“Affirmative. En route to Virginia safe house.”
“ETA?”
Rearview mirror check: black SUV still maintaining position two cars back. The driver is wearing sunglasses despite an overcast morning. Passenger scanning traffic patterns with systematic precision.
“Thirty minutes. Maybe forty with traffic.”
“Complications?”
Besides the fact that I’m harder than Chinese arithmetic and fighting the urge to pull over and fuck my client senseless? Besides how she responds to authority, which makes me want to give her orders and watch her body language shift into submission.
“Possible surveillance. Nothing confirmed.”
“Need backup?”
“Negative. Situation manageable.”
Dr. Wren opens her mouth with another question, but I hold up one finger. Stay quiet. Let me finish the call. She complies immediately, and the automatic obedience sends heat straight to my already aching cock.
Dangerous territory. Client relationships never end well.
“Extraction timeline?” I ask Ghost.
“Seventy-two hours. Maybe ninety-six. Phoenix is adapting faster than anticipated.”
“Copy that.”
The call ends, and silence fills the car. Dr. Wren sits quietly, hands folded, waiting for permission to speak. The Georgetown sweatshirt I bought off that college student looks a hell of a lot better on her than it did on the original owner—the way it stretches across her chest, highlighting curves that have no business being this distracting during an active protection detail.
Rearview mirror: black SUV has closed the distance.One car back now, maintaining perfect surveillance interval. Professional work.
“You cut me off,” she says finally.
“Important call.”
“I was asking important questions.”
“No, you were fishing for information.”
Color flashes across her cheeks. “I have a right to understand what’s happening to me.”
“You have a right to stay alive. Everything else is optional.”
“That’s not?—”
“Dr. Wren.” Her name comes out sharp enough to cut glass. “Survival trumps curiosity. Every time.”
She crosses her arms, which does interesting things to her cleavage. “Don’t patronize me.”
“Don’t ask questions that compromise operational security.”
“How does asking why you kissed me compromise operational security?”
Because admitting I want to kiss her again compromises my professional judgment. Because acknowledging this attraction means crossing lines that exist for good reasons. Because explaining that her submission makes me want to do things that have nothing to do with a protection detail opens doors that should stay locked.
“Tactical necessity. End of discussion.”
“That’s not an answer.”
