4. Chapter 4 Smoke in My Head
Cole
Icross the street fast, boots hitting pavement hard enough to echo. The stranger's already gone. Not walking away. Gone. Like he vaporized the second I moved.
The shop window reflects my scowl back at me, and behind the glass, Suzanne stands frozen. Her smile's still in place, bright and empty as a storefront display. It doesn't reach her eyes. Doesn't even come close.
I push through the door. The bell chimes too cheerful for the knot in my gut.
"Who was that?"
She blinks. "Who was who?"
"The suit. Across the street."
"I didn't see anyone." Her voice stays light, but her hands move to the espresso machine, fingers finding work that doesn't need doing. "You're paranoid, Harper."
"Suzanne."
"Cole." She mimics my tone, wiping down a counter already clean. "I'm fine. The shop's fine. You installed enough locks to secure Fort Knox."
I step closer. She doesn't look up.
"Someone tampered with your gas line two days ago. Now a stranger is watching your shop like he's casing it."
"Maybe he was lost."
"In a thousand-dollar suit?"
Her jaw tightens. "Maybe he has good taste."
"Look at me."
She does. Finally, and there it is, the fear she's trying to bury under sunshine and sarcasm. It sits in her eyes like smoke, curling dark at the edges.
"I don't know who he was," she says quietly. "And I don't want to."
That's not denial. That's survival.
I want to push. I want to crack her open until she tells me everything she's running from. But her shoulders are already braced like she's expecting impact, and I'm not adding to whatever weight she's carrying.
"Okay." I step back and give her space, even though every instinct says to close the distance. "But I'm checking your apartment before you lock up tonight."
"Cole…"
"Not negotiable."
She opens her mouth and closes it. Then nods once, sharp.
I leave before I do something stupid. Like touching her. Like promising things I have no business promising to a woman I barely know.
Willa's voice echoes in my head: She's been through enough.
I get in the truck and grip the wheel until my knuckles go white.
***
Sleep doesn't come.
I try lying flat on my back in the dark, Smokey snoring at the foot of the bed, the ceiling fan turning lazy circles overhead. My body's tired. Worked a double at the station, installed security at Butter & Bean, and ran drills until my muscles burned.
None of it matters.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her.
Suzanne on that ladder, her shirt riding up when she reached for the menu board. A strip of soft skin above her jeans, and curves that made my mouth go dry. The way her head tipped back when she laughed at General Tso. Throat bare. Like she forgot to be careful for a second.
The way she looked at me when I stepped close, in her shop. Like she wanted to run. Like she wanted to stay.
I roll onto my side. Punch the pillow. Smokey lifts his head and whines.
"Go back to sleep," I mutter.
He huffs and settles. I stare at the wall.
This is exactly why she's a bad idea. Willa made that crystal clear, and Willa's not wrong. Suzanne came here to rebuild, not get tangled up with the grumpy fireman who can't stop thinking about the shape of her mouth.
I flip onto my back again. The ceiling fan mocks me.
Her voice goes husky when she's trying not to laugh. When I stood behind her to install the new deadbolt, she leaned back half an inch. Just enough to test if I'd notice.
I noticed.
Heat pools low in my gut. I grit my teeth and ignore it.
Doesn't work.
I tell myself no. Twice.
My hand moves anyway.
I think about the threat text. About Nash. About Willa saying she's been through enough.
My hand doesn't stop.
None of it works.
I picture her on her knees. Those big eyes looking up at me, lips parted, that smart mouth finally quiet because it's full of me. I'd fist her hair, not rough, just firm enough to guide her, and she'd take me deeper, hands braced on my thighs, nails digging in.
My grip tightens. My breath comes faster.
She'd look wrecked. Messy. That sunshine smile was replaced by something raw and hungry, and I'd give her everything she wanted. Everything she needed. I'd make her come so hard she forgot her own name.
I stroke harder, jaw clenched, chasing the release building at the base of my spine.
I'm close. Right there. She bent over the prep counter, hands braced, my name in her throat.
My phone lights up on the nightstand.
Smokey jolts awake. A low growl in his chest.
The arousal dies instant and cold. I grab the phone and read the message.
Unknown number. The screen glows in the dark, message preview stark and clear:
Stay away from Suzanne Lane.
I sit up fast. Heart pounding. Hand still wrapped around myself like a teenager caught in the act.
I read it again. No context. No signature. Just a threat wrapped in nine words.
My thumb hovers over the screen. I could call it. Trace it. Hand it to Nash and let him work his magic.
Instead, I screenshot it. Forward it to Beau's PI. Then I open my contacts and find Suzanne's number.
My finger hovers. It's past midnight. She's probably asleep. I text her anyway.
Are you awake? Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Yeah. Can't sleep.
Relief hits harder than it should.
Me neither.
You okay?
I stare at the question. At the screen. At the message telling me to back off.
No. I'm not okay. I'm hard and furious and protective of a woman I have no claim to. A woman who someone else is clearly trying to control.
I type the only truth I've got:
I will be. Lock your doors.
Already did. Three times.
That pulls something tight in my chest. She's scared. Alone in that apartment above the shop, triple-checking locks because she knows danger when it's circling.
Good. Get some sleep.
You too, Harper.
I drop the phone on the nightstand. Lie back down. Stare at the ceiling.
Smokey settles against my leg, warm and solid.
Sleep still doesn't come. But this time it's not desire keeping me awake. It's the certainty that whoever sent that message just made the worst mistake of their life.
Because I don't take orders, and I sure as hell don't abandon people who need me.
She's not mine to want. I've told myself that every day since she got back.
Didn't stop anything.
Whoever sent that message thinks they have a claim on her. They're wrong. She's mine to protect, and I'm done pretending otherwise.