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“Yes.” I press my lips against her ear.

The feel of her in my arms, each breath calms the unease in my chest that’s taken residence since I woke up this morning. I got a good up close and personal view of the Sam guy, and I hate to admit it, but I agree with Tank—the fucker is sexy. Hell, I kind of want to be him when I grow up. That’s a fucking paper cut to the dick too. I don't want him hanging around her; anyone would be susceptible to someone like him. Hell, I'm straight and I got a little turned on. Nope, not turned on. A man crush. Yeah, that's the cool term. I have a man crush on the guy, and I don't even know him.

“Clear,” one of the guys calls out from inside the apartment.

Slowly, I ease my arm from around her, allowing her a bit of room to wiggle out of my grasp. Inside the apartment, she stops suddenly, causing me to crash into her back.

“Wow,” she says. “Okay, this is amazing. I'll give you that.” She turns fast, her long dark hair fanning around her with the motion. Eyes searching my own, she wraps an arm around my waist. “You'd give this up for me?”

I nod, unable to express that I'd live in a cardboard box if that made her happy and gave me her. Nothing matters anymore but her. She's my future, my everything. My parents’ money, them threatening to take it all away, doesn’t register as a concern anymore.

Three years. I just have to get through these three years. Then we can be together, openly, with everyone knowing I’m the luckiest guy in the world because she’s by my side. I get Randi’s earlier concern, wondering if we can do it, if we can make it through the shit show we’ve created with Mother and Jessica. But there isn’t another option. There is no room for failure when it comes to us.

The repetitive beeps of the sensing wands sound through the living room and toward the bedroom, indicating the team is still conducting the bug sweep. Holding her close, I rest my chin on the crown of her head. Several more minutes pass before they’re finished. Once the rest of the guys move to their stations outside the door and around the perimeter of the building, I reluctantly leave Randi to lower the blackout blinds over the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The motors whirl until the last bits of sun disappear behind the blinds. A low grumble has me turning to where she stands, arms wrapped around her waist.

“What’s for lunch?” she asks.

“I thought I'd cook.”

“This should be interesting,” Tank grumbles. Elbow to her bicep, he nudges her, which almost sends her toppling over. “He's the worst cook.”

“Hey, I can cook,” I say defensively. He scoffs. “Okay, fine. I can cookonething. How about my famous grilled cheese sandwich?” Shrugging out of my jacket, I place it, my holster, and my guns on a side table. Unbuttoning the cuff of one sleeve, I fold it up three times before doing the same with the other.

Randi's hazel eyes sparkle, locked on my exposed forearms. “Sounds great.”

“Sounds great,” Tank mocks. “Fuck, you're so cock whipped.”

Randi and I exchange a glance before busting out laughing. A single happy tear streaks down her cheek. Together we walk into the kitchen. I head for the refrigerator while Tank and Randi slide onto two stools at the bar.

“You've seen it. Wouldn't you be?” she says, her smile broad and happy.

Tank snarls and covers his ears.

“I put bacon, gouda, cheddar, spinach, and tomato on it, cool?” I pull all the ingredients out of the fridge and line them up along the counter. The knife hisses as I slide it from the block. Setting the cheese on a cutting board, I begin slicing.

Palms against the marble, she stands and ambles around the counter. At my back, I hear the fridge open.

“Do you have any avocado?”

I turn to look over my shoulder, pointing to the lowest drawer with the tip of the knife. “If I do, they'd be in there. I think Martha keeps a few on hand.”

“Martha?” she questions as she rifles through the drawer before pulling out an avocado.

“Yeah, Martha. My housekeeper and cook.”

“Wow,” she says, but not in a positive way. My hackles rise at her tone.

“You act surprised. You saw where I grew up, saw the wealth. Don't be shocked by me having all this,” I say with a little too much annoyance.

“Um, what?”

I turn from the eight slices of bread I was buttering and lean back against the counter. “Last night, my parents’ house. My childhood home.”

“Your childhood home,” Randi says unbelievingly. “Yeah, you said the party was to be held at an estate. Notyourestate.”

“Well, it's not mine.”