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)
“He’s still an asshole, but I do like the way he looks at you.” She slanted her head and joined me in ogling his retreating backside. “And seriously, that ass is spectacular.”
I elbowed her hard, and we both dissolved into laughter, all thoughts of the Lofton Beck dissolving with us.
22
DEVON
Crossing my arms over my chest, I propped my shoulder against the wall at the mouth of the barn. In the distance, Lofton had Zoey on Snicker’s back as she stood in the middle of the round pen holding a long rope connected to his halter.
Even as my eyes tracked up her toned legs, over denim cutoffs and a tight black tank, the rest of me was still on that blanket with her.
“He didn’t need to do any of it because the only time I feel actually normal…is when I’m with him.”
I’d heard the whole thing. Top to bottom. No gaps. No mercy.
I’d been heading over to let her know I was going to do a perimeter run and to text me if she needed anything. I’d always tried my best to give her space and at least the illusion of privacy, but as soon as I’d heard my name, there was no turning back.
So yeah, I’d eavesdropped.
And fuck me sideways, I had loved every single word of it.
Not in the way I was supposed to. Not in the detached, professional way where I noted a client felt safe in my care and filed it accordingly. Nah, this was all fucked up Devon Grant copping feelings for the woman he was supposed to be protecting. The same way that had kept me awake for the better part of three weeks and showed absolutely no signs of changing.
Especially not after last night, and again this morning, and God willing, the minute her bedroom door shut later that night.
“He fucks me like he’s been waiting his whole life to find me. Because I sure as hell have been waiting all of mine to find him.”
That had been the highlight playing on repeat in my head all day. And as I stared out at her in that round pen, it sent the same complicated warmth sliding through my chest that it had the first three hundred times.
Though the most complicated thing of all—the part that made all of this worse and better at the same time—was that she was absolutely, one thousand percent correct. She wasn’t Lofton Beck to me. I’d never actually met that woman. From the day I’d laid eyes on her, she’d never been dolled up, covered in diamonds, walking red carpets. This woman wore boots with her overalls. Slept in baggy t-shirts. And seduced me in one of my shirts instead of lingerie that probably cost more than my mortgage. My Lofton existed on a completely different plane than Lofton Beck.
My Lofton.
Yeah, fuck me on that too.
Because everything I’d told myself in the dark only a few nights ago was still true. The storm was going to pass. Her life was going to reassemble itself. The stalker would be caught, the farm would return to whatever version of normal it had settled into, and Lofton Beck would walk back out into the world that had been waiting for her. A world that had nothing to do with a bodyguard from Fresno who was allergic to feelings and absolutely-fucking-terrible at staying in his lane.
I’d accepted it though. Before I’d ever broken and taken her body. I’d accepted that as long as I was the only one who got hurt, I could live with the consequences.
I wasn’t setting myself up for failure.
I was setting myself up for when it failed.
There was a difference, and I was living and breathing in that difference—for however long it lasted.
In the round pen, Lofton started jogging until Snickers built up to a slow trot. Zoey bounced in the saddle with her small hands twisted into his mane, her face split with pure joy.
Brooke stood at the fence with both hands gripping the top rail, scared out of her fucking mind. I wanted to laugh, but I wasn’t the total asshole she thought me to be.
Partial asshole, sure. I’d take that. I knew she didn’t like me. No surprise there.
The creak of the screen door at the house caught my attention, pulling my gaze away.
Lawrence Beck shuffled out into the afternoon sun in his jeans, work boots, and another University of Tennessee polo faded at the shoulders from too many summers in the sun. He squinted against the brightness, moving like a man whose body still remembered what it was capable of, even when everything else had become blurry.
My pulse spiked as I glanced toward the round pen. Lofton’s back was to us, talking to Zoey.
I had approximately three seconds to decide.
I was nothing if not consistent—so I made the wrong one.