Page 6 of Close Protection

“Come for me,” the woman leant down to Ivy’s ear and growled as she continued the relentless thrusts of her fingers.

And just like that, Ivy felt her orgasm release, flooding pleasure through every part of her.

She felt her body thrumming powerfully with the aftershocks as the woman slowed her pace and eventually stopped, holding her fingers still inside Ivy as they both settled. The woman still lying on top of Ivy.

Ivy opened her eyes to meet those complex guarded dark eyes of the woman above her once again.

The woman smiled at Ivy.

“Yeah, you are quite something,” she said again before sliding her fingers slowly out of Ivy and rolling off her.

Ivy woke to the cool blue light of pre-dawn filtering through the curtains. For a moment, she lay perfectly still, orienting herself. The steady sound of breathing beside her brought the night rushing back—strong hands, whispered encouragements, and moments of surprising tenderness amid the desperation.

She turned her head carefully on the pillow. The woman lay on her stomach, her face half-buried in the pillow, one arm extended across the space between them as if reaching for something even in sleep. Her dark hair was tousled, softening the sharp lines of her face. In sleep, she looked younger, the vigilant tension gone from her features.

Ivy studied her with a forensic attention to detail: the curve of her shoulder blades rising above the white sheet, the scattered beauty marks creating constellations across her skin, the faint tan lines revealing a life spent partly in the sun. The scar she'd noticed earlier was just one of several markingthe woman's body, each telling a story Ivy would never know.

It was better that way.

This night had been exactly what she needed: a temporary escape, a human connection without complications or expectations. Come morning, they would return to their separate lives. Hers, a whirlwind of protective custody and legal depositions. The woman's…whatever life created those careful eyes and vigilant posture.

Ivy glanced at the clock on the nightstand: 4:17 a.m. Time for her mystery woman to leave. The thought of waking her, of awkward goodbyes and the possibility of questions, made Ivy's chest tighten uncomfortably. Better to let her sleep. Better to be gone before those perceptive eyes opened and saw too much.

The floor was cool against Ivy's bare feet as she slipped from the bed. She gathered fresh clothes from her suitcase with silent efficiency, movements perfected through years of early mornings and quiet departures.

In the bathroom, she dressed quickly in a simple black turtleneck and tailored slacks,smoothing her honey-blonde hair into a sleek ponytail. Her reflection in the mirror looked different somehow—cheeks flushed, eyes brighter than they'd been in days. She leaned closer, searching for signs of the fear that had driven her to the bar last night.

It was still there, lurking beneath the surface, but it was muted now. Manageable.

She applied minimal makeup, just enough to erase the shadows beneath her eyes. Professionalism was its own kind of armor, one she would need today more than ever.

Ivy slipped back into the bedroom, her movements careful and measured. The woman hadn't stirred, her breathing still deep and even. In the growing dawn light, Ivy could see a more substantial scar on her left side—a puckered circle that could only be a bullet wound. The sight of it triggered a surge of questions that Ivy immediately suppressed.

No names, no backstory. Those were the terms they'd agreed to.

She gathered her essentials—phone, wallet, keycard—and tucked them into a small leather crossbody bag. As she did, hergaze fell on the woman's sleeping face once more. Without the guardedness of wakefulness, her expression was open, almost vulnerable. The sight created an unexpected tightness in Ivy's chest.

On impulse, she leaned down and pressed her lips softly against the woman's temple. The faint scent of her shampoo—something herbal and clean—mingled with the more intimate smell of their shared night.

"Thank you," Ivy whispered, though she knew the woman couldn't hear her.

She straightened and moved toward the door, each step putting necessary distance between them. At the threshold, she paused for one final look. The scene burned itself into her memory: the rumpled white sheets, the slant of morning light across the bed, the dark-haired woman sleeping as if she had nowhere else to be.

For a brief, irrational moment, Ivy considered staying—climbing back into that warm bed, waiting for those brown eyes to open, suggesting breakfast, perhaps exchanging names after all. The thought wasso tempting she actually took a half-step back toward the bed.

But reality reasserted itself with the buzz of her phone in her pocket. The outside world was waiting, with all its complications and dangers. This room, this night—they had been a temporary sanctuary, nothing more.

Ivy turned and slipped out the door, closing it silently behind her. The hotel corridor was deserted, the plush carpet muffling her footsteps as she walked toward the elevator. She pressed the call button and waited, her reflection fractured in the polished brass doors.

The elevator arrived with a soft chime. Inside, Ivy pressed the button for the lobby, then leaned against the back wall as the doors closed. Her body ached pleasantly, muscles used in ways they hadn't been in months. She hadn't realized how much tension she'd been carrying until it had been temporarily released.

As the elevator descended, Ivy mentally recalibrated, shifting from the woman who had sought connection in a stranger's arms back to Dr. Ivy Monroe, forensic accountantand key witness against one of the most dangerous criminal organizations in Phoenix Ridge.

By the time the doors opened onto the marble expanse of the lobby, her spine had straightened, her expression composed into professional neutrality. She crossed to the reception desk and arranged to extend her stay in a different room. No need to return to the room upstairs; the mystery woman could wake at her leisure and find herself alone, exactly as they'd both intended.

With that taken care of, Ivy headed for the hotel's oceanfront café. It was barely open, the staff still setting up for breakfast service. She ordered coffee to go and stepped outside onto the terrace.

The air was cool and salt-tinged, the sky lightening from indigo to pale blue. Ivy took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the clean ocean breeze. On the horizon, the first edge of the sun was appearing, turning the water to molten gold.

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