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I was always going to have to solve my problems myself, and no way in hell am I letting the guys witness the monster under my mask.
They argue in Reese’s ear.
Bishop’s voice is sharp and sexy, like an expensive custom knife.
Jin’s is more of a black hole.
Dominant.
Everywhere.
Let’s not even talk about Reese, whose building, possessive rumble will melt me to lemon-scented goop the second I lower my guard.
If Dutch were here, I’d—
My stomach sours.
Don’t go there.
“We don’t have time.” If my father sees through my disguise, so be it, but Nikolaj can never be in the same room as Reese.
Never.
“I’m not leaving you.” Reese pushes off the stool, standing with the coiled, ready stillness of the SAS’ top brass. Perfectly balanced to take or give a hit, with a steady gaze that says neither would be his first.
He’s trained?
How? Where?
Reese could always brawl with the best, but you don’t get a posture like that from street fighting.
If we worked together, maybe—
Nope.
I don’t care if Reese has his own action figures.
I mean, I’ll buy a whole shelf and pose them with their muscles flexed.
That changes nothing.
I’m stronger alone, with my gamma freak off its leash.
If Reese gets in my way, I’ll be handcuffed, and not in the fun way.
I use my height and the weird genes that let me stand up to alphas, pressing forward with confidence I don’t have to fake. “Do I look like the kind of girl who’d let myself be sold? I have my own plans. Wait for my signal.”
Reese’s lips part to argue.
I cross my own line, covering his mouth.
Holy shit.
The beard.
Ignoring the silky scratch against my throbbing palm, I spill the hidden yearning that dips my words in desperate truth. “Trust me, Reese. I’m not leaving this party with anyone but you.”
“Princess.” Reese’s purr vibrates, rabbit fur and razors.
