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She wrapped her arms around him and held tight to the feeling. She loved her Navy SEAL. And she wanted to kiss him forever. She never wanted to stop. She didn’t want to let the outside world in.
Because when she did, when the kiss ended and they left this room, she’d remember that love didn’t come first in his life. And if it did? Then he wouldn’t be the man she wanted, whom she had fallen for in the first place.
Chapter Nineteen
“How do you plan to keep her safe in New York?” Dante tossed the three-page, meaningless document on the folding table in Mason’s office. “And in Boston? Nashville? This ‘security plan’ reads like it was written to placate the suits—”
“It was,” Mason admitted. “I wrote it.”
“But how are you going to keep her safe?” Dante demanded, placing his palms flat on the table and glaring at her manager.
“I was hoping you would help with that,” Mason said, not even flinching at the way Dante hovered over him. When they had first met, the manager would have whimpered with fear if Dante encroached on his space. But now the man in the designer jeans looked as if he’d expected this.
“I’m leaving,” Dante said flatly as he sank into a folding chair across the table from Mason. He couldn’t go with her. Staying at her side, loving her and hoping like hell she’d love him back—that wasn’t going to happen. “You should ask Moira, or the fancy company she works for.”
“I did,” her manager said. “And they’re putting together a plan. Yours would be better.”
Dante nodded. He’d grown accustomed to the respect that went hand-in-hand with being a SEAL. But this moved beyond his training.
He’d professed his love for Chrissie Tate last night while buried inside her. He’d wanted to stay right there, clinging to the remains of the “his and hers orgasms” he’d promised her. And wait for her to tell him she loved him back.
Instead, she’d gently slid out from underneath him and climbed off the bed. Then she’d turned to him and said three little words that sank his hope like a damn anchor.
Thank you, Dante.
He hadn’t wanted her gratitude then any more than he wanted it now. He wanted her heart, her love, and her promise that this was it—forever. He’d wanted to stay up late figuring out how the hell they’d make this work when they barely stood a chance at being in the same city at the same time.
I should have left last night.
Yeah, he should have run back to Coronado and his team. He should have walked out of her room and jumped into his truck. But loyalty and love packed one helluva punch. And he couldn’t go yet. He loved Chrissie Tate, and he’d said he would stay for her Vegas show. One more night in the crazy city that had brought them together.
And while he waited for her to take the stage, he would do everything in his power to keep her safe while he served his country. Then, he’d hit the gym like he did last night. He’d climbed out of her bed, said a hurried good-bye, and gone to the hotel weight room. He’d pushed himself, trying to make his knee hurt.
He’d known then that he should leave. But instead, he’d reported for duty this morning even though he wasn’t on the payroll anymore.
“While I’m here,” Dante said, making a note about potential exit strategies at the Washington, D.C. venue. “I want to see her fan mail. Any suspicious pieces?”
“I set aside two for Moira’s review.” Mason pushed back from the table and headed to a stack of papers.
“Why didn’t you show me when I got back last night?” Dante demanded.
“Chrissie said you had plans.” Mason tossed two envelopes on the table.
“Interrupt. This is more important. I know you work for her, but you need to take her security seriously.”
“She told them she wouldn’t finish the new songs for the album if I bothered her last night,” Mason said, sinking back into the folding chair across the table. “She said I wasn’t to disturb her, or you, under any circumstances. And Dante, these letters aren’t that suspicious. Probably just overexcited fans.”
“I’ll judge that,” Dante said. Yeah, he loved hearing about
how she’d set aside last night for them. But that didn’t change the fact that Mason needed to focus on her safety.
And last night had led to a dead end.
He scanned the letters. One fan wrote about joining her on the road and waking up with her every morning. He claimed to love her. Dante tossed it across the table to Mason. “Might want to flag that one for the cops, too.”
The second one was a long, crazy poem. The dude who’d written it sounded unhinged, but unlikely to pose a specific threat. He didn’t express a desire to meet her, touch her, or even be in the same room as her.
“I wouldn’t worry about this one,” Dante said, sliding the second letter across the table. “But I’d hold on to it. Anything else?”
