Page 24

DENVER

The security sensor for the kitchen beeps, and I look up from where I’m chopping firewood and to the tablet resting on top of the bench nearby. I place my axe down and walk over to it, wiping sweat from my brow with my forearm.

“And so she awakens,” I murmur as Sinclair appears on the screen in her ‘I love my Chinese Crested’ T-shirt and walks to the refrigerator. She opens the door and takes out a packet of cheese before peeling a slice away and handing it to Monty who’s standing beside her, wagging his tail.

“I’ll go to the store and get him some food,” I say, pressing the button that’s linked to the speaker.

Sinclair looks around, her eyes narrowing as she follows my voice to the security camera fixed to the ceiling.

She flips me off.

“The sound works both ways.”

“Oh, I thought it would. But I just didn’t have anything to say to you.” She smiles sweetly, her middle finger still extended before she spins, sticking her head back inside the refrigerator.

I sigh and head back inside the house, climbing the stairs up to where the living area and kitchen are. She’s studying the contents of the cupboards as I walk in.

“Protein powders?” She frowns as she scans the flavored tubs.

“They go well in smoothies. I’ll make you one,” I say.

“Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.”

She turns and leans against the counter with a sigh, staring out of the window at the treetops.

“You sure? You went to bed without dinner last night.”

I bend to fuss Monty as he scampers over to me.

“I wasn’t hungry then either,” she says, folding her arms, still not looking at me.

I rub behind Monty’s ear, and he licks at my wrist. “You want some of the corned beef again?” He turns his head to one side, his tail going mad as I fetch him some and put it on a plate for him.

“I gave him some last night,” I explain as Sinclair watches me, her lips pursed. “I know you fed him before we left, but he looked hungry.”

“It’s fine.” She sniffs. “He seems to like it.”

The only sound in the room is Monty’s happy chewing as we both stand on opposite sides of the kitchen.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Fine.” Her lips press tightly together as she avoids my eyes.

“Sinclair?” I press. “Yesterday. I?—”

“You what?” She finally looks at me, but it’s only to glare like she thinks I’m the biggest jerk in history.

“I read the situation wrong. Role-play was a bad idea.”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “You think I can’t handle it. But I told you I can.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is?”

The defiance burning in her gaze has me scrubbing a hand around my jaw.

“I think it went a little far for the first time, that’s all.”

She stares at me like she’s trying to figure out what I’m not telling her. Because there is a great big fat piece of information missing from my statement. And that’s that I’m the one who couldn’t handle it.

I couldn’t handle the sound of her crying. That’s what did it to me. Made me turn her in my arms so fast to check on her that my brain shook in my goddamn skull. I’ve heard her cry so many times. I’ve heard it enough to last a lifetime.

I thought I’d hurt her or scared her. For real.

“Stop treating me like I’m fragile. I’m used to it from Dad and Sullivan, even Uncle Mal. But with you?—”

“I’m sorry.”

The genuine regret in my voice must be evident because her eyes soften a little as she looks at me.

“It’s fine.” Her shoulders sag.

It falls silent between us again as Monty makes a show of licking the plate clean and then looking up between both of us, licking his lips.

“I’ll head to the store in town, get some supplies. I didn’t know anyone would be coming here,” I say, looking at the bare cupboards.

“ You can head there?” Sinclair sneaks a look at me. “Are me and Monty staying here?”

I press my lips together. The security system would alert me to her trying to leave. But it’s not like she could go anywhere if I had my car. There’s nothing for miles.

She cocks a brow at me and the memory of backing her up against that wall after I caught her sneaking around with Julian, the lawyer, pushes to the front of my thoughts. I wouldn’t put anything past her. She’d be out of here in a flash and back to New York if she thought there was a way.

“Fifteen minutes, then we leave,” I clip, pushing away from the counter. I’m dirty and sweaty from chopping firewood and need to take a shower.

“Twenty,” she counters to my retreating back.

“Fifteen,” I repeat.

Something about her muttered curse of asshole sounds good. It lacks venom, like she doesn’t really mean it. Like we’re back on track again. Like she doesn’t hate me for what went down yesterday.

I was right. Roleplay makes her fight better. She was putting everything into it, bucking beneath me, trying to headbutt me, bite me. Grinding her ass back against me like she was going to strike my groin, given the chance.

I’ve never been so grateful for all the years I spent serving. For the discipline it gave me. For the control it’s given me over my mind and body. Because if Sinclair had any idea of the basic urges my body wanted to express in reaction to having her beneath me like that, there’d be hell to pay.

With her father, her brother, but most of all with her.

The worst thing that could have happened was if I’d gotten hard when I was training with her. If I’d lost control and let her affect me. If I’d let her down by making it about anything other than teaching her how to defend herself.

I’d be as bad as the creeps I’m trying to protect her from.

Only, I’d be worse. Because they’d all have to go through me to get to her.

There’s no one here right now to save her from me.

No one except myself.