Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Orion
As I lead Briar to the SUV in the lot, I spot something on her car in the lot. I put her into the SUV. “Lock the door,” I tell her.
“What? Where are you going?”
I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder as she sits in the SUV. “I just want to check a few things,” I tell her, hoping she doesn’t see the obvious note on her car too.
She nods, and I shut the door. She stares at me, and I tap on the window.
“Lock up,” I tell her once again.
She locks the doors, and I head off in the direction of her vehicle in the lot. I pull the wiper back and clutch the small scrap of paper. I stare at the note, and in sloppy handwriting is scrawled:
You think he can save you?
There’s no signature, but we don’t need one. Everything about this screams Jason. The clipped, threatening tone, the sense of being watched. He knows I’m here, and he wants Briar to know it.
Motherfucker. Part of me wants to hurl a curse into the darkness. Instead, I clamp my jaw shut and breathe. I need to tell Briar about the note.
Not now, I decide, slipping the note into my jacket pocket. Later, when she’s calmer. She’s in enough distress as it is. We have time to strategize. Let her rest for now.
By the time I climb into the SUV, Briar turns to face me. “Everything all right?” she asks, voice low, eyes darting to me.
I force a reassuring smile. “Just needed to double-check a few things. Thought I saw something but it was probably my imagination. Let’s get out of here.”
She studies me, uncertainty lining her features. But after a moment, she nods, and we drive off, the streetlights flashing over us in a rhythmic pattern. All the while, my mind hums with the note in my pocket. You think he can save you?
We reach my place without incident. The tension in my chest starts to loosen once we’re inside.
I flick on the living room light, illuminating the space.
Briar sets her purse on the coffee table, her shoulders slumping from exhaustion.
She looks so worn down. I want to wrap my arms around her, shield her from all of this.
But that’s not exactly in the standard job description, is it?
Yet this is more than a job now. I can’t keep lying to myself about it. Ever since the first time I saw her, something has twisted inside me—a fierce need to protect, yes, but also the recognition that I like her, a lot more than I should.
“Jeb put to bed,” Jeb screeches from his cage. “Jeb neeeeeds sleep.”
Briar, ever so patiently, heads off toward the bird’s cage to deal with him. She takes him out of the cage for a few minutes and then takes him back to her room to put him to sleep.
“How about some tea?” I offer once she’s back, trying to ease her into a calmer headspace.
She nods absently, following me into the kitchen. “Yeah. Tea. That’d be nice.”
As I fill the kettle, she leans against the counter, arms crossed. “What did you see out there, really?” She doesn’t even look at me, just at the floor. “You keep getting that look. The one that says you’re worried.”
I hesitate, feeling the weight of the note in my pocket.
I should tell her. But her voice is already trembling with the question, and she’s had enough fear for one night.
“Probably just a trick of the light,” I say carefully, turning to meet her gaze.
“But I checked it out anyway. We’re safe here, Briar. ”
Her lips part, and for a moment, she looks like she wants to argue. Then she exhales, dropping her gaze. “Okay,” she says softly, though her eyes remain clouded with doubt.
I power through the moment, busying myself with the kettle.
The stove’s blue flame flickers, casting faint shadows on the walls.
Briar hovers by the fridge, hand resting lightly on the handle.
She doesn’t open it, though, just stands there, lost in thought.
The silence weighs heavy. So much has happened in the span of just a couple hours—fear, memories, that note I haven’t shown her.
And the adrenaline from it all swirls inside me, mixing with something else.
Something that stirs whenever I look at her.
I shut the stove off once the kettle whistles and pour steaming water into two mugs, dropping in tea bags. When I turn, she’s watching me with an expression that’s equal parts confusion and longing. My heart speeds up as I cross the few steps between us. “Here,” I say, handing her a mug.
“Thanks,” she whispers, the ceramic warm in her hands. She takes a tentative sip, her eyes drifting shut at the heat. “I’m sorry for being so jumpy. I know this is your job, and I keep—”
“Hey,” I interject, setting my own mug aside. My free hand lifts to brush a stray hair from her forehead. “You don’t need to apologize for being scared. You’ve been through a lot.”
She glances up at me. For a moment, I see the vulnerability in her eyes, that raw place where Jason’s caused so much pain.
The protective part of me roars to the surface, wanting to fix it all.
But there’s also an undeniable attraction pulling me in, a gravitational force I can’t deny.
And judging by the way she’s looking at me, she feels it too.
I can’t help myself. I lean in, letting my forehead touch hers lightly. Her breath hitches, and I feel the warmth of it against my lips. “We’ll figure this out,” I murmur. “One step at a time.”
Her mug trembles slightly in her grasp. She sets it on the counter with a soft clink of ceramic against stone. “I know,” she manages, voice low. Then she closes the distance between us, standing on her tiptoes. Her lips brush mine, gentle at first—like she’s testing the waters.
Heat flares in my chest. Cupping the back of her neck, I let the kiss deepen, the taste of mint tea mingling with a sweetness that is entirely Briar. She sighs into my mouth, and I feel her body relax against me, like she’s letting go of the tension that’s been piling up for days, maybe weeks.
I press her back against the counter, my hand braced on the surface beside her. She grips the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer, and a jolt of electricity courses through me. There’s something raw and urgent in the way she clings to me, as if needing this contact to prove she’s alive and safe.
Her fingers slide up to my shoulders, then curl around the back of my neck, drawing me down.
A low sound escapes my throat—a mix of hunger and relief.
With every brush of our lips, every shift of our bodies, the tension between us swells, and I’m finding it harder and harder to hold back.
Her breathy little gasps spur me on, and I move my hand to her waist, anchoring her against me.
Time blurs. The worries of the night—the suspicious figure, that damned note—fade to the outer limit. Right now, the only thing that exists is her warmth, her scent, the flutter of her pulse beneath my fingertips. She arches into me, and I thread my fingers into her hair, reveling in the softness.
“Orion,” she murmurs, my name catching in her throat. It’s a plea and a question all at once.
I break the kiss, just enough to catch my breath. My forehead dips to hers, my own breathing ragged. In the silence, I can hear the steady tick of the kitchen clock, the hum of the fridge. “Is this okay?” I ask, my voice thick, my thumb gently stroking the curve of her jaw.
Her eyes flick open, darkened with emotion I can’t quite name. Fear is still there, but so is need, and something that feels a lot like trust. She nods, swallowing hard. “Yes,” she whispers. “I want this.”
A surge of relief and desire courses through me, and I capture her lips again, this time more insistent. She responds with equal fervor, her hands sliding under my jacket, pressing against my shoulder blades. I feel the steady pound of her heart through the thin layers of clothing between us.
I lift her onto the counter, and she lets out a little gasp, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist. The position sends a flare of heat right to my core, and I tighten my grip on her hips. She clings to me, her mouth parting, inviting me in deeper.
It’s a rush—an intoxicating blend of passion and the unspoken promise of safety.
Each soft moan from her lips, each little whisper of my name, urges me forward, and I’m consumed by the need to protect her, to shelter her from everything that threatens her.
But I also want to claim this moment, to indulge in the spark that’s been growing between us from the start.
Her fingers twine in my hair, drawing a low groan from my chest. My own hands roam her sides, feeling the warmth of her body through her dress. Every point of contact feels supercharged, and we lose ourselves in the press of lips and the glide of hands.
Eventually, we pull apart, panting. Our foreheads rest against each other again, and I can’t help the grin that tugs at my lips. She mirrors it, though her cheeks are flushed. The tension in her eyes is gone, replaced by something softer, something hopeful.
“Wow,” she whispers, laughing a little at how breathless she sounds.
I slide a hand up to gently cup her cheek, brushing my thumb across her flushed skin. “You okay?” I ask. It’s become my standard question these days, but in this moment, it carries a deeper meaning.
She nods, leaning into my touch. “Better than okay.”
For a few heartbeats, we stay like that, just breathing each other in, letting the kitchen’s quiet hold us. A pang of reality creeps back in. Jason. The note. But I swallow it down, not wanting to ruin this fragile moment of peace.
I cradle her face with both hands, my voice gentle. “We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow, all right?”
She tilts her head, her eyes drifting to my lips before returning to meet my gaze. “Yeah. Tomorrow.” A flicker of shadows crosses her features, as if she senses I’m keeping something from her. But instead of pushing, she lets it go, and I silently thank her for that mercy.