Page 38 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)

Usually, we’d have more members of the team with us, but before we left this morning, Aubrey informed me that Harris and Anderson would be staying with him to fill in for two of the men on his detail that came down with food poisoning.

He was oddly giddy about delivering the news, probably hoping that having less security would deter me from going.

Still, I just smiled and said okay, which only annoyed him more.

He left the room after that, only emerging when Cal and Beck showed up to escort me to the car, sending us off with a comment about being sure they would take good care of me.

Neither man seemed to doubt the truth of that statement until we arrived in Houston, and I revealed that we wouldn’t be staying at the hotel Jordan’s assistant had booked for us. Now, they seem different, not less confident, per se, but on edge and maybe a little mad?

Cal places his bag by the door, and Beck drops his beside it. My suitcase and the matching duffel on top of it are lodged between their bodies. Both of them have a hand on the handle like they’re ready to grab it, and me, and bail at any second.

“Remind me again why we’re not staying at the hotel with a dedicated security team and a police station two streets over.” This comes from Beck, who is doing his best to suppress the agitation weaving itself through each word.

There’s still a tenuousness to our dynamic that makes me uncertain about how to interact with him.

I know he takes his job very seriously, that he’s a stickler for protocol and doing things by the book.

I don’t think there’s anything I can say that will make him okay with this, so I don’t bother with a lie.

“Because I’m tired of hotels,” I say simply, which makes the corners of Cal’s mouth quirk.

He attempts to hide his amusement with a swipe of his hand down his face. “I get that, Selene, but the hotel is exponentially safer than a home we haven’t had a chance to secure that’s owned by someone we haven’t vetted.”

Beck’s head bobs up and down, the sunlight filtering through the window bouncing off the smooth skin of his scalp. “Exactly. There could be any number of cameras, listening devices, or?—”

“There aren’t.”

His eyes narrow at my interruption. “You can’t know that for sure.”

“Yes, I can.” I shrug off my backpack and set it in one of the chairs around the massive dining table that separates the living room from the kitchen.

Both men watch me warily as I round the couch and plop down.

As I make myself comfortable, I glance over at them, taking in their rigid forms. “Will you two please sit down? I promise no one is going to jump out and attack us, okay? This house belongs to one of my professors from Stanford. It’s been in her family for years, and she keeps it up even though she hasn’t been to Texas in years. I trust her implicitly.”

A fact Monique is aware of, which is why she had Nichelle reach out to Dr. Tia Bloom the moment she decided I was going to do this talk, whether I wanted to or not.

“Honestly,” I continue, “I should be offended that you two think I’d be careless with my own safety, but I’m too tired to care.

” My eyes fall shut on their own accord, but I can still feel their piercing gazes on my skin.

I roll my neck in their direction, squinting at them through one eye.

“Nothing you say is going to convince me to spend another night in a hotel before I absolutely have to, so you might as well do whatever it is you need to in order to feel comfortable sleeping here.”

I don’t know how long it takes them to secure the house, but I keep my promise and stay put until they’re done. They return to the living room looking a little less stressed and, to my surprise and delight, sit down in the armchairs across from me.

“All clear?”

“All clear,” they say in unison.

Once settled in his seat, Cal stretches his long legs out in front of him, linking his fingers together and resting them on his stomach.

Beck remains upright, his arms crossed over his chest. Both of them are dressed down today, wearing nondescript athletic wear.

Beck is wearing a black sweatsuit, and Cal is dressed in a pair of dark gray joggers with a matching moisture-wicking shirt that showcases his biceps.

They both seem so human outside the armor of those black suits and the context of the world that brought us together, and I feel human too.

And it’s not just because I’m wearing yoga pants and the oversized Stanford hoodie I’ve owned for decades.

No, it’s more than that.

It’s my imperfect posture and my messy ponytail.

It’s my bouncing knee and the absence of the desire to hide the stim.

It’s my flat expression, and my quiet brain that, for once, isn’t screaming at me to emote before the people I’m sharing space with start to think I’m a sociopath.

It’s the comfort of silence I don’t have to fill, and the intimacy of being allowed to simply exist, to just be a woman relaxing on a couch in a room with two incredibly handsome men who can’t take their eyes off of her.

Suddenly, I’m incredibly aware of the fact that it’s just us here.

Me and the only humans on Earth I’ve ever had a sex dream about.