Page 76 of Ruined By Protection
"How so?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"I'm technically still married to a man who's actively hunting me down. I'm staying in your boss's house. You're my security detail." She gives a small, humorless laugh. "Not exactly the setup for anything simple."
"True."
"Besides," she adds, her voice taking on a forced casualness that doesn't quite ring true, "I don't want anything else either. A relationship is the last thing I need right now."
A cold boulder settles in my stomach at her words. They're perfectly reasonable—logical even.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. She's right. Of course she's fucking right. This thing between us can't be anything more than what it is—temporary relief, physical comfort in the middle of a storm.
"So we're on the same page," I say, the words feeling shallow as they leave my mouth.
"Completely." She smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes.
The silence that follows feels heavier than before. I should feel relieved. This is exactly what I want—sex without complications, no expectations, no promises I can't keep. So why does it feel like I've lost something I never had?
I stare at the ceiling, watching shadows dance across it from the moonlight filtering through the curtains. There's a weight on my chest that has nothing to do with Hazel's head resting there.
She shifts slightly, her breath warm against my skin. "What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing important," I lie. "We should get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
She makes a small sound of agreement, settling herself closer against me. Within minutes her breathing evens out as sleep claims her.
I remain awake, my mind racing with thoughts I don't want to examine too closely. Thoughts about what it might be like to wake up to her every morning. About how she fits against me like she was made to be there. About what Elliott Montgomery's face will look like when I finally find him.
CHAPTER 24
Hazel
Iwake with a start, my hand automatically reaching across the bed. Empty sheets greet my fingers, still warm but vacant. Of course Matteo isn't here.
Sunlight streams through the curtains we forgot to close properly last night, painting golden stripes across the rumpled bedding. I sit up slowly, pulling the sheet to cover my naked body despite being alone in the room.
Stupid. I whisper to myself.
What did I expect? That he'd still be here, watching me sleep? That we'd have breakfast together like some normal loving couple? After our conversation last night I should have known better. We both agreed this was just physical—nothing more.
A small, traitorous part of me had hoped anyway.
I press my palms against my eyes, willing away the sting of disappointment. This is better. Cleaner. I don't need another complicated relationship right now.
I slide out of bed, wincing slightly at the pleasant soreness in my muscles.
In the bathroom I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand it. Steam fills the space as I step under the spray, letting the water pound against my shoulders. The shampoo smells like jasmine and vanilla, and I love it.
As I wash away the evidence of last night I try to organize my thoughts. Elliott is here in New York. My lawyer is working on divorce papers. I'm staying with a crime family. And I just slept with a man who kills people for a living.
My life has become unrecognizable in just a few days.
After showering I wrap myself in the plush robe hanging on the back of the door and pad back into the bedroom. I put on a sweater and jeans. Simple and comfortable.
My new burner phone sits on the nightstand where I left it. Maria Gianelli gave it to me during our meeting, explaining that Elliott couldn't track this one. I pick it up and check the time—8.47 a.m. Not too early to call my lawyer.
I dial her number, sitting on the edge of the bed as it rings.
"Gianelli," she answers, her voice crisply professional.
