Page 49 of Her Dirty Defender

His hand settles on my hip, grounding me in place. “I’m not proud of where I’ve been. But I meant what I said. This wasn’t about spying on you. It was about keeping you safe. Maybe the only way I know how.”

Everything in me goes still. The weight of his past wraps around me like smoke, sharp and unexpected. I want to say something. To press my hand to the scar he’s not showing. But the words get tangled.

He’s not asking for forgiveness. Just understanding.

And damn it, I want to give it to him.

But that would mean lowering my guard. And I’m not sure I know how to do that without falling.

“I still want to punch you,” I mutter.

Beckett’s lips twitch as if he knows exactly what I meant beneath the threat. “That’s fair. But this—us—isn’t a mistake.”

“Then what is it?”

His thumb strokes my pulse point, sending aftershocks through my system. “Inevitable.”

“I don't do inevitable.” I yank free, reaching for the nearest thing that feels solid—my wrench, my shield, my excuse not to fall any deeper.

“Then why do you keep ending up in my arms?”

“We're done talking about this.”

He steps closer. “I'd rather talk about why you're still looking at my mouth.”

I don't respond because he's right. It isn't simply attraction, chemistry, or whatever safe label I try to place on it. It’s something… deeper.

“I have work to do,” I finally whisper.

His smile is slow and dangerous. “You'll have to stop running eventually, George.”

A loud crunch makes us both jump. Cheese Puff has found another cable.

I raise an eyebrow. “Your surveillance system needs better goat-proofing.”

Beckett groans. “She needs a new name. Cheese Puff sounds too innocent.”

“Yeah.” I can't help grinning. “Chewbacca.”

His laugh echoes through the garage, and something in the vicinity of my heart loosens, even as another piece falls deeper into dangerous territory.

Because now I know Beckett isn’t just here for a job. He's here for me.

And I’ve never felt safer or more seen.

Chapter13

Beckett

It’s late, and the workshop light spills across the gravel like liquid gold, carving shadows where I stand watching George work.

Two days ago, I told her the real reason I was here. George’s anger was understandable. But she softened once I opened up about my past and my concerns for her safety.

Not all at once—this is George, after all. She didn’t let me off the hook that easily. But the edge in her voice dulled. She stopped bristling when I hovered too close, stopped frowning when I asked her to be careful.

I look at her now, bent over the engine, grease smudged across her jaw, mouth tilted in the barest hint of a smile. She’s focused, sharp, gorgeous without trying, and completely unaware of how deeply she’s burrowed under my skin.

The urge to walk over, to touch her and feel her warmth, is overwhelming. My feet are already moving when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

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