Page 50 of Made for Reign

I duck into the bathroom and close the door behind me. My reflection is flushed, glowing in a way I haven’t seen in months. As I brush my teeth, I replay every second of what just happened, from the way he climbed through my window like some kind of feral prince to the way he touched me as if I was made of glass and fire at the same time. I’m so distracted by the memory of his hands that I nearly spill toothpaste down the front of my sleep shirt.

The house is dead silent, the estate’s endless corridors muffled and empty at this hour. I know Lucille’s sleeping pills hit her hard by nine. The housekeeper never patrols the west wing at night. But the risk of being caught with a forbidden man in my bed should terrify me. For once, it doesn’t.

When I finish washing my face, I tiptoe back into my room. Reign has already made himself comfortable. He’s stripped down to his boxers, his body arranged casually against my headboard, the covers folded back with military precision. Hisduffel bag is nowhere in sight. He looks twice as big in the small expanse of my pink and white bedroom, and somehow, it doesn’t feel like a clash. It feels inevitable.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. I cross to the bed, climbing in like a sleepwalker. He pulls me into his side the second I’m under the covers, tucking my head beneath his jaw, one massive arm locking me in place.

“Sweet dreams, Princess,” he whispers against my temple.

For the first time in a long time, I know they will be.

ELEVEN

REIGN

Sunlight bleedspale gold through the curtains of Audrey’s bedroom, painting stripes across her sleeping form.

I’ve been awake for the past hour, memorizing the way she looks tangled in expensive sheets with her dark hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink. My arm has gone numb where she’s been using it as a pillow, but I’d lose the whole fucking limb before I’d move and risk waking her.

She makes a soft sound in her sleep, burrowing deeper into my chest. The movement sends her scent washing over me—something floral from her shampoo mixed with the musk of our lovemaking. My cock stirs to life, ready for another round despite the three times I took her during the night. Each time slower than the last, each time marking her as mine in ways that go beyond the physical.

But the world outside this room is waking up.

Through the window, I can hear the estate’s gardeners arriving, their trucks rumbling up the service road. In another thirty minutes, the house staff will begin their day. The last thing Audrey needs is her stepmother discovering me in her daughter’s bed.

The thought of Lucille Worthington’s reaction almost makes me smile. Almost. But the consequences would fall on Audrey, not me, and I won’t put her through that. Not when I’m so close to solving the Vega problem permanently.

I press my lips to her forehead, breathing her in one more time before I absolutely have to go. She stirs, those brown eyes fluttering open with the unfocused confusion of deep sleep.

“Reign?” Her voice is rough and sexy as fuck.

“I have to go, baby. Before Lucille wakes up.”

She blinks more fully awake, her hand coming up to rest on my chest. “Already?”

“Security does their first full round at six-thirty.” I catch her hand, bringing it to my lips. “I’ll call you tonight. Every night while you’re in Denver.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” I seal it with a kiss, keeping it gentle despite the urge to claim her mouth the way I want to.

She nods against my shoulder, but I feel the tension in her body. She’s scared. She has every right to be. But she doesn’t know what I know. Giovanni Vega’s days of controlling her life are numbered in hours, not weeks.

I force myself to slide out of bed, immediately missing her warmth. My clothes are scattered around the room, testament to how desperately we came together last night. I dress efficiently, muscle memory from years of predawn deployments taking over while my mind stays focused on the woman watching me from the bed.

“Don’t get up,” I tell her when she starts to move. “Go back to sleep.”

She settles back into the pillows, looking so fucking beautiful it physically hurts to turn away. I grab my duffel, check my phone for the security patterns I’ve been tracking. The south garden will be clear for another twelve minutes.

At the window, I turn back for one last look. She’s pulled my pillow against her chest, her face buried in it like she’s trying to hold onto my scent. The possessive satisfaction that brings almost makes me climb back into that bed.

“Reign?” She lifts her head, eyes already heavy with returning sleep. “Be careful.”

“Always am.” I swing one leg over the windowsill. “Dream of me, baby.”

The climb down is easier than the ascent, handholds familiar now. I drop the last few feet to the garden, landing in a crouch behind a massive hydrangea bush. The estate is quiet, morning mist clinging to the manicured lawns. I make my way through the gardens to where I left my truck parked on an old service road just beyond the property line.

The engine turns over with a low rumble that seems too loud in the morning stillness. But no alarms sound, no security appears. I navigate the narrow road that connects to the main highway, hands steady on the wheel despite the chaos in my chest.

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