Page 18 of Surrender to Me
I take my first bite and close my eyes in ecstasy.
The inside of my French toast is soft and custard-like with just enough bourbon in the drizzle to make me think I’m going to swoon.
“Oh my heaven.” It slips out before I can stop it. I lift my fork again, needing another taste. “This shouldn’t be allowed.”
His lips twitch. “Told you.”
It’s sweet. Warm. Comforting in a way I hadn’t expected—like a warm blanket I didn’t know I missed.
Stryker doesn’t push conversation at first, just eats—efficient and quiet, like he’s used to silence and knows how to fill it without crowding me.
When I reach for my chai, he glances over. “Still weird,” he mutters, sipping his oversize coffee.
“You drink liquid asphalt,” I counter.
His grin returns, slow and easy, melting me. “That’s fair.”
We eat a little more. There’s another stretch of quiet, but it’s not awkward. It’s…companionable. Like we’ve done this before. Like this isn’t the first morning after a near-death encounter with a man I barely know.
When I’ve really started to relax, my phone chimes.
I freeze. My hand hovers over the fork.
Stryker’s gaze sharpens immediately. Watchful. Ready.
But it’s just a client. Checking on a project like nothing’s wrong. Because in their world, deadlines don’t wait for my personal chaos to clear.
“Work?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have a job you need to go to?”
“I’m self-employed.” Quite a technicality. “I work from home.”
“And you don’t have your computer.”
Of course I have a backup, just in case. But I can’t get to it without Stryker finding out I also have a bug-out bag very much like his. There’s no way he won’t ask questions about that.
“Was it taken during the break-in?” he asks.
I nod slowly.
That narrows his gaze.
Instead of answering, I slide off the stool to carry my plate to the sink.
“Want to tell me those guys are after?”
Chapter Six
Lyra
“You’re persistent.” But not enough for me to say a word. “Really, Stryker, there’s nothing to tell.”
“Allie…”
I rinse my plate and turn back to face him.
