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I wasn't a martyr, willing to fall on my sword for someone else. I was a realist at heart, which was why I so easily believed my life was in danger when Dev dragged me to his car earlier today. And I was also selfish. Selfish enough to allow the men paid by my father to risk their lives protecting me. To be thankful for the intervention of Dev and his friends rather than worry about their safety.
But that also meant I was realistic enough to recognize that two fully grown adults could share a bed. That it was a kinder option than forcing a man to sleep on a couch in lieu of the bed that he clearly considered his own. And I was selfish enoughto want Dev as close as possible, if only to make me feel safe enough to sleep.
I only realized after I forced out my offer that sleeping on a couch might actually be more comfortable than sharing a bed with a stranger. While I felt some sort of connection to Dev, one centered around my safety and inked in the blood of the man he killed for me, that didn’t mean it went both ways. To me, Dev was a savior. To him, I was a job. Not even a damsel in need of assistance, but one whose father gave her worth.
Not personal worth, because I had enough self-esteem to know I was worthy even without my ties to my father. But worth to them, to the people in this household, who saved my life only to use it as some sort of bargaining chip with my father.
It didn’t surprise me. I’d seen people do much worse in attempts to gain favor with my father, and I remained thankful that they’d saved my life and contacted my father rather than treating me like a prisoner.
I’d prided myself on my rationality my whole life, my ability to separate my softer feelings from the life I’d been born into. The life that would stomp on any weakness until you were only a husk of yourself. But despite all my reasoning, it took me a moment to realize that Dev probably looked forward to separating from me. That I was likely the only one who grew anxious at the thought of us apart, my chest tight with it.
I thought about how best to backtrack, trying to force my suggestion to sound practical rather than desperate. Desperation for either protection or to get him into bed; I wasn’t sure which Dev would assume between the two. Or which would be worse.
I settled on clenching my fists, allowing the pinch of my nails into my palms to calm my racing heart. “Just offering to share so you don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
I attempted a shrug, but even I felt the jerky motion of my shoulders that betrayed my discomfort. He’d likely run away after this exchange, counting down the minutes until my father collected me and he’d no longer be responsible for my safety.
Dev’s eyes flicked to my shoulders, my hands, my cheeks, each part flinching as he cataloged all my tells. He grinned as he met my eyes, looking totally unruffled while I sat sweating, waiting for his answer as if I cared. As if his answer mattered.
And it did, even though I knew it shouldn’t. For some reason I couldn’t pinpoint, despite barely knowing the almost-stranger standing in front of me, I cared whether or not he chose to share a bed with me. Whether or not he chose to curl up on a couch downstairs rather than share a space. It mattered. Especially when he so easily responded, “I’d love to share, Red.”
Chapter 7
Dev
I woke up mid-morning.I’d trained myself to sleep lightly years ago, light enough that Alex’s soft conversation in the hallway roused me. I knew he’d be in to wake me soon, so I made sure to savor the few moments with my arm wrapped around Rory’s waist and my nose buried in her hair. We hadn’t fallen asleep like this - despite every inch of me itching to pull her close - but clearly my subconscious had more control over my actions in sleep than I gave it credit for.
She’d braided her hair before bed, the red rope running down her back, lying against the t-shirt of mine that she wore. The sight of her in my clothes had me feral, wanting to imprint myself onto her skin permanently. I caved, just the slightest bit, my control a tenuous thing, and wrapped my fist around her braid.
I bit back a groan at the feeling of her hair in my hand, of her laying in my bed, feeling comfortable enough to sleep next to me. I hadn’t expected her offer, fully prepared to sleep on the couch and allow her the space to sleep in the guest bedroom where I usually stayed during late nights working or hanging with the crew.
The room had seen less of me in the past few months, most of my nights spent following the girl currently laying next to me. But that was clearly over. Rory no longer required an invisible bodyguard. What I thought she needed was irrelevant. Unless, of course, I could convince Alex, Bex, and Cillian of my plan.
Either way, the sudden thought that this might be the first and only time I had Rory in my arms had me burying my face deeper in the crook of her neck, inhaling her vanilla-and-cinnamon scent. Alex would look it up for me later, whether it was a perfume or a soap that made her smell so good, and I resolved to buy it, just to ensure she’d continue to smell like this as long as she was with me.
Alex’s one-sided conversation cut off, and I jumped out of bed as his footsteps edged toward the bedroom, meeting him as he opened the door. His eyes flicked behind me, to Rory in my bed, but he didn’t ask questions, just pursed his lips in interest. Sneaky fucker was way too observant for his own good.
Alex leaned against the doorway of his office, shooting off a quick text before he spoke.
“I talked to Cillian’s contact on the phone again. Cillian’s on his way, likely already halfway across the Atlantic. He’ll be here in a few hours.”
“A few hours?” My breathing ramped up, the smell of Rory burning my nostrils as I realized it might’ve truly been the only time I’d get to breathe in her scent fully.
I would’ve felt creepier for the thought if my life hadn’t revolved around her for the past three months, every second spent watching, researching, or thinking about her. Ensuring her safety was my main focus, sure, but all the best stalkers knew that the best way to protect someone was to know them. Understand what made them tick, their weaknesses, their favorite places to go, their schedule, what scared them.
It was how I always knew when Rory planned to run and where she would go, her favorite alleyways and shortcuts to reach her apartment. Memorizing her (very consistent) schedule was how I had the time to take breaks to stop by my house to shower or steal a couple of hours with my friends.
Even then, when I knew she’d be working in her office for hours uninterrupted, or when I knew one of her bodyguards was asleep in the next room, my skin felt tight every moment we were apart. The relationship I’d formed with her over the months was the longest relationship I’d had with anyone but my friends, and Rory hadn’t even been aware of it.
It was also the most intense, every moment fraught with tension, knowing a misstep on my part could mean her safety. Bex and I had bonded over the feeling during a sparring session months ago, when she served a similar bodyguard duty for Wren after someone trying to come after our business had threatened her.
Clearly, however, the strange bond we felt toward our charges resulted in different emotions, Bex falling in love with Wren while my feelings bordered on obsession. My protectiveness toward Rory had worsened in the hours we’d spent together - likely not helped by the implied threat turning real in front of my eyes yesterday - my fingers itching to check her pulse at all times to make sure she was still breathing. It felt worse now that I could actually speak with her, touch her, let her know I was nearby. I wanted my skin to be on hers constantly, if only to make sure no one could drag her out of my sight.
So the thought of her father coming to retrieve her less than twenty-four hours after I watched a man try to kill her, the idea that she’d leave with him and I’d no longer be watching, no longer be responsible for her safety or be there to protect her if she needed it, soured my gut.
“They’ll probably be here just after sunrise,” Alex answered, confusion written across his face as he took me in.
I heard Bex’s footsteps - softer since I’d given her some tips on sneaking, but still not quiet enough to get by me - before she reached us, stopping beside Alex at the top of the stairs. The confusion edged over into her expression, and I wondered what suddenly had them looking at me so intensely.
