Chapter 3 Protective Instincts
Nick Malone
Nick’s grip on Celeste’s wrist was firm as he led her through the side exit of the gala. The city’s night air wrapped around them, thick with humidity and the distant wail of sirens, but Nick barely noticed. His mind was locked on one thing—Adrian Wolfe had been in that ballroom.
Celeste ripped her wrist free, stepping into Nick’s space, her glare blazing with fury. “I don’t recall asking to be dragged out of my own damn event.”
Her voice was low, cutting, but beneath the anger, he caught something else—fear she refused to show.
Nick barely glanced at her. “You didn’t have to.”
Sabre stayed close at his side, ears darting toward unseen disturbances in the alley beside them. Every muscle in Nick’s body remained coiled tight, his instincts screaming that this night was going to be much longer than expected.
Celeste exhaled sharply, smoothing the front of her gown like she could brush away the chaos of the evening. “This is ridiculous.”
Nick turned on her, his patience wearing thinner by the second.
“Ridiculous?” His voice was low, controlled, but laced with an unmistakable edge.
“You have a stalker who’s been inside your building, sending threats, watching you.
Tonight, he was close enough to text you the second you pulled away from me. And you think this is ridiculous?”
Celeste flinched—just barely. “I didn’t say I wasn’t taking it seriously.”
Nick stepped in closer, his presence towering. “Then start acting like it.”
Her chin lifted, fire flashing in those steel-blue eyes. “I don’t need a bodyguard dictating my every move.”
Nick smirked. “Tough. You’ve got one now.”
Before she could snap back, his phone buzzed against his hip. Graham.
Nick answered on the second ring. “Tell me you’ve got something.”
“You’ve got a new job description,” Graham said. “Effective immediately, you’re on full-time security detail for Celeste Bellerose.”
“You can’t be serious.” Nick’s voice filled with dislike.
“Dead serious.”
Nick didn’t argue. He didn’t have the luxury of saying no.
He ended the call and turned to Celeste, already bracing for the argument. “It’s official. I’m your new shadow until you’re told otherwise.”
Celeste rolled her eyes, muttering something in French under her breath before shooting a glance toward Sabre, who sat at Nick’s side, head tilted like he was waiting for someone to make a move.
“And I suppose your gold fanged companion is part of the package?” she quipped.
Nick crossed his arms. “Sabre’s better at reading people than most humans. You might want to be nice to him.”
Celeste sighed dramatically, but there was something in her expression—uncertainty, vulnerability. She could play at being unaffected all she wanted, but Nick saw the signs. The tightness in her shoulders. The way her fingers trembled slightly before she curled them into fists.
She was rattled. And trying like hell not to show it.
Nick softened—just a fraction.
“Come on, princess. Let’s get you home, but first I close up the security detail”
Celeste’s lips parted, as if she wanted to argue. But she didn’t.
Instead, she turned, her heels clicking against the pavement as she let Nick guide her toward the waiting car.
Since this case landed in his lap, Nick felt the shift deep in his gut.
This wasn’t just a job.
It was a life altering order.
And whether she liked it or not—Celeste Bellerose was his to protect.
***
They were back inside the venue for one last security sweep before heading to Celeste’s penthouse. Nick didn’t like the idea of leaving loose ends.
Celeste stood near a side alcove, checking her phone, when Nick’s gut twisted. Something didn’t set well, his instincts told him something was off.
Sabre’s ears perked. His head snapped toward the far end of the ballroom, his body rigid.
Nick’s spine went stiff. Instinct roared in his veins.
“Ms. Bellerose,” he called, already moving toward her.
The second she lifted her head—glass shattered.
A burst of sound. A flash of movement.
Nick lunged.
Celeste barely had time to react before he was on her, twisting her into his chest, shielding her from the raining shards.
The ballroom silenced.
Security scrambled. Waitstaff gawked. Guests murmured.
Nick’s heart pounded as he slowly turned, his eyes locking onto the source of the chaos.
A champagne glass had exploded against the marble floor—but it wasn’t just from a careless guest.
A bullet hole marred the pristine white surface behind the bar.
Nick’s stomach dropped.
That wasn’t just broken glass.
It was a goddamn warning.
Celeste shivered against him, her breathing uneven. He felt it. The moment she realized this was real.
Nick held her a second longer than he should have before easing back, scanning the crowd.
Adrian Wolfe was nowhere in sight.
***
Celeste moved through her penthouse like a ghost, arms wrapped around herself, staring out over the glittering skyline.
Nick stood in the doorframe, watching her.
He wasn’t supposed to feel this.
This protectiveness that wasn’t just professional. Why was this happening?
“I didn’t think—” Celeste hesitated, swallowing hard. “I mean, I knew it was bad, but I didn’t—”
Nick stepped closer. “You didn’t think it was real until you felt the glass.”
Her nod was barely perceptible.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The city murmured beyond the windows, a distant reminder of the world outside. But here, in the charged silence between them, nothing else existed. Just the unspoken tension. Just them.
Her breathing was uneven.
Her lips barely parted.
She looked at him like he was the only thing tethering her to solid ground, like if she let go, she might disappear into the chaos.
Nick knew better.
He should step back. He should walk away.
But then Celeste whispered, “Stay.”
And that was it.
Celeste didn’t realize she was shaking until Nick’s hands were on her arms, steady and warm. She tried to push past it, to pretend everything wasn’t weighing 1000 lbs., but the moment she met his gaze, something inside her cracked.
It wasn’t just the notes.
It wasn’t just the threats.
It was the reality that someone out there wanted to hurt her. Maybe worse.
Nick must have seen it too because his grip tightened—not hard, just enough to keep her standing. Grounding her. His body heat seeped through the thin fabric of her dress, his steady, unshakable presence wrapping around her like armor.
“You’re safe,” he said, his voice rough but certain. “As long as I’m here, you’re safe.”
Something about the way he said it—like a promise written in stone—made her stomach twist.
She shouldn’t feel this way.
She shouldn’t want to melt into the arms of a man who had spent the last few hours acting like she was more inconvenience than priority.
But Nick Malone wasn’t acting like this was just a job anymore.
Neither was she.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight, as if that alone would stop her from unraveling completely.
Nick didn’t move away.
Didn’t push her off.
He just stood there, letting her lean into him, letting her press her forehead to the solid plane of his chest. Letting her breathe.
But the moment stretched. Shifted.
Because he wasn’t just holding her together.
He was remembering.
The kiss.
That reckless, impulsive move she’d made at the gala, grabbing him, pressing her lips to his, using him as a human shield against Adrian’s eyes.
She’d meant for it to be a distraction. Nothing more.
But now?
Nick could still feel it. The heat of her lips. The way she had fit so damn perfectly against him. The way she had tasted—like the sweetest of wines.
He had told himself it was nothing.
Just an act.
Just strategy.
But standing here now, with her body pressed against his, her breath warm against his throat, he knew better.
He suddenly wanted her.
Badly.
And that was a problem.
This wasn’t supposed to be personal.
But with her pressed against him, her warmth sinking into his skin, it sure as hell felt that way.
Celeste shifted, her arms tightening around him, and Nick felt it. Not just the tremor of fear. Not just the vulnerability. But something far more dangerous. Craving.
The same awareness that had hit him when she kissed him at the gala. That had burned through him when her hands fisted in his jacket. That had left him standing there like a damn idiot, still feeling the imprint of her mouth long after she had pulled away.
And now, she was looking up at him. Her lips just inches away. The same lips he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.
Nick knew he should step back. Say something. Anything to break the moment before it spiraled. But he didn’t.
Because she was looking at him like he was the last safe place in a world. Like if she let go, she might lose herself completely.
And Nick? He wanted to make damn sure she never had to.
His fingers skimmed along her spine, the slow glide of his palm settling at the small of her back, pulling her just that much closer. The warmth of her body seeped through his shirt, and damn it, he was drowning in her.
Celeste inhaled softly, her breath unsteady as she tilted her chin, just a fraction. An invitation. A risk.
Nick’s pulse pounded, his jaw tight as he fought the war raging inside him. But there was no winning this. Not when she was looking at him like that.
His hand lifted, fingers brushing along the edge of her jaw, tilting her face up just enough for her lashes to flutter. And then—A sharp ring shattered the moment.
Celeste jolted against him, her hands still gripping his shirt as she blinked in disoriented surprise.
Nick cursed under his breath and pulled his phone from his pocket, his voice taut as he answered. “Malone.”
Graham’s voice was sharp. “This isn’t good, Malone.”
Nick exhaled slowly, already bracing for whatever came next. “And just when I thought tonight was getting interesting.”
Graham ignored the sarcasm. “Get serious. We’ve got a situation.”
Nick’s gaze drifted to Celeste, still wrapped in his arms, her breath uneven, her fingers curled against his chest like she wasn’t ready to let go.
Neither was he.
He straightened, his grip on his phone tightening. “Yeah. I know.”