Page 32 of Sawyer
We lock eyes, and the magnet pulls. I sway, but Vanessa reappears, wine bottle raised. “Corkscrew surrendered willingly!” she announces, halting when she sees Sawyer. “Oh—security huddle?”
Sawyer stands, neutral mask sliding down. “Just briefing Ms. Kingsley.” He nods to me, then retreats down the steps, headset already rising to relay orders.
Vanessa plops onto his vacated space. “You could fry eggs on that tension.”
“Scrambled,” I groan.
She refills our glasses, then leans in. “Okay, Operation ID Psycho: let’s brainstorm.”
We spend an hour toggling theories. Ex-Kingsley employees: Maybe Dad’s former COO, Spencer DeLuna, fired last year for insider leaks. Bitter rival artist: Jasper Haynes, whose mural bid lost to mine downtown. A radical environmental group mad at corporate jets? But nothing fits the precision nor the personal taunts about paint covering blood.
Vanessa sighs. “We need Sherlock.”
“I have Sawyer. And a full BRAVO intel team.”
“Yes, but you can’t make out with Sherlock.” She wiggles brows. “Yet.”
I grip my glass. “I don’t just want a fling, Ness. This feels … big.”
Her expression softens. “Then hold on tight.”
Edgar servesa light dinner of citrus-herb chicken, quinoa, and grilled peaches. Vanessa chatters about seating charts while Sawyer stands sentinel near the bay window. Every time my fork touches my lips I sense his gaze, a heated sweep. Dessert is skipped, the nerves killing my hunger.
Later in the evening,Vanessa yawns theatrically. “Beauty rest. Tomorrow I need to sparkle like a disco ball.” She hugs me, and whispers, “Maybe let Captain Discipline relax too,” then sashays out, leaving rose-vanilla perfume in her wake.
Moments later Sawyer appears, silent as dusk. “Vanessa to her suite?”
“Riggs is escorting her to the guest house.” I pace before the fireplace. “Everything feels ready but not ready. Like the calm before?—”
“Not calm. Controlled.” He moves beside me, and grips my shoulders gently. “We’ve drilled scenarios. You’ll shine. We’ll keep you safe.”
I let my head tip forward onto his chest, breathing in cedar and starch. His heartbeat thrums steady. “Stay again tonight?”
“No place else I’d rather.” He lifts my chin. Moonlight slices across his jaw. The need to kiss him claws inside me. I rise on toes—but he stops me with a thumb to my lower lip, gaze scorching.
“After,” he whispers. “And when it comes, it will be everything.”
The promise sends lightning crackling across skin. I swallow and nod, a chill skating over my shoulders.
Sleep evades me.Sawyer sits in the chair, reading camera feeds on his tablet, but every so often his eyes flick to me.
I push back the covers. “Come here.”
He stands, and steps to the bedside. “Cam…”
“Just a real kiss to keep me brave.” My plea trembles. “Then I’ll sleep.”
He hesitates, then sits on the edge, palm sliding to cup my cheek. The world narrows to the shadowed crease of his lips as he leans down. Soft, at first—just a brush—but I part for him, greedy, and his restraint shreds. His mouth slants over mine, tongue stroking deep in a perfect unhurried glide that draws a whimper from my throat. His hand splays over my ribs, thumb brushing the curve of my breast through my satin cami. I arch, heat pooling.
He breaks away, his voice rough. “Tomorrow.” A vow, a threat, a mercy.
I nod, dazed. He tucks me in, kisses my forehead, then returns to the chair—but his smile is feral, and I know dawn can’t come fast enough.
Despite nerves, I drift off, cradling the taste of him like a secret talisman. Whatever lurks behind tomorrow’s curtain, Sawyer Maddox waits in the wings—wall, door, and soon, if fate is kind, everything in between.
13
Sawyer
