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He gives a grudging shrug.
“And I think it’s safe to assume, Trap, that you also want to protect the freeport. You’re both in agreement about that.”
The look he gives me is incredulous, like I’m wasting his time. But he acknowledges that I’m right.
Excellent. I have my lever, one tool to move both men toward agreement.
It takes more time than I expect. Dave feels obligated to consult with his fellow guards. Trap is truly concerned about the consequences of looking weak in front of his employees. At least Mac stays out of it, content to let me explore what I can build.
Noon comes and goes. No one leaves the room, which feels like a victory.
Ican see a solution, crystal clear. But I want the others to come up with it, to own it so it’s more likely to stick. I resist the urge to just tell them what they should do.
And it takes another hour, but they end up where I hoped they would. Dave agrees that no one will walk off the job. Trap agrees to hire two new guards, with an eye toward adding two more in six months. The new hires will be junior staff—less expensive but adding a career path to the security department. And emergency needs will be filled with substitutes from Sawyer Best’s Sawgrass force, until the new hires can be brought on board.
Dave and Trap shake on the deal with Mac looking on. Then every one of the other guards steps up, shaking in turn on the agreement. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who notices Trap’s left hand in his pocket, the telltale clench as he satisfies the compulsions buried deep in his brain.
Mac waits until the guards have filed out before he turns to me. “Thank you,” he says. His Scottish burr has faded to nothingness, the surest sign yet that the crisis is resolved.
“My pleasure,” I say. The words sound glib, but I mean them with all my heart. I actually accomplished something here. I contributed to the freeport.
The door closes behind Mac. I stand beside the wide table, waiting for Trap to say something.
I remember this feeling: pride in a job well done and nerves that I’ve made a mistake, all mixed up with longing for recognition.
I felt this way in school. In my first job, scooping ice cream at a neighborhood shop. In Herzog’s library, when he ordered me to do the impossible, to alphabetize all his books in a single day.
Of course then I worried I’d be beaten if I failed.
Now, I know I’m physically safe. But the power Trap holds over me is greater than anything physical. His anger, his rejection, his dismissal—they’ll destroy me.
“Trap…” I finally say, not certain how to plead my case.
“Thank you,” he says.
“I—”
But he cuts me off, shaking his head with a ferocity that has me guessing all over again. “No. I’m glad you were here.”
I watch the words register, like he’s just discovered he can speak a foreign language.
“I didn’t even know it,” he says. “But I needed exactly what you brought to the table. I neededyou.”
The fierce look in his eyes freezes the apology on my lips. It’s always been like this between us—just the truth, just our bare emotions, none of the trappings or expectations about how the world thinks we ought to behave.
His hand falls on a control panel embedded in the table. For just a moment, I think he’s overwhelmed by the beast inside his head, that the creature still demands payment for the line of guards who shook Trap’s hand.
But the glass walls of the boardroom darken, closing us off in a private cave. The overhead lights gleam brighter on the table, sparkling like diamonds inlaid in the wood.
Trap moves like a panther, lithe and confident and strong. His fingers are warm on the back of my head, firm and commanding. I melt into his heat as his mouth closes over mine. My lips open as I try to drink all the urgent passion he pours into me.
He growls deep in his throat, demanding more. His free hand grabs my breast, claiming me with a primal simplicity that makes me sigh, even as his fingers pinch my suddenly alert nipple.
His hand skims my flank. He slips past the waistband of my jeans. He shoves my panties aside and fingers me, muttering something filthy when he feels how wet he’s made me.
I shift my weight to give him better access. He crooks his wrist, sinking deep inside me. “Look at me,” he orders.
I didn’t know my eyes were closed. I meet his fierce gaze, his brutal defiance as he curls his fingers to scrape the neediest patch inside me.
