Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 38307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Sin.
And the panic dissolves into something else. Safety. Like my body has just decided this is where I belong.
I shift slightly, and his grip tightens, protective, instinctive. His voice murmurs near my hair. “You awake?”
“Unfortunately,” I whisper, voice thick with sleep. “I was having a dream where I wasn’t being hunted.”
“Go back to sleep.”
I blink up at him. The night air is cool, and runway lights glow behind him. His face is shadows and hard lines, but his arms are sure. Solid.
“I can walk,” I say weakly.
“You can,” he agrees. He doesn’t put me down.
My heartbeat speeds up in a way that is absolutely not appropriate. “Sin,” I murmur.
“What?”
“You’re carrying me like… like—”
“Like what.”
“Like you’re about to put me in a tower and fight a dragon.”
He exhales, and I feel it against my forehead. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. He carries me to a black SUV waiting near the plane. The driver opens the back door. Sin slides me in carefully, like I’m breakable, then climbs in after me.
I should sit up. I should be alert. Instead I lean into the seat and watch him in the dim light. He’s watching the windows again. The mirrors. The road. Always the road. His hand rests on the edge of the seat near my hip, not touching, but there. Like a barrier.
Like a promise.
We drive a long time. The roads get quieter, narrower. Trees thicken. Darkness deepens. My eyes drift in and out. Every time I blink awake, Sin’s still there.
Still steady.
Still guarding.
By the time we pull into a gravel drive, my body feels heavy again. The world outside is black and silent, the kind of quiet that feels expensive. Hidden. A house appears ahead, set back among trees. No lights in the windows except a faint glow inside, warm and low. It looks like a cabin, but nicer. Safe. Off-grid, but not primitive.
Sin gets out first, scans the area, then opens my door.
I step down, legs stiff. The night air bites my cheeks. I hug myself, suddenly aware of how alone this place is.
Sin closes the door and guides me toward the house. His hand hovers at my back again. Not pressing. Just… there.
We go inside. The safe house is warm, wood and stone, a faint scent of cedar. A living room with a low couch, a kitchen that looks stocked, a hallway that leads deeper.
Sin moves through it like he’s mapping it. Checking windows. Checking locks. Turning on minimal lights.
I stand near the entry, suddenly aware of how quiet my brain is now that we’ve stopped moving. Fear creeps in when the noise stops.
Sin looks over. “You want water?”
I nod. “Yes. Also therapy.”
He pours water, and hands it to me. Our fingers brush again. A spark, small but sharp. I take a sip to hide my reaction.
“What now?” I ask.
“Now you sleep,” he says.
“And you?”
“I stay up.”
“I don’t like that.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
I set the cup down. “Where do I sleep?”
He points down the hall. “First door on the right.”
I stare at him, and my chest tightens. The thought of closing a door between us makes my stomach twist. Not because I want him watching me. Because I don’t want to be alone. My voice goes smaller. “Sin?”
He pauses, gaze sharpening. “What?”
I wet my lips. My heart pounds, ridiculous and fast. “Will you… will you sleep in the room?”
His eyes narrow. “No.”
The bluntness hits like a slap, and embarrassment flares hot in my face. “Okay. Never mind.”
I turn toward the hallway anyway, shoulders tense.
“Rowan,” he says.
I stop but don’t face him. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” he says.
I look back.
His expression is controlled, but his eyes are intense now. Focused on me like I’m the problem he can’t solve with a weapon. “You’re scared,” he says.
I lift my chin. “No, I’m not.”
“Liar.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Stop calling me out.”
“You’re trying to be brave,” he says. “You already are. You don’t have to prove it to me.”
My throat tightens so hard it hurts. “I don’t want to sleep alone,” I admit, and it feels like stepping off a ledge. “I keep thinking… what if someone finds us? What if I wake up and you’re not there?”
His jaw flexes. For a second, the room is too quiet. The tension between us stretches like a wire. Then he says, carefully, “If I’m in your bed, you’re going to misunderstand it.”
I swallow, heat creeping into my cheeks. “I’m not an idiot.”
His gaze drops to my mouth again, brief. Dangerous. “You’re not the only one who could misunderstand it.”
My breath catches. Because that’s not a professional thing to say. That’s a man thing to say. A man who’s trying not to want.
I take a small step closer, heart pounding. “Sin. Please.”
His eyes hold mine. I see the battle there, quiet and brutal. Duty versus desire. Control versus instinct.