Page 25 of Brass
He pushes away from the wall suddenly, creating distance between us. The cool air rushes in to fill the space where his warmth had been.
“I’m going to get supplies now,” he says, voice carefully neutral. “You’re going to stay here. When I return, we’ll get cleaned up, eat something, and make a plan.”
I nod, still too shaken by my reactions to argue.
“If anyone but me knocks on that door, hide in the bathroom and call that number.” His tone brooks no argument. “Are we clear?”
“Yes.” The word comes out hoarse.
He studies me for another long moment, as if assessing my sincerity. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he gives a short nod.
“Twenty minutes.” He moves to the door, then pauses with his hand on the knob. “And, Celeste?”
I meet his gaze, still feeling the phantom pressure of his body caging mine.
“Don’t make me regret trusting you.”
With that, he slips out the door. This time, I hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway, growing fainter until they disappear entirely.
I remain frozen against the wall, legs trembling, breath uneven. My body still hums with the conflicting responses he triggered—fear, anger, and a devastating attraction I neither wanted nor expected.
This time, I don’t move toward the door. Don’t even consider it.
Not because I’m afraid of him, though there is fear—fear of what he represents, fear of the danger surrounding us, fear of my response to him.
I stay because he’s right. I know he’s right. And that knowledge terrifies me more than anything.
The men hunting me won’t stop. They’ll find me eventually if I’m alone. And as much as I hate depending on anyone, especially a man who makes me feel simultaneously safe and utterly vulnerable, I’m not ready to die for my pride.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest despite the pain in my ribs. The flash drive digs into my thigh through my pocket, a constant reminder of why all this is happening.
Twenty minutes until he returns. Twenty minutes to get my traitorous body and confused emotions under control.
Twenty minutes to decide how much of the truth I’m willing to share with the stranger who keeps saving my life.
NINE
Ryan
I closethe door behind me and stand motionless in the hallway for three heartbeats. Just enough time to recalibrate. To wrestle back control of my body’s immediate, visceral reaction to Celeste Hart.
Fuck.
This was not in the mission parameters. Not that there are mission parameters, since this isn’t officially a mission. It’s a goddamn detour that’s about to derail my entire week.
And now I’m aroused. And pissed. And amused, in an irritated sort of way.
The woman is infuriating. Brilliant, obviously. Fearless to the point of recklessness. And so goddamn stubborn. I want to turn her over my knee, smack some sense into her, and then fuck her senseless. Pin her against that wall again, but this time without stopping. See if she’s as defiant when I’m inside her.
The thought hits with such visceral force that I have to clench my fists. Completely inappropriate. Completely unprofessional. And completely undeniable.
I exhale slowly, pushing away fantasies that have no place in a protection detail. Professional. I need to stay professional.Even if she’s not my client in any official capacity, she’s still under my protection. Lines exist for a reason.
Lines I nearly crossed when I almost kissed her.
I roll my shoulders, trying to dispel the tension that’s settled there. My body still hums with need after pinning her against that wall. From the way her eyes dilated when I leaned in. From the soft parting of her lips that was pure invitation.
What the hell was I thinking?
