Page 20

SINCLAIR

Denver looks so calm when he sleeps. A direct contrast to the tension that’s usually streaking across his brow in precise lines.

I lie on my side watching him as the morning sun casts a glow over his skin. His torso is so tanned. Considering I only ever see him in suits, I have no idea when it sees the sun. His eyelashes are frustratingly long and thick. Why do men get such good natural ones?

The dips and grooves of all his muscles lift and drop with his rhythmic breathing.

I can’t believe I thought he wore a bulletproof vest. Part of me still didn’t believe that was really his strong, solid body beneath his shirts, even when I’d felt his heart beating against my palm. But now I can see that it is.

He’s huge.

And beautiful.

Annoying, assigned to be with me at all times, grumpy, occasionally harsh, stupidly stubborn, and sometimes far too silent for his own good…

But beautiful.

Gentle and strong.

I wrinkle my nose as I stare at him. Zoey would be laughing her head off if she could see me, convinced that there’s something to it. But there isn’t. After yesterday, I’m just grateful to have him around, that’s all.

He saved Monty.

He could do a million awful things to me. Hurl a billion mean words at me. But I’d still be grateful to him for that.

I inch closer, the scent on his shirt I’m wearing matching the one that’s coming from his warm skin as he sleeps.

Maybe I should tell him he snores like a pig when he wakes up.

He’ll get all grumpy, pissed that he fell asleep in my bed.

He takes everything so seriously. Him falling asleep in here is probably crossing some huge client/bodyguard line that he has.

I prop myself up on his pillow with one elbow, stifling a yawn. I slept terribly, but I’m grateful that I don’t remember my dreams. I know enough to be certain that they were horrid and dark. And somewhere I don’t want to return to now that I’m awake.

Something hard digs into my arm beneath his pillow.

My eyes flick to Denver’s sleeping face.

I slide my hand beneath his pillow, understanding what it is the second my fingers graze the cool metal.

“No!”

My back hits the soft mattress as he pins me to it, one hand curled around each of my wrists, holding them against my pillow, either side of my head.

“Don’t touch that,” he growls, his green eyes burning into mine, all hints of sleep evaporated.

My lips part as he hovers over me, close enough that I’m breathing in each tense exhale from his mouth. My legs are open wide, and his thick body is pressed between my thighs from where he’s spun me so fast.

He shifts a little, his brows scrunching together as something long, hard, and thick moves away from where it was pressed against my inner thigh.

“You don’t touch that,” he rasps. “Ever.”

I lick my lips, gazing at him.

“Are you talking about the gun under your pillow or that hard monster in your pants?”

“Jesus Christ,” he snaps, letting go of me and pulling back in a shot. “My fucking gun, Sinclair.”

I sit up as his chest heaves with angry breaths.

“Relax. I’m joking with you. I have— had two brothers. I know all about morning wood. I won’t get ideas that it’s because you like me,” I say, trying to lighten the tension that’s engulfed the room. “God,” I huff when Denver won’t even look at me. “You’re so much easier to like when you’re asleep.”

His jaw flexes, and he retrieves his gun from beneath the pillow and holsters it by his hip.

“I’m going to get some fresh clothes from my car. Will you be okay for five minutes?”

My smile falters.

Denver studies me. “I don’t need to go just yet,” he says. “You want a coffee?”

I nod.

He rises from the bed, giving Monty a quick fuss as he passes. He walks over to my bedroom door. His naked back looks even broader when he’s standing wearing just suit pants… and a gun.

“The vanilla’s in the cabinet above the sink.”

He looks back at me over his shoulder and nods.

I lean back against the pillow as he leaves, blowing out a breath. Monty gets up from the foot of the bed and flops himself down next to me, putting his head on the pillow where Denver slept. He whines until I fuss him.

“You’re a good boy,” I coo. “I’m going to make sure nothing ever happens to you, okay? Denver and I are both going to look after you.”

He licks at my face, and I sink my nose into one of his patches of hair as I reach up to touch my necklace.

But it’s gone. My brother’s gone.

“I can’t lose you too,” I sniff, kissing Monty’s head. “Not you.”

“What’s the likelihood that the people responsible for trying to take Monty are the same ones who trashed Sinclair’s car?”

I sit on my couch rubbing at my temples as my father stands with Denver, Killian, and Jenson, going over last night again.

“From experience, I’d say it’s highly likely,” Denver tells my father before his gaze tracks to me.

He’s standing across the room, the furthest away from me, but his eyes have never left me for more than a few seconds since they all arrived.

“You okay?” he mouths.

I nod, trying not to show that I’m surprised by him speaking to me.

It’s the most words he’s directed at me since he woke up and threw me down into my mattress like I was in danger from touching his gun.

I thought at first it was anger that I’d touched something of his.

But the way he hulked his grumpy frame around my kitchen as he made us both coffee when I snuck out of bed to watch him, cursing to himself when he thought he was alone, I realized the truth.

He's angry at himself. Angry that he let his guard down and that I could have gotten hurt if I’d handled it incorrectly.

It was the way he’d grumbled “She’s yours to protect, idiot,” to himself as he stood, hands braced on the kitchen counter, huge shoulder muscles taut and straining, that I’d really understood something about him.

Denver’s never just mad. He’s always mad at himself when something could have ended differently. When he thinks he almost allowed something bad to happen.

And now I have even more questions about who he was before he came to work for my father six years ago, because I still know nothing about him except that he likes vanilla in his coffee… and that he has a huge dick that’s hard as steel when he wakes up.

I look away from him, as I tune back into their conversation.

“Those comments are trending online,” my father says. His eyes meet mine, softening as I reach for Monty by my feet and pull him up into my lap. “I’m sorry you had to see them, Sweetheart. But they’re not going away. We need to deal with them.”

He looks at Denver. “Killian said the posting from fans has ramped up too?”

“What?” I ask.

Denver glances at me guiltily, then answers my father, “They have. Her session times with Brad Garrett-Charles have been leaked. The groomer Monty goes to?—”

I gasp and clutch Monty tighter.

“They know where Sinclair goes to buy coffees in the mornings. Where she likes to walk Monty. The stores she’s seen in most regularly,” Killian adds.

Jenson offers me a strained smile when my father curses.

“Goddammit. They know all her movements. She won’t be able to step foot outside without an audience,” my father snaps.

“At least if the press is on her even more than usual, no one else can get close without witnesses,” Jenson offers.

“He’s right,” Killian adds, and I could jump up and kiss him for the way he’s trying to ease the worry that’s creasing my father’s forehead. Because when my father gets worried, he makes decisions that there’s no talking him out of. Like when he assigned Denver to be my bodyguard and?—

“You need to get out of the city for a while, Sweetheart.”

My father’s warm blue eyes meet mine, but where they’re full of love, I also recognize the steely determination in them. My stomach knots.

“It’s New York fashion week next week. I have my big runway show. I’m walking it for Stella McCartney!” I shriek, snapping my eyes between all the men.

Killian and Jenson give me sympathetic looks, then avert their eyes. My father shakes his head with regret.

I turn to Denver for support.

“Please. Tell him, Den?—”

“I agree,” Denver says to my father, his eyes flicking to meet mine.

I snap my mouth closed and glare at him with all the hate I can muster, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Can you take her to your place out of the city?” my father asks.

Denver nods. “Yes, Boss. No one will find us. Don’t worry.”

“Like hell I’m going to some cave with him in the middle of nowhere!” I jump to my feet, flashbacks of being told he was going to be my bodyguard hitting me at full force as my father gives me the same look he did that day.

“It’s not up for discussion. Until we know more about who these people are, it’s for the best,” my father says.

“When do I get to decide what’s best for me, huh?” I stab a finger into my chest. “When do I get a say in my own damn life?”

The thought of being in the city when Monty could be at risk makes my stomach twist. But it’s not the point. It’s that my life is being dictated to me. That I’m being told where I can be and who I can be with. That I’m letting whoever this is win, by running away.

If my brother was here, he would have my back. He would stand up for me. I never felt alone when he was here, like I do now. I reach for my necklace out of habit, but stop halfway, dropping my hand.

I swirl my gaze side to side, but it’s useless. None of the men in the room will listen to me. None.

My shoulders slump as Dad pulls me into a hug.

“I’m supposed to be shopping for baby things with Halliday tomorrow,” I say into his neck as I hug him back, hating fighting with him even more than I hate being ordered around.

“I know, Sweetheart. And I’m sorry. Halliday was looking forward to it as well. But it won’t be for long. You can go when you and Denver get back. It’s just until we figure this out.”

I squeeze him hard and open my eyes. My gaze meets Denver’s over my father’s shoulder.

“I trust him,” my father says quietly into my ear. “And you can too. He’s got your best interests at heart.”

I narrow my eyes at Denver, still so mad at him for not stepping in. For not doing anything other than being a model employee for my father. But I guess that’s what this is to him. His job, as he likes to remind me.

“He’s a brute,” I whisper in my father’s ear.

He chuckles, his chest vibrating. “Sweetheart, he’s the best at what he does. You’ll be safe with him. And so will Monty.”

Denver stares back at me as my father’s words sink in. Monty. I have to think about him. Dad’s right. He will be safer out of the city.

“I’ll be back for the runway show next week,” I announce as I slip out of my father’s embrace. “If Denver’s as good as you say he is”—my eyes stay glued to Denver’s darkening ones as I talk to my father—“then this will all be sorted by then and Monty and I can come home.”

Jenson lets out a low whistle. “It’s not as simple as that, Sin?—”

“Fine,” Denver clips. “This gets sorted by next week. And if it isn’t?—”

“If it isn’t?” I arch a brow at him.

“If it isn’t, then I’ll make sure you’re prepared before we come back.”

I roll my eyes, feigning indifference as my stomach dances in victory.

“Fine,” I huff.

“Fine,” Denver counters, staring back at me with an intensity that could burn.

“Good,” my father says. “You leave this morning. Go and pack, Sweetheart.”