Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
And I was losing.
Epically.
Still reeling from that kiss—I mean, what the actual fuck was that—I’d thought my best course of action was to avoid her.
I was a thirty-four-year-old man who stood in the line of danger for a living. So obviously, I hid behind a tractor in the equipment shed while she spent an hour leading Zoey around on Snickers.
It wasn’t a total waste of time. I’d finally found the backhoe. If I’d known what the day was going to bring, I would’ve used it to bury myself.
After that, she’d texted me that lunch was ready.
I’d replied that I wasn’t hungry.
She’d shown up in the shed less than ten minutes later like a goddamn culinary ninja, holding a sandwich and piping-hot homemade French fries. It took a lot to sneak up on me. But when all your energy was focused on keeping your cock from breaking free of your zipper, shit happened.
She’d asked me to come inside for lunch.
I’d declined.
She’d pouted her lips and raked her finger up my neck, effectively damning my zipper to eternal hell.
With no way out, I’d lied—using nonsense dressed in tactical armor to make it at least sound like I had something important to do.
Sure, it had earned me an escape.
But it had also earned me a ration of shit when Apollo sent a video to the Guardian Protection text thread of me saying, “Sorry, Lofton. I need to stabilize the perimeter’s predictive latency before it inverts the response chain.”
Needless to say, I’d blocked all those motherfuckers for the foreseeable future.
After that, Lofton had cranked it up a notch.
Throughout the day, no matter how brief, her fingertips would find me.
A gentle brush across my back.
A slow path down my forearm.
A squeeze on my hip as she slid past me.
Little things that people could have easily considered innocent.
Except they weren’t.
Because she did them again.
And again.
Anytime our paths crossed.
Each time slower.
More deliberate.
Taunting. Teasing.
I should’ve shut it down. Created space. Reinforced the line.
Instead?
I was Pavlov’s dog, damn near frothing at the mouth whenever I spotted her heading in my direction.
And Lofton did nothing half-ass.
I’d been up in the loft, minding my own damn business—while, ya know, obsessing about her—when she paraded the whole damn family up the ladder.
She’d explained her plans to close in the loft and make it an entertainment area so the kids would have somewhere to hang out when Lawrence was having a bad day.
That had been the first I’d heard of any plan.
And as her eyes sparkled with humor while she repeated with great fluency, “perimeter’s predictive latency,” I was damn sure it was the first time she’d ever thought of it either.
I’d shot her a scowl.
I shit you not, her response had been to shift to my side, sneak a hand behind me, and give my ass a generous pat.
I had never been so fucking pissed—or turned on—in my life.
Well… until she winked.
She wasn’t even trying to hide it. The whole fucking loft saw that one.
Brooke pursed her lips.
Jenn arched her brow.
Terry’s mouth fell open.
And I just stood there, equally impressed as I was furious.
So yeah… it was safe to say I was fucked.
Every rule, every boundary, every measure I’d taken to keep from falling into the Lofton Beck vortex had failed.
Not even twenty-four hours after I’d convinced myself the best thing I could do for both of us was keep my distance, she’d declared all-out war.
But that wasn’t the whole truth.
I hadn’t stopped her.
Hadn’t pushed her away.
Hadn’t pulled her aside and had a direct conversation like two grown-ass adults.
Because deep down…
I hadn’t wanted her to stop.
The room was dark, but I folded my forearm over my face, wishing I could block out the memory of that sparkle in her eyes just before she’d kissed me.
I didn’t need her gratitude, but it fucking killed me to see how much it had meant to her.
I hadn’t done anything extraordinary. I’d made a few phone calls. Invited her people in. Shifted some schedules. Played logistics coordinator for a day.
And yet, she’d looked at me like I’d handed her something priceless.
That might’ve been the part I hated most. Not the flirting. Not the touching. Not even the kiss.
I hated how much I loved being the man who’d put that smile on her face.
And that was the part I couldn’t afford.
Because I knew there was absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do to keep that sparkle in her eyes.
And that was more dangerous than any stalker on the planet.
I couldn’t allow myself to go back down that road.
Leo had been right. She wasn’t Levee.
But just like Levee, she would move on.
This was proximity. Adrenaline. Trauma bonding wrapped up in something that felt a hell of a lot like more.
But it wasn’t.
And I couldn’t allow myself to forget that.
When this was over—when the threat was gone and her life had settled back into something normal—I was the one who would be left behind in the wreckage.