Page 28

CHAPTER 28

Tristan

“You must be kidding me,” Birdie grumbles when she comes out of the house with Marcus and sees me in the driver’s seat of her Lexus.

She narrows her eyes at Marcus, and he shrugs sheepishly. “He’s my boss, ma’am.”

“And I’m his.”

“You’re my client, not my boss, and as your head of security, I decided it was best to escort you on this impulsive drive you chose to take with no prior notice or a specified itinerary,” I say, looking straight through the windshield.

“I’m driving this car, Tristan. Get the hell out.”

I tilt my head and glance at the gauze on her hand. “When was the last time you drove?”

Her gaze spits fire at me. “Seven years ago, not that it matters or it’s any of your business.”

“For the safety of the passengers and yours I must insist that you shouldn’t be driving with an injured hand and let—”

“Get out of my car, Tristan, or I’m calling an Uber.”

“As your head of security, I can’t let you do that either, especially with the escalating stalker situation.”

She growls half a curse, clawing at the air between us, as if she’s going to strangle me. Then she squares her shoulders and darts a glance between me and Marcus. “Listen to me, both of you, I didn’t summon the courage to divorce the man that dictated every move I’ve made for the past seven years to let you or another psycho control my life again.

“You are not here to treat me as a prisoner under the guise of keeping me safe. If that was what I wanted, I’d just call Blake. So, you’ll get out of my car, which I didn’t even get to choose when Blake bought it on my behalf, and I will take it for a goddamn spin now and whenever I want.”

Taking a deep breath, I level my eyes with hers. The fierceness in her expression tells me she’s expecting resistance. What she doesn’t know is that her words have struck a chord deep within me, reminding me of the former shell I was trapped in and my own reasons for summoning the courage to break free from a past prison as cruel as hers, maybe even worse.

Gently opening the door, giving her time to move, I climb out of the car. “You’re right. You’re more than capable of taking control of your life,” I gesture at the driver’s seat, “so take it.”

She blinks at me, taken aback for a second, as if she hasn’t expected me to give in that easily, or maybe she didn’t want me to. But then she slides in and smiles at the steering wheel.

I close the door for her and glare at Marcus while I march to the other side of the car. “Shotgun.”

He snorts as he climbs into the backseat. “Very mature, boss,” he says when I’m in the passenger seat.

Birdie’s eyes tighten with protest, so I hold up a placating hand. “While I admire your fiery spirit and determination to take back control of your life, you have to admit, driving with an injured hand isn’t the smartest idea. How about you drive us around the block, and I just sit here, a safety net, no orders, no attempts to take over, only because I’m genuinely worried about your driving with that hand?”

Her face doesn’t ease up. “That’s the only reason?”

In the rear mirror, Marcus is giving me his shit-eating grin again. I shake my head. Yes, I’ve let jealousy interfere with my decisions; it’s wrong, it’s stupid, but I can’t help myself. That woman has no clue what she means to me, what being that close to her does to me or what war her touch can start inside me. And the thought of any other man having the tiniest chance to get to taste the fire of her touch… “Maybe not, but right now, it’s the main reason. How is the pain?”

“It’s fine. I told you it’s nothing but thank you for asking.” She sets the car in gear and adjusts the mirrors. Then she pauses longer than anticipated, eyeing the road, her foot frozen on the gas pedal. My chest tightens when I spy the internal battle raging behind her gaze. After years of having every decision made for her, that first taste of freedom can be daunting. But I know she’s stronger than she realizes.

She points at the glove compartment. “I forgot my sunglasses. There should be a pair in there.”

I check but can’t find any.

“I’ll go get one from my room,” she says, her hand already on the door handle.

“Hey,” I give her my shades, “use mine.”

Her chin wobbles for a second, but she lowers her head, putting on the mask she hides all feelings behind before they strike. “You sure?”

“Hundred percent.”

She gives me a curt nod and puts them on. “Thank you…for everything.” And she hits the gas and drives us down the street.

Good girl . My lips curve into a reassuring smile. “They look good on you.” I wonder what other clothes of mine she’ll look good in. My jaw ticks as I watch her delicate hands grasp the steering wheel. Those same hands that have haunted my dreams, leaving phantom trails of fire over my skin. I’ve imagined them exploring every plane of my body more times than I can count.

Every time she switches gear, our arms are nearly brushing. She’s so close I can feel the heat radiating off her. It would be so easy to reach out, to finally know the softness of her curves under my calloused palms. To pull her against me and drink in the sweetness of her lips...

I tear my gaze away and focus on the road. You’re her bodyguard. You’re supposed to protect her, and she’ll never be yours. Wake up. The road unwinds, and she doesn’t circle back; she follows. “Birdie, that’s not just a spin around the block. Where are you going?”

Her fingers ease on the wheel, and her face softens. “I was thinking the beach, before it gets dark and unbearably cold.” She glances at me and then at Marcus in the mirror. “Have you been to the island before you came here to take the job?”

“No, ma’am,” Marcus says, and I shake my head.

“Okay, then you must see the lighthouses. The island has five. The most famous one is Gay Head by Aquinnah Cliffs, but my favorite is the one in Edgartown. There’s a nice bookstore slash bistro there, too, where we can eat. It’s my second favorite after Sweet Home in—”

“Oak Bluffs. Your favorite hangout. Yeah, I did my homework.” I pull out my phone and search Edgartown Lighthouse. “It’s a twenty-minute drive from here to the beach. Then it’s a ten-minute walk to the lighthouse itself. It says you can’t see inside it off-season, though, so it’s pointless. Let’s just go back.”

“Don’t worry. I know the guy who works there. He’ll let us in.”

“How about we don’t? That’s not what we agreed on. I’ve explained to you that we need another team behind us to secure the vehicle. Besides, a spontaneous stroll on a public beach is a security nightmare, let alone securing a lighthouse.”

She grunts. “Marcus, can you remind me what Tristan promised so I’d let him tag along with us?”

“He said no orders or attempts to take over. He was here as a safety net only because he was genuinely—”

“Jesus Christ.” I throw my hands in the air, glaring at him. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

Birdie chuckles and lifts her injured hand above her head, palm in Marcus’s direction. He leans in and gives her a gentle high-five.

“Seriously?” I mumble, blood simmering. This rapid bond they’ve seemed to form in the past few hours is eating me up.

She shrugs. “What? I told you I liked him.”

“Thank you, Birdie,” Marcus says, and I contemplate smashing his jaw. Birdie? She lets him call her Birdie, too?

I call Brandon and tell him to take another detail and follow us to the destination. Birdie rolls her eyes at me and sighs in disapproval. I don’t care. “We need music.” My fingers stab the radio screen multiple times, but it doesn’t start any channels.

“Easy tiger. I get to pick the music.” Her hand grazes mine as she fiddles with the channel settings, sending an electric jolt through my body. “My car, my…”

Impulsively, compulsively, I envelope her fingers with mine.

Birdie quivers, her eyes widening behind the sunglasses. “…rules.”

My heart pounds in my ears as I drink in the softness of her skin against mine. I’ve imagined this moment countless times, but reality is more intoxicating than any fantasy.

In the rearview mirror, Marcus’s eyes narrow with concern. He clears his throat, but I can’t let go. Not yet. Hers is the only hand I never want to escape from, grounding me rather than making my skin crawl. It defies all logic and experience, but Birdie has become the sole exception to my rules. While anyone else’s touch makes me want to shut down or kill, hers simply makes me feel alive. Safe. Wanted. Like I can exist peacefully in my own skin for those fleeting moments. That feeling surpasses any shame or guilt.

And, appropriate or not, he needs to know she’s mine. Even if I can’t have her, no one else can.

“Tristan,” Birdie whispers, her gaze torn between the road and Marcus, “what are you doing?”

I realize how far over the line I’ve stepped. One foolish moment, and I may have ruined everything and lost her forever. But I’ve warned her, and she didn’t listen. “I said stop pushing me, Birdie,” I whisper back.

She swallows, trying to take her hand out of mine. My grip tightens in warning. When she stops resisting, I cradle her hand in my palm and pretend to be inspecting the gauze. “It’s…falling off. Maybe we should stop by a drugstore and change it.”

“No, it’s fine. It’ll hold until we go back home.” She slides her hand out of mine and doesn’t speak for the rest of the drive.