starts feeling strangely domestic.
It’s dangerous, uncharted territory, especially with Mackenzi wandering through each room, practically daring me to finish what we started.
I’m halfway through reviewing updated perimeter reports in the command center when Gunnar glances at one of the surveillance monitors and snorts softly. “She’s stealing your clothes now.”
My eyes lift to the monitor to find her curled up on one of the couches in the sitting room, wearing my Aegis hoodie and fuzzy socks with a thick textbook spread across her lap. Her hands are barely visible, because my sleeves drown them completely.
I like her in my clothes… nearly as much as I like her without any at all.
“That’s not stealing,” I correct. “I left it in there earlier. She probably just got cold.”
Gunnar doesn’t pull his eyes from the screens to look at me. “Mmhmm.”
I ignore him and force my attention toward the reports in front of me—more correctly, I attempt to force my attention—because every thirty seconds my attention drifts back toward the monitor.
Mackenzi chews lightly on the edge of a pen while reading, her brow furrowed in concentration. Every few minutes, she reaches absentmindedly for the mug beside her without looking away from the book.
The difference in her since pulling her out of that lecture hall is subtle unless you’ve been paying attention.
But she’s no longer the restless, defensive girl angry over the loss of freedom, trying to hide her fear beneath a weak shield of sarcasm.
The girl on the monitor is comfortable and relaxed, and she laughs a lot more. A sound I have grown quite fond of.
My radio crackles softly against the desk. “South perimeter secure.”
“Copy,” Gunnar answers before I get a chance.
I push away from the operations table.
“Where are you going?”
“Doing a perimeter check.”
Gunnar doesn’t even glance up and shakes his head. “Sure you are.”
The hallway outside the command center glows warm beneath recessed lighting, while storm shadows ripple faintly across polished floors.
I find her exactly where the monitors showed, still curled up in the corner of the couch, my hoodie swallowing her whole. Mackenzi looks up when my shadow passes over the couch as I enter the room. The second she notices me, her entire face softens.
“You know,” she says casually, closing her textbook over one finger to hold her place, “normal people make noise when they walk into a room.”
“Part of protecting the residence from threats is the ability to be stealthy.”
She smiles slowly.
I move farther into the room, stopping near the couch while my eyes drag over her unintentionally. Her legs are bare beneath my oversized hoodie, and her hair is messy like she twisted it up merely to get it out of her face.
“You’re staring,” she breathes.
“I’m assessing a threat.” She might be the most dangerous thing I’ve ever faced.
“That sounds very tactical.”
I reach down before I can stop myself, my finger coiling around one of the hoodie strings. “It looks better on you.” Her reaction sends a pulse of satisfaction straight through me.
“That wasn’t strategic.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No. I like that it smells like you.” Mackenzi’s eyes widen immediately, as if she didn’t mean to say that out loud.
Fuck.
Every protective instinct I possess collides violently with ones much less noble. “Careful, trouble.”
Her throat works slightly when she swallows. “Why?”
Because my self-control around you is deteriorating rapidly, and hearing that almost had me dragging you from this couch to kiss you senseless.
Her breath catches softly as she gives me that look.
No one has ever looked at me with trust and desire tangled together quite like Mackenzi does.
Usually, it’s one or the other. Not both.
And the combination is lethal. She doesn’t understand what that expression does to a man like me, a man who has spent years compartmentalizing instinct from action until restraint became second nature.
But maintaining restraint around her has started feeling less like control and more like punishment.
I’ve been dying to be alone with her. And now that there’s no ambassador, no staff moving through the residence, and no interruptions beyond the storm raging outside, I’m over here wasting fucking time.
Fuck it…
I glance toward the small black security camera mounted discreetly in the top corner of the sitting room. “Look away, Gunnar.”
Her breath hitches in immediate realization. And in the command center, I know with absolute certainty, Gunnar is either laughing his ass off or cutting the feed before I rip the monitor off the wall later.
I don’t give myself another second to think.
As I slowly move toward her, I watch every tiny shift in her expression as anticipation softens her features.
She carefully sets the textbook aside without taking her eyes off me.
I stop directly in front of the couch, close enough that I can smell the vanilla from her shampoo beneath my cologne clinging to the hoodie.
“Still think I’m a threat?” she asks playfully, her breathing growing erratic.
With one hand on the arm of the couch and the other on the back cushion behind her, I cage her in without even touching her. Her eyes widen slightly as I lean over her. “You’re absolutely a threat.”
Mackenzi tilts her head back, her lips parting softly.
I lower my mouth to hers, tasting the lingering spiciness of the chai tea latte she’s been drinking.
My thumb brushes lightly along her jaw as I lean closer, deepening the kiss gradually until I feel the tiny sound she makes against my mouth more than hearing it.
Fuck.
Every instinct inside me surges to life.
Protect.
Possess.
Hunger.
Mackenzi kisses me with growing confidence, her hand sliding upward until her fingers curl lightly around the side of my neck. I shift closer, my body pressing between her knees while the oversized hoodie bunches beneath us.
Her lips are addictive, soft enough to make me forget this isn’t the place for this. When I finally drag my mouth away, I force myself to pull back while I regain control one painful inch at a time.
I gingerly rub the pad of my thumb over her swollen lower lip. “It’s getting late,” I whisper gravelly. “Probably time to get you into bed.”
I straighten, steadying myself, then hold out my hand. She slips hers into it, and I help her from the couch. I lace my fingers through hers without thinking, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, as I walk her out of the sitting room.
Guiding her through the foyer, my thumb brushes across the back of her hand. When we reach the stairs, I shift slightly, leading her up each step toward her bedroom.