But I don't.
I shift and she mumbles something incoherent and turns away from me. I use the movement to slip free.
I walk slowly over to the door and turn the knob without making a sound. I step into the hallway and close it gently behind me. I take a deep breath now that I'm on the other side of her door.
The house is silent as the sun just starts to come up.
I make my way back to my room. My hands are shaking. I clench them into fists, but it doesn't help.
I slip into my room and take a seat on the edge of the bed. I put my elbows on my knees, and I drop my face into my hands.
Her scent clings to me. My fingers still smell like her. I rub my face, trying to scrub it away, but it only spreads into my nose and lungs.
I've protected a lot of women, but I've never touched any of them, let alone had sex with them.
I've never even thought about it.
Not once. Not in six years of doing this work.
And now I've done it twice, with her.
I stare at the bedroom floor.
What the hell am I doing?
And now my hands shake a little, which pisses me off more than anything else.
Because it means I'm losing control. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. That second time on the counter, it wasn't strategy. It wasn't even need. It was desperation. I felt the need to possess her while devoting myself to her.
And now, it's freaking me out and I'm spiraling backwards.
I should have stayed professional. Should have kept my hands to myself. Should have done my job and nothing else.
But judging by the fact that it felt like I was tearing my own goddamn ribs out when I left her bed, clearly I'm losing control.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
This isn't about the job anymore. It hasn't been for a while, no matter what bullshit I tell myself.
I don't guard her because Callum told me to. I don't stick around to make sure Nicolae is happy. No, I want to protect her because I just…need to.
Because the thought of someone hurting her makes my vision go red. Because something inside me howls when she's hurt, when she's scared, when someone even looks at her wrong. Because when I touch her, I forget I was ever anything but hers.
And that's the fucking problem.
I stand and start pacing.
It's not a maybe, it's a definite. I'm compromised.
Maybe I need to get through this gala and then tell her brothers I can't continue the assignment.
I don't even give a fuck if they pay me or not.
She's given me more than money ever could. The admission sits heavy in my chest.
I still taste her on my tongue. Sweet and addictive. And for a moment, I get this overwhelming feeling like it's something I need to survive. Like once I got a taste, my body doesn't know how to function without it.
No.
