"I have to go, I have to go now," she says, her words coming out in a jumble.
"No," I say, rising to my feet, without letting her go. "Right now, this is the safest place for you. I’ve doubled security and my best men are out there looking for Kane."
She pauses, stops fighting against my hold. "Why are you doing this for me?" she demands.
"Because something in me changed when I felt you, saw you. I don’t know. But I do know that it’s within my power to help you. Just give me a little more time."
She looks up sharply. Fear flashes across her face, bright and defenseless.
"No," she whispers. "Please. It’s not worth it. I just need to leave the city. That’s all. I’m not asking for anything else."
"You have nothing to fear from me," I tell her. "Nothing you say will risk your payout. Nothing you hide will change how this ends for you tonight."
Jasmine
He looks like a man carved from shadow and light, and for a horrifying moment, my breath gets stuck in my chest because I can feel something in the air between us shifting again.
I shouldn’t be aware of him like this. Not after everything I’ve run from. Not after the bruises still blooming along my ribs from having to run from the last man I trusted.
But I am.
He is watching me with this focus, like I’m the only thing anchoring him to the present moment.
I shouldn’t be looking at him like this, I know I shouldn’t. Everything that’s happened to me in the past few months should’ve wrung any trace of desire out of me. I should be terrified. I should be edging toward the door, planning escape routes, holding onto the last scraps of self-preservation I haven’t already burned through.
But instead I’m standing here in a fluffy robe, barely holding myself together, staring at a man I met less than fifteen minutes ago like he’s the one who can hold me together.
It’s ridiculous. It’s dangerous.
It has to be some kind of trauma response. The broken part of my brain clinging to the closest thing that feels powerful enough to protect me, even if it’s madness. Even if it’s wrong. Even if it makes no sense at all.
Matthew taught me all the wrong instincts. He taught me that danger comes dressed as romance, that you can be kissed with one hand and shoved into a wall with the other. I know that. I know I should be wary of men like Adrik Korolyov.
My body just isn’t listening.
My heartbeat won’t settle, my skin is tight with awareness. Every breath tastes like him. Something dark, expensive, and terrifyingly calm.
He’s still holding my hips. Not hard. Not demanding. Just firm enough that I can feel the strength in his hands and the restraint in it too. Like he’s touching me because he can’t help it, but also because he’s giving me every second to pull away.
I don’t. I don’t want to.
All I can think about is that this man, this stranger, looked at me one time on a monitor and something inside him snapped in my favour. Some dark, ancient, brutal part of him chose me.
Chosen.
Not blamed, or punished, or owned like property.
Protected.
And that shouldn’t make me feel safe, but it does. It does so strongly it shakes me, right down to the center of who I am. It scares me more than Matthew ever did, because it means there’s something in me, albeit something soft and starving, that recognises him on a level I don’t want to examine.
This isn’t sane. It isn’t rational. I must be broken in ways I haven’t even begun to understand.
He’s studying every tiny shift in my expression. Like he’s mapping out every fracture line in me so he’ll know where to hold me and where I’ll hurt.
"Jasmine," he murmurs, voice low enough that it sinks right through my ribs. "You’ve nothing to fear with me."
Fear? No. Fear would be easier.
