“Ryder, I need to know I can count on you. That you’re not getting too involved here.”
Did she say something? “I’m not. You can count on me.” Ihang up before he can say anything else. Before he can voice the fears that have been haunting me.
Movement catches my eye. Cora steps out of the house, her blonde hair catching the morning light like a halo. She looks around, searching, and my heart rate kicks up a notch.
She spots me and smiles, a radiant expression that stops me in my tracks. For a moment, I forget how to breathe. She’s so beautiful, perfect in ways I have no right to notice.
Desire coils in my gut, a physical ache I need to suppress. She’s just hurting right now, vulnerable. I refuse to be the asshole who takes advantage of that. Not when I have nothing to offer her but complications and danger. Not when I’m gone in a few months.
I quicken my pace to reach her, hyper-aware of our exposed position. “Cora, don’t stand out here like this,” I say when I’m close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume, a floral note that makes my head spin. “You’re exposed.”
“Exposed to what?” she asks, that smile still playing on her lips. Her eyes dance with mischief, oblivious to the dangers that keep me up at night. “Snipers? Are we talking about snipers now? Because I’m on my property, with all this new security stuff. And there’s no one here but me and you.” She says those last words in a low voice that sends shivers down my spine. “Unless you count the squirrels. They do look pretty suspicious.”
Her playful tone contrasts with the tension coiled in my muscles. I’m aware of our solitude, of the way her presence seems to fill all the empty spaces around me. It takes every ounce of self-control to maintain my professional demeanor. “Were you looking for me?”
“Yes. I need to fly to Hawaii.”
The abrupt change of subject throws me off balance. “Fly to Hawaii? Where did this come from?”
“It came up at the last minute.” She nods, excitement dancing in her eyes. “I need to fly out tomorrow. The bride called me just a few minutes ago. She’s getting married this weekend. Their wedding planner screwed up. She hates everything, and she wants me to come and fix it all.”
“She wants you to organize her wedding in less than a week?” I raise an eyebrow.
Cora launches into an explanation, her hands gesturing as she talks about locations, catering, and hysterical brides. I find myself captivated by her enthusiasm, even as my mind races through the security implications.
“Why are you taking this project?” I ask when she pauses for breath. “It sounds like an obvious risk to your business.”
“True. But it’s also a huge profit if everything works out. And I love risks. I love the challenge.” Her eyes sparkle with determination.
There’s a familiar tightening in my chest. It’s the same look she had when she insisted on going back to work after the attack, the same stubborn resolve that I admire, and thatfrustrates me.
“Who is she?” I press, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Who?”
“The bride. That you’re willing to take such a risk for.”
“A certain wild movie star.” She winks.
I narrow my eyes. “Wait. You don’t mean Valerie Johnson? The one who’s marrying a rock star and has everyone talking about her upcoming wedding?”
“The one and only. I didn’t know you were up on gossip.” Her teasing tone makes me want to smile, despite the seriousness of the situation.
“That’s one hell of a risk, Cora. She’s notoriously flaky. It’s not even certain she won’t run from the altar.”
Cora shrugs, unfazed. “It doesn’t matter if she runs. The media coverage will be even bigger if she does.”
I study her for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. The security nightmare this presents battles with my desire to see her happy, to let her do what she loves.
Finally, I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay? You’re just agreeing? No fighting this time?” She looks surprised, and I can’t blame her. Our conversations often devolve into heated debates about her safety versus her freedom.
“Yeah. The airport is one of the safer places to be. And assuming the flight is on such short notice and unplanned, you’ll be safer there than here.” My mind’s already mapping out security protocols, contingency plans forming and discarding themselves in rapid succession. “Who else knows about the flight?”
“No one. I just finished the call and came to tell you. I haven’t even told my pet rock yet.”
“Good,” I nod, a plan forming. “Keep it that way. And please tell me you don’t actually have a pet rock.”
