Page 19

ELEVEN

REIGN

Sunlight bleeds pale gold through the curtains of Audrey’s bedroom, painting stripes across her sleeping form.

I’ve been awake for the past hour, memorizing the way she looks tangled in expensive sheets with her dark hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink. My arm has gone numb where she’s been using it as a pillow, but I’d lose the whole fucking limb before I’d move and risk waking her.

She makes a soft sound in her sleep, burrowing deeper into my chest. The movement sends her scent washing over me—something floral from her shampoo mixed with the musk of our lovemaking.

My cock stirs to life, ready for another round despite the three times I took her during the night.

Each time slower than the last, each time marking her as mine in ways that go beyond the physical.

But the world outside this room is waking up.

Through the window, I can hear the estate’s gardeners arriving, their trucks rumbling up the service road. In another thirty minutes, the house staff will begin their day. The last thing Audrey needs is her stepmother discovering me in her daughter’s bed.

The thought of Lucille Worthington’s reaction almost makes me smile. Almost. But the consequences would fall on Audrey, not me, and I won’t put her through that. Not when I’m so close to solving the Vega problem permanently.

I press my lips to her forehead, breathing her in one more time before I absolutely have to go. She stirs, those brown eyes fluttering open with the unfocused confusion of deep sleep.

“Reign?” Her voice is rough and sexy as fuck.

“I have to go, baby. Before Lucille wakes up.”

She blinks more fully awake, her hand coming up to rest on my chest. “Already?”

“Security does their first full round at six-thirty.” I catch her hand, bringing it to my lips. “I’ll call you tonight. Every night while you’re in Denver.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” I seal it with a kiss, keeping it gentle despite the urge to claim her mouth the way I want to.

She nods against my shoulder, but I feel the tension in her body. She’s scared. She has every right to be. But she doesn’t know what I know. Giovanni Vega’s days of controlling her life are numbered in hours, not weeks.

I force myself to slide out of bed, immediately missing her warmth.

My clothes are scattered around the room, testament to how desperately we came together last night.

I dress efficiently, muscle memory from years of predawn deployments taking over while my mind stays focused on the woman watching me from the bed.

“Don’t get up,” I tell her when she starts to move. “Go back to sleep.”

She settles back into the pillows, looking so fucking beautiful it physically hurts to turn away. I grab my duffel, check my phone for the security patterns I’ve been tracking. The south garden will be clear for another twelve minutes.

At the window, I turn back for one last look. She’s pulled my pillow against her chest, her face buried in it like she’s trying to hold onto my scent. The possessive satisfaction that brings almost makes me climb back into that bed.

“Reign?” She lifts her head, eyes already heavy with returning sleep. “Be careful.”

“Always am.” I swing one leg over the windowsill. “Dream of me, baby.”

The climb down is easier than the ascent, handholds familiar now.

I drop the last few feet to the garden, landing in a crouch behind a massive hydrangea bush.

The estate is quiet, morning mist clinging to the manicured lawns.

I make my way through the gardens to where I left my truck parked on an old service road just beyond the property line.

The engine turns over with a low rumble that seems too loud in the morning stillness. But no alarms sound, no security appears. I navigate the narrow road that connects to the main highway, hands steady on the wheel despite the chaos in my chest.

Fuck.

Leaving her feels wrong on a cellular level. Every instinct screams at me to turn around, to climb back through that window and deal with whatever consequences come. But that’s emotional thinking, not strategic thinking. And strategy is what will win this war.

The mountain roads are empty this early, allowing me to push the truck harder than usual through the curves.

Pine trees flash by in a blur of green, the peaks of the Tetons catching the first light of day.

Beautiful country. The kind of place a man could build a life, raise a family.

The kind of place where an art studio would get perfect morning light.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I think about Audrey in that studio, paint on her fingers and joy on her face. Soon. Fucking soon.

The drive gives me too much time to think, to replay every moment of last night. Not just the sex—though holy fuck, the sex—but the quieter moments. The way she curved into me while she slept. The small sounds she made when I touched her. The trust in her eyes when I promised to handle Vega.

She has no idea what she’s awakened in me. This primal need to possess, to protect, to provide. I’ve spent my entire adult life in control of my emotions, my reactions, my environment. But she decimates that control without even trying.

By the time I turn onto the private road leading to my cabin, the sun has fully risen. Which is why I immediately spot Ben’s Jeep parked in my driveway.

My jaw clenches as I pull up beside it, already running through possible explanations for where I’ve been.

He’s sitting on my front porch, scrolling through his phone with a cup of what looks like gas station coffee in his hand. His head comes up when he hears my truck, a grin spreading across his face.

“There you are!” He stands, stretching like he’s been sitting for a while. “I’ve been calling you.”

I grab my duffel and climb out, keeping my expression neutral. “My phone was off. What are you doing here, Ben?”

“Needed to grab some old family photos.” He holds up his coffee cup like a peace offering. “Got an interview with Sports Illustrated next week. They want the whole backstory. You know, military family, brothers reunited, that angle.”

Fuck. The last thing I need is media attention right now. But I can’t tell him that without explaining why.

“Could have called first,” I mutter, unlocking the front door.

“I did call. Like I said, your phone was off.” He follows me inside, his energy filling the space. “Where were you all night anyway? Your bed hasn’t been slept in.”

I set my duffel on the kitchen counter, buying time by starting the coffee maker. “Had business in town.”

“Business.” His tone makes it clear he doesn’t buy it. “At five in the morning?”

“Sometimes security consultations require odd hours.” The lie comes easily, backed by enough truth to be believable. “Want actual coffee?”

He accepts the subject change, settling onto one of the bar stools at my kitchen island. “Fuck yes. This gas station shit is terrible.”

I move through the familiar routine of making coffee, grateful for something to do with my hands.

Ben chatters about the fight, the media attention, the sponsorship offers pouring in.

I make appropriate noises, but my mind is elsewhere.

On Audrey waking up alone. On the three days stretching ahead without her.

On what needs to happen before she returns.

“Earth to Reign.” Ben waves a hand in front of my face. “You listening?”

“Sorry.” I pour two mugs of coffee, sliding one across to him. “Long night.”

He studies me with eyes too much like our mother’s. “You seem different. More... I don’t know. Intense than usual.”

If he only knew. “Just thinking about some upcoming contracts.”

“Bullshit.” But he’s smiling as he says it. “You got that look. The one you used to get before missions.”

"The photos are in the storage room upstairs," I redirect, not wanting to travel down that road. "Stored them there when I finished building this place five years ago. Haven't had reason to go through them."

"Got it." He stands, draining his coffee. "Thanks for letting me dig through your stuff."

He disappears upstairs, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Three days. Seventy-two hours for Audrey to play her part at the bridal show while I dismantle her cage.

She doesn't know the meeting I have scheduled for Thursday.

Doesn't know that by the time she returns, Giovanni Vega will no longer be a problem.

“Holy shit!” Ben’s voice echoes from the guest room. “What are you building in here?”

Fuck. I forgot about the construction.

I find him standing in the doorway of what will be Audrey’s studio, taking in the demolished wall, the new windows I’ve been installing, the lumber stacked along one side.

“Renovation project,” I say, aiming for casual.

“This is more than a renovation.” He steps inside, examining the space with genuine interest. “You’re building something specific. The light in here is incredible.”

“It’s an art studio.”

The words hang between us. Ben turns slowly, his expression shifting from curiosity to understanding.

“For a woman.” It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

“The same woman whose bed you just left?” His grin is knowing. “Come on, Reign. I’m not an idiot. You show up looking like you’ve been thoroughly fucked, and there’s a half-built art studio in your guest room? Connect the dots for me.”

I take a long drink of coffee, weighing my options. Ben’s loyalty to Vega is professional, not personal. But that doesn’t mean he’d be comfortable knowing I’m planning to destroy his meal ticket.

“It’s complicated,” I finally say.

“When is it not with you?” He leans against the doorframe. “She must be something special. I’ve never seen you like this.”

Special. The word doesn’t even begin to cover what Audrey is to me.

“She is.”

“So, when do I meet her?”

“You don’t.” The response comes out harder than intended. “Not yet.”

Ben’s eyebrows rise. “That complicated, huh?”

“You have no idea.”