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Papa allowed me to move out when I turned twenty-five. It took me four years to convince him I’d be okay living alone. The day he brought me here and handed over the keys was one of the happiest of my life.
Even though Papa is controlling and overprotective, there’s no one on this planet I love more. It’s always been the two of us because my mother passed away while giving birth to me.
Papa loved her so much he hasn’t tried dating again and threw all his time and attention into his company and raising me.
I know I’m one of the luckiest people alive, and even though I might complain at times, I wouldn’t change my life for anything.
When Max climbs out of the SUV, I say, “I’ll arrange a parking card for you.”
“No need,” he replies as he pulls his gun from where it was tucked behind his back. “From today, we’ll travel together.”
My eyebrows rise. “The weapon isn’t needed.”
His eyes flick to me then he nods in the direction of the elevators.
Ugh, a man of few words.
I tend to talk when I’m nervous, and Max’s closed-off responses are only making it worse.
Letting out a heavy breath, I dig my keycard out of my handbag and press it against the scanner. The elevator doors open, and I press the button for my floor.
The space feels impossibly small as we stand in awkward silence. Nearing my floor, Max moves in front of me, and I get a good look at his back and broad shoulders.
Not bad.
When the doors open, he steps out of the elevator and into my home, commanding, “Wait here.”
I almost roll my eyes as I watch him search every possible hiding space in my living room and kitchen before heading up the stairs to the bedrooms.
The bedrooms.
Shit.
Breaking out into a run, my heels clack on the tiles. I fly up the stairs, shouting. “Don’t go into the main bedroom!”
Max stops just short of my bedroom door, and I dart in front of him so he can’t go inside.
His eyes meet mine, and with a clenched jaw, he orders, “Move.”
I shake my head. “No. There’s no one hiding in my bedroom.”
Only a ton of laundry, the packet of pretzels and box of chocolates I cuddled up with. Oh, and a Christine Feehan novel.
His features tighten with warning, and it makes my muscles tense. Suddenly it feels like I’m face to face with danger, and it has me swallowing hard.
“My room is a mess,” I admit.
“I don’t care.” Max nods to the side. “Move so I can do my job.”
Fuck my life.
Not happy that he’s determined to invade my privacy, I shoot him a glare as I step out of the way. Max opens the door, and the first thing I see is the bunch of bras draped over the back of the armchair.
Yep. Fuck my life.
Then I spot the panties I wore last night lying at the foot of my bed. I took them off right before I went to town on my clit while imagining a shapeshifting badass claiming me.
The vibrator.
