She wrapped her arms around herself, fighting a shiver that wasn’t from the cold.
It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the way he’d touched her, his hands spanning her waist, holding her as though she was something precious and breakable. It was the groan that had torn from his chest when she tugged his hair. The way he’d wanted her, undeniably, fiercely.
And then he’d stopped.
Her cheeks burned at the memory, confusion and longing tangling in her gut. He’d pulled away, almost as if he’d been in pain. She couldn’t fathom why; couldn’t untangle the mix of shame and desire she’d seen in his eyes. But a part of her wondered if it was tied to the scene she’d witnessed in the gym, and her heart broke for him. The thought of a man who could kiss like that being in so much pain was wrong on every level.
She poured herself a glass of water, but her hand trembled as she drank. The cool liquid did nothing to quench the heat low in her belly, the ache between her thighs. She closed her eyes, pressing the rim of the glass to her forehead.
This was madness. She was engaged. She was meant to be loyal. Meant to be saving her parents’ home, their legacy.
And yet, when Oliver touched her, she felt nothing.
When Watchdog kissed her, her whole body lit up.
She crawled into bed, pulling the quilt tight around her, but sleep wouldn’t come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him, his broad shoulders blocking the door, the rough rasp of stubble against her lips, the heat of his body pressed to hers.
Her thighs pressed together instinctively, heat blooming again. She groaned softly, shoving her face into the pillow, trying to will the thoughts away.
But they came back, relentless.
Jonas wasn’t safe. He wasn’t the man she was supposed to want.
And yet she did.
More than she had ever wanted anything.
Clara woke heavy,as though the night had pressed itself into her bones. She had slept in snatches, each dream looping back to the same place, his mouth on hers, the rasp of stubble against her lips, the raw need in the way he’d held her. And then the sudden absence when he had pulled away.
Her sheets were twisted, damp with heat from her restless body. She sat up slowly, pushing hair from her face, her chest tight with exhaustion. Her lips still tingled, traitorous reminders of something she couldn’t seem to stop replaying.
The bathroom tiles were cold beneath her bare feet. She braced her hands against the sink for a long moment before turning the shower on. Steam rose quickly, the hiss filling the small room. She stepped under the spray, the heat striking her scalp, streaming down her shoulders, chasing away the last dregs of sleep.
For a moment, she let herself imagine his broad frame pressed against her in the steam, the way his hands had gripped her waist like she was something precious. Her thighs clenched instinctively, and shame burned through her. She scrubbed quickly, as though she could wash the thought away.
Breakfast was plain toast that cooled too quickly, and tea brewed dark and strong. She ate at the small table by the desk, chewing mechanically, not tasting it. Her mind was already running ahead, circling Lena, circling him. Always circling him.
A knock startled her, loud against the quiet.
Her heart lurched. Some wild part of her hoped,
But it was Duchess.
Tall, composed, her dark hair scraped back, jacket crisp even this early. Her presence seemed to fill the doorway, calm but unyielding.
“We’re leaving shortly,” Duchess said without preamble. “We want to get on the road to London before we hit too much traffic on the motorway. The meeting is set with Lena, and Reaper and Bein are already up there surveying the meet spot.”
Clara’s pulse leapt. “Lena?”
Duchess inclined her head. “Yes. But there are risks.” Her gaze sharpened, weighing Clara. “Are you certain?”
The answer came without hesitation. “She’s my friend.” Clara straightened her spine. “If it were you, wouldn’t you do the same?”
For the first time, something softened in Duchess’s face, a flicker of warmth breaking through the steel. “I would die for my friends.”
Clara knew she meant it literally. The conviction in her voice was steady, frightening in its certainty. And it struck Clara that here, among this team, loyalty wasn’t a concept, it was their lifeblood.
The tech room was already alive when they entered. Screens glowed against the stone walls, maps and feeds shifting, drones lined up on charging docks like soldiers at rest.
