Page 107 of Unconditionally Yours
He’s not just looking at me. He’s looking through Benji, scanning for weak points to break open. His whole body is still, tight, vibrating with don’t-make-me-kill-a-man energy.
But his face. God. His face.
There’s a fresh bruise purpling under one eye, a split at the corner of his lip, and his jaw’s a little swollen.
My stomach drops.
I didn’t do that. But something I did got him into that fight.
His eyes flick to Benji’s name tag, and then just nothing. Emotion wipes from his face. That’s worse than rage. That’s the pre-murder calm.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I puff up my chest, which isn’t saying much, I’m still a tiny little snack wedged between two walking murder weapons. “Jett,” I say, breathy and hopeful and probably the dumbest thing I could whisper right now.
Benji’s hand lands at my waist.
Jett’s eyes snap to that touch like it’s a detonator.
He turns his head, neck popping, jaw grinding. He’s stretching. A predator limbering up for combat.
“Jett?” I try again, like that’ll help.
His voice is low and venom-dripping. “Benji.” He says it like it tastes rotten in his mouth. As if Benji just committed an unforgivable sin by existing near me.
I turn toward my sweet tank and rest a hand on his chest. “Can you give us a minute?”
Benji doesn’t move. His eyes never leave Jett. “Not a fucking chance,” he says.
God. His loyalty is so hot I might die.
“He won’t hurt me,” I whisper. “Not me.”
Benji looks down at me, soft for half a second, then glances back at Jett like he’s doing a calculus problem that ends in blood. “You good?” Benji asks.
Jett’s eyes don’t budge. “No.” No hesitation. No lie.
My body wants to be pressed between them. My heart wants to fix this. My brain wants to escape into a pocket dimension where emotional threesomes are easier.
But right now I’m standing between a loaded gun and a wall of muscle who doesn’t know how to back down.
How do I stop a war when all I want is to kiss both generals?
“We’ve got group,” I manage to say, voice breathy like that’ll soften the murder in the air. Spoiler: it does not.
Benji doesn’t back off. Not even a little. But he does take two steps back, still a shield made of muscle and righteous possessiveness. Then he opens the office door.
Jett glances at the door, then at me, then at Benji. Benji who is still not leaving me alone with a man who might explode or break down or kiss me again in a way that shatters us both.
I step back, slow, like I’m trying to de-escalate a feral animal and not two emotionally fragile sex gods with gorgeous jawlines.
Benji shadows me perfectly, like we’ve practiced this hallway ballet. I feel his heat at my back, and it makes me feel a little safer and a lot more feral.
But I can’t go in first.
God knows what they’d do to each other if I left them alone.
So I pause. Tip my head back. Try to will Jett to look at me.
