Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Evangeline
"Would you like me to recite exactly how I've envisioned tearing him apart and delivering his hands to you in a box?"
James's words hung in the air between us, turning the atmosphere in the car glacial.
I looked at him, unable to breathe, unable to respond.
His face was a mask of controlled fury, eyes hard and bright as cut sapphires.
In that moment, I saw the soldier beneath the bodyguard—the man who had survived combat zones, who had taken lives, who possessed a capacity for violence I'd only glimpsed until now.
I sat in my own little bubble thinking about that kiss, he claimed me finally! That kiss though, although i know it was part fulled by anger at on going argument. It was vigorous and raw.Part of me was terrified. Another part—a part I scarcely recognized—was exhilarated.
I glanced back over to james i could see he was waiting for me to say something to his statement that i had barley given any attention to in my haze of adrenaline.
"You don't mean that," I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
James's jaw clenched, the muscle there jumping. "Don't I?"
He turned away, gripping the steering wheel so tightly, the steering wheel creaked under the pressure. The silence stretched between us, taut as a wire.
"Frederick is harmless," I said at last, though I wasn't entirely sure I believed it.
James let out a harsh laugh. "He's many things. Harmless isn't one of them."
"And you pulling a fire alarm? Creating a false emergency? Was that supposed to be helpful?" I demanded, finding my anger again.
"It got you away from him, didn't it?"
"That wasn't your call to make!" I snapped, fury rising again. "I don't need you deciding who I spend time with or who teaches me—"
"Yes, you do!," he interrupted, turning to face me with an intensity that stole my breath. "You need someone who sees the threats around you. Someone who understands the stakes. Someone who can actually protect you, not fabricate security concerns as an excuse to put his hands on you."
"Is that what this is about? His hands on me?" I challenged, leaning closer. "Or is it that they weren't yours?"
Something flashed in his eyes—dark and hungry—before he locked it away again.
"From now on, if you need self-defense training, you'll get it from me," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Not Frederick. Not anyone else. Me."
"And if I refuse?" I asked, even as something inside me thrilled at the possessiveness in his tone.
James started the car again, pulling back into traffic. "You won't."
The certainty in his voice should have infuriated me—would have infuriated me coming from anyone else. Instead, it sent a wave of heat through my body that had nothing to do with anger.
We rode in charged silence back to the penthouse.
Every few blocks, I'd steal a glance at his profile—the firm line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he scanned the surrounding streets.
Even angry, he was magnificent. Even frightening, he was the only person I truly felt safe with.
What did that say about me?
When we reached the penthouse, I headed straight for my bedroom, needing space, needing to think. James performed his usual security check without a word. The normalcy of the routine felt jarring after what had just passed between us.
"Evangeline."
I turned at the sound of my name, surprised to find him standing in the doorway of my room. I hadn't heard him approach. He could move like a ghost when he wanted to.
"First lesson tomorrow morning. Six AM," he said, his tone professional once more. "Wear something you can move in."
Then he was gone, the door to his bedroom closing with quiet finality.
I sank onto my bed, my mind replaying his words in the car.
Would he really have hurt Frederick? The cold precision in his voice suggested he was more than capable of it.
That he'd had detailed thoughts. The realization should have repulsed me—instead, it sent another forbidden thrill down my spine.
What was wrong with me?
Sleep proved elusive that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw James's face, heard his voice, felt the phantom touch of his hands on my skin.
When I finally drifted off, my dreams were a confused blend of desire and danger, of James protecting me and James claiming me, until I couldn't tell which was which.
I woke before my alarm, the gray light of dawn barely filtering through my curtains. Five-thirty. Still half an hour before I would face James again. I showered quickly, then pulled on leggings and a fitted t-shirt, twisting my hair into a tight braid.
When I emerged from my room, I found James already in the living room. He'd pushed the furniture against the walls, creating an open space in the center. He wore black track pants and a fitted gray t-shirt that did nothing to hide the muscular contours of his chest and arms.
"You're early," his voice deliberately neutral.
"So are you," I replied, watching him roll out a thin exercise mat.
"Let's get something straight first," he said, straightening to face me. "This isn't about Frederick. This is about your safety. I don't want a situation to arrise, that put’s you in a position rendering you defenceless. Do you understand?."
I nodded, grateful for the shift to a more professional dynamic. "Alright."
"The first thing you need to understand about self-defense is that it's about efficiency, not strength.
" He stepped closer, his scent—that familiar blend of sandalwood and something uniquely him—enveloping me.
"Most attackers will be physically stronger than you.
Your advantage is in technique, not power. "
For the next hour, James taught me basic defensive stances, how to break holds, and where to strike to cause maximum damage with minimal effort.
His instruction was precise; his demonstrations clear.
When he needed to adjust my position, his touch was impersonal, fleeting—nothing like Frederick's lingering hands.
Yet each brief contact sent electricity through me.
"Again," he said after I'd failed to break his grip for the third time. "You're not committing fully. If this were real, you'd be dead."
"I don't want to hurt you," I admitted, frustrated by my hesitation.
Something like amusement flickered across his face. "You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do," he replied simply. "Now, again."
This time when he grabbed me from behind, I executed the move exactly as he'd taught me—twisting, dropping my weight, using his momentum against him. To my surprise, it worked. James stumbled forward, caught off-guard by my sudden compliance with his instructions.
"Better," he said, righting himself. "Much better."
We continued for another half hour, James showing increasingly complex escapes and counters. By the end, I was sweating, breathing hard, and strangely exhilarated.
"That's enough for today," he said finally, stepping back to create space between us. "We'll practice again tomorrow. Same time."
"Thank you," I said, genuinely appreciative despite the circumstances that had led to this lesson. "That was... informative."
He nodded once, already moving to replace the furniture. "Go shower. You have class in an hour."
The rest of the day passed in a blur of lectures and labs. James maintained his usual distance at the university, a shadow in the background of my academic life. If my professors or classmates noticed anything different about his attentiveness, they didn't mention it.
That evening, I texted Octavia and Gabriela, suddenly desperate for the company of friends who knew me as something other than a princess or a security assignment.
It had been weeks since I'd seen them properly—between Alexandra's death, the funeral, and the intensity of my last semester, there had been little time for social connections.
Coffee tomorrow after class? I miss you both. Need friend time desperately.
Octavia replied almost immediately: FINALLY! Thought you'd forgotten us. Therapy Café at 4?
I glanced at James, who was working on his laptop at the kitchen counter. "I'm meeting Octavia and Gabriela for coffee tomorrow after class."
He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. "Where?"
"Therapy Café. It's on campus, so you won't have to adjust your schedule much." I kept my tone light, determinedly casual.
He nodded, returning to his laptop without further comment. The ease with which he accepted this plan, compared to his reaction to Frederick, was telling. It should have relieved me. Instead, it irritated me in a way I couldn't quite articulate.
The next day passed much like the one before—an early morning lesson with James, classes, his constant watchful presence.
By the time I reached Therapy Café, I was a bundle of conflicting emotions—exhaustion from lack of sleep, lingering tension from the morning's physical training, frustration with James's hot-and-cold demeanor.
Octavia and Gabriela were already at a table by the window, heads bent close in conversation. They spotted me as I entered, both jumping and crushing me in fierce hugs.
"Finally!" Octavia exclaimed, pulling back to examine my face. "God, you look tired. Is he working you too hard?" She nodded toward James, who had positioned himself at a table near the door, far enough to give us privacy but close enough to intervene if needed.
"Let's get your coffee first," Gabriela suggested, always the practical one. "Then you can tell us everything."
Once settled with steaming mugs and a shared plate of pastries, they both looked at me expectantly.
"So," Octavia began, leaning forward. "Spill. What's going on between you and the hot bodyguard? You look at him like you want to either kiss him or kill him."
I nearly choked on my coffee. "Is it that obvious!"
"Only to anyone with eyes," Gabriela said dryly. "What happened? Last time we saw you, things were tense but civil."