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“I couldn’t fucking survive without you,” I breathe against her soft lips. “I don’t ever plan to let you out of my sight again.”

“That’s going to make things a little difficult.” She laughs against the side of my neck, sending hunger coursing through me.

“I fucking don’t care.” There’s something I need to do, and it can’t wait another second. “I really didn’t plan on doing this now, but circumstances have changed things.” I lay my forehead against hers, staring into her gorgeous violet eyes. “I need to know you’re mine forever. Will you marry me, little knockout?”

I’m so caught up in holding her close to me that I don’t even realize the door opened behind us. “If you don’t take him up on his offer, I will,” Ms. Viola cackles behind us, and I glance over my shoulder to see her swinging her hips like she’s belly dancing. “They don’t call me Va-va-voom-Viola for nothing.”

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Viola.” Yvette laughs. “But I’m going to have to keep him for myself.” She leans up and places a soft kiss on my chin. “I’ve been yours since the moment we met.”

“I figured as much,” the elderly woman interrupts, sighing dramatically. “The good ones always get snapped up right away.” As I cover Yvette’s lips with mine, I hear Ms. Viola shuffling across the floor. “Come on, young man. You can soothe my ruffled feathers.”

I hear the bodyguard mutter, “Fucking hell,” and I open one eye to watch as Ms. Viola pulls a very panicked-looking Mark out the front door. I’m already calculating the bonus I’m going to have to pay him to make up for this crazy night, but I’ll worry about that later.

Chapter 11

Yvette

The morning light pours through the window, spilling warmth over me like a cozy blanket. I wake up snugly wrapped in Banks' arms, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against my back. It’s a perfect blend of comfort and security, a stark contrast to the whirlwind that has been my life these past weeks. I could lie here forever; lost in the haven we’ve created.

But then, the peace is shattered by a loud banging on the front door, jolting me from my blissful state. The sound reverberates through the house, causing my heart to pound in my chest. I glance back at Banks, who stirs, his brow furrowing as if he’s trying to process the intrusion into our little slice of paradise.

“Stay here,” he mutters, rolling out of bed in one smooth motion, quickly pulling on a pair of well-worn gray sweatpants. It’s an effortlessly sexy look, and I can’t help but admire how he wears them.

I’m not one to sit back and let someone do all the work to protect me. My instinct kicks in, and before I can think better of it, I throw the covers off and head to the closet.

Scrambling to find something to wear, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, hastily tugging my hair up into a ponytail. There’s no time to waste. I need to figure out what’s happening.

I tiptoe out of the bedroom, catching a glimpse of Banks standing in the hallway, his expression hardening as he approaches the front door. “Who is it?” he calls, voice steady despite the urgency. I see a gun tucked in his back waistband and realize he’s expecting trouble.

No one answers immediately, but the banging returns, louder this time, and I can see the tension in his shoulders tighten. Something feels off, and my gut instinct is screaming at me to be alert. I join him at the door, peeking around his broad frame to catch a glimpse of what’s happening outside.

“Yvette, stay back,” he warns, sending me a decidedly serious look. But the fierce determination in his eyes motivates me to lean forward, curiosity getting the better of me. “I told you to stay in the bedroom.”

“I’m not good at doing what I’m told.” He’ll learn soon enough.

“I should’ve known,” he mutters, jaw tightening. “Stay behind me until we make sure it isn’t Richard.”

He cracks the door open to find Dillon Armstrong standing on the front porch, flanked by two deputies.

“Morning, Banks,” Dillon says, his voice casual, but there’s an underlying current of urgency. “Sorry to barge in on you like this, but we’ve got some news.”

Banks eyes them, assessing, and I can see his instincts kicking in. “What’s this about, Dillon?”

“Richard,” he says, and my stomach sinks. “I need to talk to you and Yvette about him.”

The sheriff and his two deputies step inside, turning our cozy space into something serious and tense.

“Hey, you guys want some coffee?” I offer, my voice brightening in an attempt to ease the tension, but they all wave it off.

“No, thanks,” Dillon Armstrong replies, settling down at the kitchen table with Banks and me. “We won’t be here long. Just need to lay out the situation.”

I sit up straighter, my stomach tightening with anxious anticipation. “What’s going on?” I ask, half-expecting to hear that Richard has vanished completely.

Dillon leans forward slightly, his expression serious. “So, after Richard was fired, things got messy. He retaliated by tearing up his office. His bad decisions didn’t stop there. He stole his work laptop on the way out.”

I blink, trying to follow what he’s saying. “Has he lost his freaking mind?”

“It looks like it. He emailed confidential firm secrets to clients and employees,” Dillon explains, his voice steady but heavy. “He pissed off enough high-profile people to cause the firm to take immediate action. They tracked the computer which led to Richard’s arrest.”