Page 10 of Guarded Knight (Echo Valley #3)

My boots clang on the metal stairs on my way to let Lara know where I’ll be for the night. With each step, the scent thickens—garlic, butter, something warm. Domestic. It smells a lot better than the new-car-scent freshener I’ll be breathing in all night in my truck.

My truck’s not built for a six-two guy, and the trail doesn’t give me a clean line of sight to the door. Which means I’ll be up all night making rounds. But close protection isn’t about comfort.

Especially not for a woman like her.

As I climb the stairs, I survey the space between buildings where their front door is.

I’m not happy that I have to park on Main Street.

There are no cars allowed on Grenvista Trail where I’d have a view of their door, but fortunately, the trail is a dead end leading into the woods, and their second-floor entrance is surrounded on three sides by tall brick walls.

Before I can knock, the apartment door swings open.

Freya is sock-footed and smiling like she’s been waiting for me. “Perfect timing. We’re just plating up.”

“I’m not…”

“You’re not skipping dinner,” she cuts me off. “Come in.”

Freya yanks me inside by the arm.

Despite the unpacked boxes, a few candles, a lava lamp, and the smell of good food make it feel lived-in. It’s not a big apartment, but the windows are large and luxurious, and the layout isn’t suffocating since it’s open plan.

A playlist hums a fitting, soft girl anthem in the background, probably Taylor Swift or something.

Lara’s at the stove, ladling tomato soup into mismatched bowls. She turns slightly when I enter, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s on the stiff side, which tells me she doesn’t want me here. Then again, I count three bowls.

“Please.” Freya pulls out one of the four chairs at the table. “Sit.”

But I don’t. I’m a gentleman and not here to bulldoze into Lara’s life. I won’t stay if she doesn’t want me here.

But to my surprise, she extends an invitation.

“You’re welcome to stay,” Lara deadpans, back still to me. “Since you’re lurking anyway.”

“It’s not lurking,” Freya says brightly. “It’s watching over. Very noble.”

I glance Freya’s way. She’s practically starry-eyed.

This would all be easier if Lara looked at me like that.

No, it wouldn’t, because Lara is leaving when this is done and you are staying. That’s your assignment.

I put my backpack down and sit in the chair.

Lara finishes plating and sets a grilled cheese on each dish with surgical precision and a quiet, deliberate presence as if nothing else exists. Fully aware. Fully appreciative of every second.

Like only someone told they have thirty years max on this earth, or a Buddhist monk, can achieve.

I remember once, at a picnic back when she was about ten, everyone was swatting at flies and whining about the heat. But not Lara. She watched the flies when they landed. Studied the way they rubbed their legs together, and said she thought it looked like they were excited for something big.

She wasn’t bothered by flies. She was fascinated and thought they were there to have fun, too.

That was Lara. She let the world in. She let it move her. She makes light where most people would let themselves rot in the dark.

Maybe that’s why people swarm to her. Why the wrong men cling too hard, say too much, want her goodness like it’s theirs to consume.

It’s also why I haven’t been able to push her out of my heart despite knowing for a fact I’m the dark cloud on her parade. Even if I am getting better, and I have to believe it, I still haven’t proven shit about my ability to do it when I’m not running.

I’d like to think I’m through that now, but belief and proof aren’t the same thing.

No matter how my chest aches to touch her, to have bent down a few more inches and kiss her in the alley earlier, you don’t ask a woman like Lara, with God knows how much time left, for a second chance.

Even if Xander told me she could have another twenty years with these meds, or more, she deserves every one of them to be pure joy.

I wouldn’t say joy is my MO at the moment.

But watching her primp that damn grilled cheese, watching the way her ass fills out those jeans… I’m still just a man, and it’s not the soup I’m hungry for.

Lara saunters over with two plates in her hands. “It’s not much for a lug like you, but at least it’s hot…”

Her words trail off when her gaze hits the backpack at my feet.

She doesn’t say anything but puffs out a humorless laugh. “Fan-frickin-tastic. Another roommate?”

I never asked to stay. But the fact she assumes I am? That’s a crack in the wall she’s built, and I’ll take it. Not for my comfort, but because there’s less room for error on her couch.

Freya ignores Lara’s comment and sets to clearing off a small table. It’s cluttered with notebooks and an IKEA shelf manual Lara will probably leave unread for a week. She’s not one for spending a lot of time on the boring stuff and is a class-A procrastinator. Though I know she smashes it at work.

I follow her on a professional network, and the woman has raised millions for good causes.

Lara and Freya bring over the rest of the food, and I have to admit, I’m happy for something warm. The winter chills are setting in now that it’s nearly November, and nights in the car remind me far too much of being deployed.

Freya crunches into the crispy fried bread. “Thank you so much for moving the boxes up. We needed a hero after all that driving.”

I nod politely, thin-lipped, and take a bite of the grilled cheese. Jesus, this thing is good. I don’t usually take the Lord’s name in vain.

“Tomorrow we need to get back to the grind,” Freya goes on. “I guess we’ll work from home, but this tiny table isn’t going to be fun for the two of us.” She hooks her thumbs in Lara’s direction. “Especially Little Miss I Need Twenty Drinks Going at One Time.”

“Like, three, maximum.” Lara’s face fills with feigned guilt as she pretends to be sneaky and moves one of the multiple drinks in front of her slyly on the floor, out of Freya’s sight.

Freya laughs. “Ha. Try three minimum.” She counts on her fingers. “Coffee, water, something fizzy, a smoothie…”

My chest relaxes hearing Lara is looking after herself. CF can mean a person doesn’t feel thirsty. Mrs. Young’s nagging made its way into Lara’s nervous system.

I see this as a perfect opportunity to get her somewhere even safer than this where I can do more digging and less watching.

“Bring your drinking habit to the ranch. We have a family office at Monarch Hills,” I offer.

“You could keep a twenty-four pack out and not get in anybody’s way.

” Not that I’ve asked Santi. Or my other brothers.

But I ask very few favors, and having Lara behind the guarded perimeter at our family ranch would be one worth asking.

Anyway, they’ve always said it’s mine, too, I just never made it feel like it.

“Oooh. A ranch?” The stars are back for Freya, making her deep-brown eyes sparkle again.

Lara sighs. “Freya is a city girl.”

That’s perfect. Freya can do the begging now instead of me.

“I’d love to be around horses,” she practically coos.

In my pocket.

Lara’s head flops to one side, and she throws me a look that says thanks a lot. I return her unspoken annoyance with a triumphant, smug grin. We both know Freya will be asking to work at the ranch, if not tomorrow, then soon.

Freya puts down her sandwich and wipes her fingers on a napkin. “How long have you two known each other?”

Lara doesn’t look up, but her answer is said in that way where people want to end the conversation. “A long time.”

Freya glances at me.

I get the impression she already knows more than she’s letting on.

“So childhood friends?”

“Our families were close.” I observe Lara’s body language and I’m guessing by how closed off she is, she didn’t tell Freya our real story. “Lara’s brother was my best friend growing up. And she was…”

“The tagalong,” Lara says flatly.

I don’t flinch but hold her honey eyes and try not to drown in them. “She was more than that.”

Freya tilts her head coyly. “So… friends, then?”

Freya darts her gaze between us, sensing the tension you wouldn’t get through with a samurai sword.

I offer a curt nod.

I guess one day, probably while Lara’s here in Echo Valley, we’ll have to talk about our past again. Hell, I want to talk again. Maybe she’d be happy to hear I’m trying to stand still. That the nightmares have finally lessened with therapy.

Or maybe she’s not as invested in me as I am in her.

Anyway, right now, I’ve got bigger priorities, and they start with taking her ex down.

I shift gears. “What do you two do at the Foundation? It benefits sickle cell anemia, right?”

I already know Lara’s Head of Fundraising. I already know just about everything there is to know about her but I think she’ll appreciate the change of subject.

She shrugs off her cardigan and drapes it over the back of her chair.

Tank top clinging. Hard nipples pressing against cotton like they’re gasping for air.

I should be chasing leads. Instead, I’m now chasing the fact that she’s braless.

“Lara raises the big bucks,” Freya says, blowing on her soup.

I drag my attention off Lara’s chest and put my eyes back where they belong.

Freya laughs lightly. “I just make sure our speakers don’t show up drunk.”

Lara snorts. “That happened one time.”

“I still can’t believe that.” She shakes her head at the memory. “Anyway, I’m just a this-and-that girl.”

“You are not. You…” Lara doesn’t finish, clearly trying to find the right words.

Freya grins, unbothered. “I’m basically the poster child for what a cure for sickle cell could look like.”

Freya seems the picture of good health. Wide smile with white teeth, flawless brown skin, and curls that seem to spring with joy. She’s a decent poster child if there ever was one.

She continues, “It’s even in my contract that I can’t be intoxicated in public, just in case someone thinks a cure isn’t worthy of a degenerate. Which reminds me, we need a supply of wine in this place.”

That contract clause? Controlling. Extreme. Especially for a nonprofit. I looked Scarlet Hope up even before the ladies came here. Run by Kevin Demeter.

“Lara’s amazing at raising funds,” Freya adds. “This girl goes into a meeting, and she makes it rain.”

Lara looks down at her soup. “It’s a team effort.”

We eat in silence for a few minutes until we all finish. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not hostile either. Just the thick kind of quiet that fills the space when too much has gone unsaid for too long.

After dinner, I offer to do the dishes. Freya objects, but I’m already clearing the table, stacking bowls and collecting spoons.

It gives my hands something to do, something other than gripping the edge of the table every time Lara moves just right.

Stretches, arches, bends… that tank top pulls tight over curves that weren’t there when we were younger.

Freya dries while I rinse, and Lara busies herself unpacking a box labeled “essentials,” which appears to be mostly mismatched Stanley cups and lids, a Kindle, half a candle, and one of those clocks that light up like a sunrise instead of using an alarm.

Eventually, Freya sets her towel down. “I’m gonna FaceTime Kevin. I promised to prove we have plumbing in the sticks.”

Lara rolls her eyes. “I am so getting you some overalls and a piece of straw for your next call.”

Freya laughs and points at Lara. “Yes.”

Lara takes her Kindle in hand, and there’s a heavy beat between us.

“I’m going to bed,” she announces.

Freya stops in her tracks and lifts her brows at me. “You’re staying, right?”

Lara doesn’t look at me, but her body still tilts in my direction, and her milky shoulder calls to be touched.

I’ve imagined Lara and I having sex before, many times.

But never was it hate sex. So close to her, my body isn’t under my control anymore.

It’s possessed by my twenty-year-old self, who was, for better or worse, obsessed with my best friend’s eighteen-year-old sister.

I’d do well to remember I’m here to watch the door and not obsess over the memory of the heat of her mouth or how she tasted like summer and salt and everything I was never meant to have.

Freya barrels on. “We’ve got a couch. It’s lumpy but better than whatever truck situation you were going to resort to.”

One more glance at Lara. I won’t stay if she doesn’t want me here, and she reads my raised brows.

“Do what you want. It’s a free country,” she concedes.

Freya starts fluffing a throw pillow like she’s preparing a guest suite at a B&B.

Lara walks past me on her way to the hall. Her shoulder brushes mine, just enough to detonate something low in my chest. The static’s back. That magnetic pull.

She practically takes my skin along with her to the bedroom.

Freya tugs the blanket tighter around the couch cushions, then steps back and gestures dramatically. “Your throne, Sir Protector.” She yawns. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

The apartment settles into stillness after she disappears. I sink onto the edge of the couch, gaze locked on the door.

No sound but the soft tick of the clock. No movement but the wind pushing at the window.

It would be the perfect place to dream.

But I’m not here to sleep. I’m here to keep her safe. That’s the job.

And I can’t forget it—not for her lips, not for the past, not for anything.