Page 58 of Protect Thy Enemy

The sharp click of the lock turning startles me, and before I can process what’s happening, the door swings open.

The devil in question steps inside, closing it behind him with a quiet finality that makes my pulse stutter.

“What the hell are you doing? This is thewomen'srestroom,” I snap.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back against the door, his broad shoulders blocking any hope of escape. His eyes, those piercing icy-blue eyes, rake over me, taking in every detail like he’s cataloging it for later.

“Didn’t take you for the type to play games, Rookie,” he says finally, his voice low and even, but there’s a tension beneath it, a restrained edge that makes the air in the small space feel heavier.

“Games?” I repeat, my brows knitting together. “What are you talking about?”

He steps forward, closing the distance between us in a way that feels deliberate and predatory. I instinctively back up until the counter digs into my lower back.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he murmurs, his tone deceptively calm. His eyes narrow slightly, flicking to my lips for a fraction of a second before locking back on mine.

The heat between us is palpable, a charged silence stretching taut like a wire about to snap.

“If you’ve got something to say, Grant, say it,” I challenge, though my voice wavers.

His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking there as he exhales through his nose. “I told you to stay away from Beckett,” he says, each word clipped and deliberate.

I blink, momentarily thrown. “Beckett?” I laugh, a short, humorless sound. “You followed me in here to lecture me about Ezra?”

His gaze darkens as Agent Beckett’s first name slips through my lips, and he leans in slightly, his hands bracing thecounter on either side of me. His proximity is suffocating yet intoxicating.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t play fucking coy with me, Rookie. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I wasn’t—” I start, but the words catch in my throat when his head dips closer, his scent—clean, woodsy, and utterly him—invading my senses.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, softer, his lips so close to my ear that I feel the warmth of his breath.

My heart pounds wildly against my rib cage, a traitorous reaction I can’t control. “Why do you care?” I manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flick to mine, and for a moment, something raw, something almost vulnerable, flashes there before it’s gone, replaced by the cold mask he always wears.

“I don’t,” he says finally, but the lie is so blatant, so poorly executed, that it sends a jolt of defiance through me.

“You don’t,” I echo. “Then get out of my way.”

I try to push past him, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, his hand moves, his fingers brushing against my wrist, a fleeting touch that stokes the same fire I felt days ago. It shoots straight to my core, and it takes everything in me not to squeeze my legs together.

“Grant,” I warn, my voice trembling now for entirely different reasons.

He leans in just enough that our noses almost brush, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away. “You make it hard, you know that?”

“Make what hard?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want the answer.

He doesn’t respond, not with words. Instead, his gaze dips to my lips again, lingering there for a beat too long. My breath hitches, and at that moment, the air between us shifts,crackling with an unspoken tension that feels both unbearable and magnetic.

His hand moves again, brushing against my hip this time, a barely there touch that sets every nerve ending on fire. I can’t move, can’t think, can’t breathe with him looking at me like that. Like he wants to eat me alive.

The worst part? I’m not entirely sure I wouldn’t let him.

But then, just as quickly as it started, he steps back, putting an agonizing amount of space between us.

“Go back to your table, Williams,” he says, his tone flat, cold. The mask is back, firmly in place. “Enjoy your date.”

For a moment, I can only stare at him, my chest heaving as I try to process what the hell just happened. I’m so sick of this hot-and-cold bullshit with him. It causes anger to flare, hot and unrelenting, pushing past the confusion and… whatever else I’m feeling.

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