Page 25 of Sawyer
She shakes her head. “I can’t look every donor in the eye and say the Kingsleys are afraid. We stand or it crumbles.”
Stubborn, brave, reckless. It’s infuriating—and magnificent.
I exhale, slow. “Then we harden the target.” She meets my gaze, hope flickering. “Four new operators, K-9 sweeps, credential scanners at each gate, ballistic window film, drone overwatch.”
“And the staff?”
“I’ll vet every vendor. If they breathe wrong, they don’t get in.”
“And me?” She tries for a joke but her voice shakes. “You’ll make me wear armor under my gown?”
“Kevlar corset.” My grin is weak. “Bulletproof chic.”
Her laughter bubbles out—real this time, easing the knot in my chest. I brush a stray wave behind her ear, fingertips trailing her jawline. The contact sparks—an entire circuit roaring to life. She stills, eyes widening as if she feels it too.
“There’s something else,” I admit, voice dropping. “Tonight proved I can’t be everywhere at once. The second I left your side?—”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I promised you safety.” I lean in, forehead almost touching hers. “I’m going to keep it.”
Her breath hitches. “How, Sawyer?”
“By not letting you out of my sight.” The vow tastes dangerous, almost intimate. “From now until the gala's over, you and I move as one unit.”
“Bathroom?” she teases, the faintest quiver returning.
“Door stays propped.” It’s half joke, half absolute seriousness.
Color warms her cheeks. “What about when I sleep?”
“I’ll be in the hall, inches away. Or—” Words choke as a new possibility flares. “Or closer, if you want.”
Her lashes flicker. Silence stretches, pulsing, until she lifts her hand—hesitant—and touches my chest where her paint mark once clung. Through cotton, heat sears my skin.
“I feel safer when you’re near,” she whispers.
I inhale—sharp, ragged. My hand covers hers, and holds it firmly. “Then near is where I’ll be.”
She shifts, legs unfolding, feet brushing the rug. We hover, breath mingling. If she tilts forward a hair more, we’ll cross a line I swore not to breach while the threat remains unchecked. Yet every instinct screams to close the distance, to claim her mouth, to anchor her shaking in something solid—me.
“Cam…” Warning and plea thread together.
She swallows, pupils blown. “Yes?”
I force air out. “I need you to sign off on increased protocols. We’ll install metal detectors at both entrances, coordinate with SPPD, run background checks on catering crew.”
“Okay.” Her voice barely carries. “Anything else?”
“Yeah.” My thumb strokes the side of her hand. “This.” Reluctantly, I let go, step back. The space between us chills. “Can’t happen yet.”
She nods—understanding flickering with disappointment. “Threat level.”
“Until you’re clear, I’m steel. After…” I meet her gaze, let her read the fire banked behind discipline. “We’ll repaint the house in red if you want.”
She flushes, smiling small but real. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“Deal.” I pick up her forgotten wine glass, set it aside, then hold out my hand. “Bedtime. Sunrise in five hours and I need you lucid.”
