I squeeze my eyes shut. This is crazy. How did we go from stolen glances in the hallway and casual flirting to last night? That’s not me… I don’t dothat.
Hell, my firm stance onnotdoing that was the beginning of the end with Gabe.
But it’s different with Damon. He looks at me in a way Gabe never did, like I’m something precious instead ofsomeone lacking. Somewhere between his words, soft eyes, and tender touch, I think I fell… Hard. My pulse stumbles unevenly at the realization.
I lift my head off the pillow to find the morning sunlight spilling through the curtains in pale streaks, illuminating the disaster zone of a room, a state that matches my emotional stability.
Groaning softly, I throw an arm over my face.How am I supposed to look him in the eye today? And how in the hell am I supposed to do it while my father and a slew of security detail are standing nearby?A horrifying image flashes through my mind of accidentally making eye contact with Damon across breakfast and immediately combusting into flames.
I drag myself out of bed, because hiding in this room forever, unfortunately, isn’t an option.He’d come get me.My feet hit the cold marble floors as nervous energy starts buzzing beneath my skin. In the bathroom, I catch a deeply unhelpful glance of myself in the mirror. My cheeks are so flushed, I’m quite certain I can forgo blush for the rest of my life. “You need to get it together,” I mutter at my reflection, who appearsveryunconvinced.
Forty-five minutes later, my already messy room looks like I’ve lost a war with my closet. Multiple outfits lie abandoned across my bed because, apparently, I’ve suddenly forgotten how to choose clothing. The first sweater made me appear too eager. The second outfit made me feel like a busted can of biscuits. The third option looked more like it belonged to a twelve-year-old than a woman.
I stare at the growing pile of rejected clothes in frustration.What the hell is wrong with you, Kenz? He saw you with absolutelynoclothes last night. Why in the hell are you panicking over a pair of jeans?
I finally settle on black leggings and an oversized cream shirt that hangs slightly off one shoulder. It’s comfortable, casual, and not trying too hard… even though I absolutely am. I brush my hair before giving up, pulling it into a tousled bun, and applying lip gloss and mascara. The final swipe is followed by an immediate panic that I look like I put effort into getting ready, and I wipe off the lip gloss.
Jesus Christ.
By the time I finally force myself to leave the bedroom, my heart is pounding, and my stomach is twisting so violently it’s making me nauseous. Seeing him again this morning makes it real. Last night existed inside a bubble of dim lighting and stolen moments that almost felt detached from reality. Now I have to face it in broad daylight, admitting what has changed between us.
Every step toward the staircase tightens the nervous knot in my stomach more. What if he regrets it? What if last night was a mistake? What if it didn’t mean anything to him? Oh God! What if I’m just a notch on his bedpost? And Daddy! Did I really call him Daddy?
The sound of voices drifts from downstairs, pulling me out of my spiral before I even reach the foyer. Male voices. Several of them. They sound professional and focused.
Great… just great.
I descend the staircase slowly, fingers tightened around the railing as the kitchen entry comes into view. The entire foyer is alive with activity this morning. Marines move in and out, carrying folders and tablets, while two men I vaguely recognize from the embassy security stand near the far counter, discussing something in low voices. Hawk leans over the island, reviewing satellite images beside Gunnar, while Jagger sits perched on one of the stools, drinking coffee, oblivious to the commotion around him.
A Marine walks from the doorway, and my breath hitches painfully when I spot Damon. He’s near the head of the island, in a dark Henley with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, his broad shoulders tensed beneath the fabric while he listens to one of the Marines. His eyes lift instinctively, straight to me, as though he felt my presence.
The look that crosses his face lasts less than a second, but I feel iteverywhere. Warmth blooms low in my stomach instantly, intimate, dangerous, and reigniting the need between my thighs. His gaze flicks briefly over me before returning to my eyes, and somehow that tiny restraint affects me more than if he’d openly stared.
I’m screwed…
I drop my gaze quickly and walk toward the coffee machine before anyone notices I’m internally disintegrating.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Jagger calls casually, drawing unwanted attention to me.
“Don’t call me that,” I grumble, focusing on pouring cream into my mug while trying not to notice Damon moving closer.Trying and failing. His hand brushes lightly against the small of my back when he passes. It’s so brief, it couldhave been accidental, but it still sends electricity coursing through my veins, the sudden jolt causing me to nearly spill my coffee everywhere.
Crushing it, Kenz. You’re maintaining that composure beautifully.
I grab a pastry and some fruit from the counter, mostly to give my hands something to do, while the conversation around the kitchen sharpens.
“…intercepted chatter around midnight,” one of the Marines reports grimly. “Cartel movement increased near the southern checkpoint.”
My stomach flops at the update.
“They’re preparing something,” Hawk states.
My father rubs his temple, tired. “Do we know when?”
“Not yet.”
The atmosphere in the room shifts immediately; everyone suddenly appears more serious.
I hover uncertainly near the edge of the island while trying not to feel twelve different kinds of anxious at once.
