Page 2 of My Special Ops Neighbor (Neighborhood Hotties #4)

T he walk to Vincent's house took less than two minutes, but Yvette felt like she was crossing into another world. She clutched her overnight bag and tried not to think about the fact that she was moving in with a man she'd spent a month convinced was a criminal.

His front door looked ordinary from the outside, but the moment he disarmed what appeared to be a military-grade security system, Yvette realized appearances were deceiving.

The entry hall featured reinforced steel beneath decorative wood paneling.

She counted three different types of motion sensors before they'd even made it to the living room.

"Guest bedroom's upstairs," he said, leading her past a kitchen where a tactical vest hung over one of the chairs like it belonged there. "Private bathroom, decent view of the backyard."

Right. Because nothing said normalcy like the assault rifle propped against the breakfast bar and the collection of knives displayed on the counter like some people displayed fruit.

The guest bedroom was actually nice. Clean sheets, neutral colors, windows that overlooked his surprisingly normal backyard. If Yvette ignored the reinforced glass and the fact that the windows didn't actually open, it could have been any guest room in suburbia.

"I need to call my supervisor," she said, setting her bag on the bed. "Let him know what happened and get him the files."

He nodded. "Landline's more secure than your cell. I'll be downstairs."

Yvette waited until he left before dialing her boss's direct number. James Morrison answered on the second ring, sounding like she'd woken him from deep sleep.

"Yvette? It's three-thirty in the morning. What—"

"Someone tried to kill me tonight, James. They broke into my house looking for the RareCore files."

"Are you safe? Where are you?"

"I'm safe. My neighbor's a former Marine. I'm with him." She hoped he wouldn't ask for details. "I need to send you everything I have on RareCore immediately. All the financial records, the shell company documentation, everything."

"Absolutely. Send it all. We'll get federal protection arranged and—"

"I'm already sending it." Yvette enabled the multiple security protocols she'd designed to ensure data integrity during transmission.

The upload included not just the raw financial data, but the predictive algorithms she'd developed and the network mapping software that had traced RareCore's entire operational structure.

"There. It's done, complete with my custom analysis tools so other investigators can continue the digital forensics work. "

"You realize this means your investigation was even more damaging than we thought. If RareCore was willing to commit murder—"

"They failed. The evidence is safe, the case is in federal hands now, and I'm protected until official channels kick in." Yvette watched the upload complete with satisfaction. "They have no reason to come after me anymore."

"I hope you're right. Stay where you are. I'll have federal investigators contact you directly in the morning."

After she hung up, Yvette sagged in relief.

The files were secure, her supervisor knew everything, and federal investigators would have the case by dawn.

RareCore's executives might be facing prison time, but they were smart enough to know that killing a federal witness would only make things worse.

The threat was over. Yvette had spent fifteen years developing the digital investigation techniques that had exposed RareCore's conspiracy.

Her reputation at DCAA wasn't just for thoroughness.

It was for seeing patterns in financial data that others missed, for developing custom software that could penetrate corporate obfuscation networks, for being the forensic accountant they called when conventional methods failed.

She made her way downstairs to find Vincent in what appeared to be a home office, multiple monitors displaying what looked like security camera feeds from around his property. He glanced up when she entered.

"Files sent?"

"All of them. My supervisor's briefing federal investigators first thing in the morning." Yvette settled into the chair across from his desk. "I think I can probably go back to work tomorrow. Maybe stay in a hotel until my house is cleared."

His posture shifted, though his expression didn't change. "You think sending the files ends this?"

"Well... yes. They wanted to stop my investigation. Now it's out of my hands and in federal custody. Killing me at this point would only draw more attention to their fraud."

"RareCore's executives are looking at decades in federal prison and hundreds of millions in lost contracts. You think they're going to make rational decisions about risk assessment?"

The confidence Yvette had felt after talking to her supervisor wavered. "But I'm not a threat anymore. I've already given the government everything."

"You're the witness. The person who can testify about how you uncovered the fraud, explain the financial patterns to a jury, make the case compelling enough for conviction." He leaned back in his chair. "Dead witnesses can't testify."

Yvette's stomach dropped. She'd been so focused on protecting the evidence that she hadn't considered her own ongoing value to the case. "So what are you saying? That I'm stuck here indefinitely?"

"You're staying put until they're caged. Days. Weeks. However long it takes."

"Weeks?" Yvette stood up, sudden claustrophobia hitting her. "I have a job, responsibilities. I can't just disappear for weeks."

"You can't testify if you're dead."

"Stop saying that." The words came out sharper than she'd intended. "I get it. There's still some risk. But I can't live in hiding indefinitely. There has to be a middle ground."

He stood as well, and Yvette was suddenly aware of how much space he took up in the room. Not just his physical presence, but the way he moved with absolute certainty, like someone who'd never questioned a decision in his life.

"The middle ground is you stay here while I assess the threat level and coordinate with federal protection. You don't go back to work, you don't stay in hotels, you don't do anything that puts you on RareCore's radar."

"You don't get to make those decisions for me.

" Yvette was already processing threat assessments the way she processed financial networks, analyzing variables, calculating probabilities, identifying systemic vulnerabilities.

He might have combat experience, but she had something equally valuable: the ability to see patterns and predict behaviors that others missed.

"I do while you're under my protection."

Yvette stepped closer, anger flaring. "I didn't ask for your protection. I asked for a place to stay until official help arrived."

"Official help that could take days to arrange." He didn't back down, meeting her gaze with a look that held zero compromise. "Walk out that door if you want. But the next team won't announce themselves by breaking glass. They'll put a bullet in your head before you know they're there."

"So what, I'm your prisoner now?"

"You're alive now. You're mine now. And I protect what's mine."

They were standing close enough that Yvette could see the cut on his jaw from the broken glass, close enough to catch the scent of gunpowder that still clung to his shirt.

This man had killed two people with his bare hands to save her life, and now he was trying to keep her alive against her own stubborn independence.

The anger shifted into something else entirely. Awareness of his proximity, of the way his chest rose and fell with his breathing, of the intensity in his eyes that had nothing to do with their argument and everything to do with the tension crackling between them.

Yvette reached up and touched the cut on his jaw where the glass had caught him. "You're bleeding."

He went very still under her touch, his entire body coiling like a predator sensing prey. "It's nothing."

"You could have been killed tonight. Because of me." Her thumb traced the edge of the cut, and she felt him inhale sharply, his jaw muscle ticking under her fingertips. The simple touch made her nipples harden, and she could see her own desire reflected in his eyes. "I never thanked you properly."

"Yvette..." His voice was a warning and an invitation all at once.

She rose up on her toes, intending to kiss his cheek in gratitude.

But he turned his head at the last second, capturing her lips with his in a collision that stole her breath.

The contact was electric. His mouth warm and firm and demanding against hers.

What started as innocent gratitude transformed into something hungry and utterly consuming.

His hands found her waist, fingers digging into her sides as he pulled her flush against him. Yvette sighed at the contact. The solid wall of his chest, the rapid thunder of his heart matching her own frantic rhythm. She used his shirt to anchor herself as the world tilted around them.

"Christ," he breathed against her mouth, and the lust in his voice made her knees weak. "You have no idea what you do to me."

When his tongue swept across her lower lip, Yvette opened for him with a soft moan that seemed to snap something inside him.

He explored her mouth with thorough intensity, like he was memorizing every taste, every texture.

His hand slid up to tangle in her hair, fingers tightening as he angled her head to take the kiss deeper.

Yvette responded by pressing closer, needing more contact, more of him.

Her hands roamed over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the cotton of his shirt, the accelerated beat of his heart.

When her fingernails scraped lightly across his collarbone, he groaned deep in his throat.

A sound that vibrated through her and throbbed between her thighs.

Backing her against his desk, he lifted her to sit on the edge.

The position brought them to the same height, and Yvette instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him into the cradle of her thighs.

The intimate contact made them both freeze for a heartbeat before he pressed closer with a sound that was half growl, half prayer.

"You're shaking," he murmured, his lips moving against her jaw as his hands smoothed up and down her sides.

"So are you," Yvette whispered back, and it was true. She could feel the fine tremor in his muscles, the barely leashed control in the way his hands gripped her hips like he was afraid she might disappear.

His mouth found the sensitive spot just below her ear, and Yvette arched against him with a gasp that seemed to echo in the room.

He took advantage of her exposed throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck while his stubble scraped deliciously against her skin.

Each touch sent shockwaves through her system, making her fingers dug into his shoulders.

"Vincent," she breathed, and the sound of his name on her lips seemed to drive him wild. She felt him smile against her skin when she shuddered in response to his touch.

When he lifted his head to look at her, his eyes were heavy-lidded with desire. For a long moment they just stared at each other, the air between them thick with want and possibility.

Yvette could feel everything. The weight of his body between her thighs, the way his hands had moved to rest on her legs just above her knees, the scent of his soap mixed with adrenaline and pure male arousal.

Her own body was responding in ways she hadn't felt in years, every nerve ending alive and singing.

"We should..." he started, the words coming out more like a caress than actual speech.

"Should what?" Yvette asked, her own voice breathless as her hands traced the strong line of his shoulders.

Instead of answering, he leaned down and kissed her again, slower this time but no less intense.

This kiss was different. Deeper, more intimate, like he was pouring everything he couldn't say into the connection between them.

Yvette could taste the coffee he'd had earlier, could feel the slight tremor in his hands as they moved to frame her face.

When they finally broke apart, they were both panting like they'd run miles. His forehead rested against hers, his eyes closed as he struggled for control.

Then his expression changed. Sanity crept back in, reality reasserting itself. He stepped back abruptly, and Yvette immediately missed his presence.

"This is a mistake," he said, but his voice lacked conviction, and his eyes kept dropping to her mouth like he was already regretting the distance between them.

The sudden distance left Yvette feeling cold and exposed. "What?"

"You've been through hell tonight. Someone tried to kill you, your house is a crime scene, and you're stuck here because you have nowhere else to go." His jaw tightened. "The last thing you need is me taking advantage of that."

"You're not taking advantage—"

"I am." He turned away from her, putting more physical distance between them. "You're vulnerable, scared, and grateful that I saved your life. That's not the foundation for good decisions."

The words stung, even though part of Yvette recognized the truth in them. Was this just adrenaline and gratitude? The aftermath of violence and fear?

"So what, you're protecting me from myself now too?"

"I'm protecting you, period. That includes making sure I don't blur the lines between keeping you safe and..." He gestured vaguely at the space between them.

"And what?"

His steady stare met hers. "And wanting things I have no right to want."

The admission hung in the air between them, loaded with implications Yvette wasn't ready to examine.

"You know, in my line of work, I'm used to being the expert in the room," she said. "Financial forensics, digital investigation, pattern analysis. Those are my domains."

"I usually work alone too."

"This is going to take some getting used to."

"You should get some sleep," he said finally. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

Yvette slid off the desk, her legs unsteady.

She wanted to argue, to tell him she was perfectly capable of making her own decisions about who she kissed and why.

But the rational part of her brain acknowledged he might be right.

Everything felt heightened, intense, colored by the violence of the evening.

"Guest room's all yours," he added, already turning back to his monitors. "I'll be keeping watch."

As Yvette headed upstairs, she tried to sort through the tangle of emotions. Disappointment, frustration, and underneath it all, a grudging respect for his restraint.

Even if it was the last thing she wanted right now.