“And why is he ‘inbound’? Why does he want you to ‘secure’ me?” I press.
“Because he’s concerned about our relationship.” Hunter’s voice drops, becomes more controlled. “As I said, you’re becoming a vulnerability.”
“That doesn’t explain the surveillance.”
Hunter runs a hand through his hair again. “Jax runs a security team for our organization. The surveillance was likely his order, not a competitor’s.”
The pieces suddenly click together. “Wait. Your own people are following me? Your business associate ordered someone to bug my apartment?”
Hunter’s phone buzzes again. His eyes dart to it, then back to me with new urgency.
“Aurora, please. Pack what you need. I’ll explain everything once you’re safe.”
“Safe from what? From your own associate?”
The look that crosses Hunter’s face tells me more than his words do. There’s real fear there, not for himself, but for me.
The urgency in Hunter’s eyes finally breaks through my stubbornness. Whatever’s happening, his fear for me is genuine.
“Fine,” I say, heading to my bedroom. “But you’re explaining everything once we’re in the car.”
I grab my overnight bag from the closet and start throwing in essentials. My underwear, toiletries, and a change of clothes. Hunter follows me, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
“Pack enough for a few days,” he says.
I shoot him a glare. “A few days? I have work tomorrow.”
“Call in sick.”
“You can’t just upend my entire life because your ‘associate’ is having surveillance issues,” I snap, cramming a sweater into my bag with more force than necessary.
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From a problem you created.” I grab my phone charger, yanking it from the wall. “If you hadn’t started whatever this is with me, I wouldn’t need protection.”
Hunter moves toward me, and despite my anger, my body responds to his proximity. “Are you saying you regret what’s happened between us?”
“I’m saying I regret the mysterious threats part.” I zip my bag closed with a sharp tug. “The sex was fine.”
His eyebrow arches. “Fine?”
“Don’t fish for compliments when I’m being forced into witness protection because of your sketchy business partners.”
A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “It’s not witness protection.”
“Whatever this is.” I grab my purse, checking for my wallet and keys. “And just so we’re clear, I’m pissed about this. About all of it.”
Hunter takes my bag, his fingers brushing mine. “I like you pissed. It’s sexy.”
“Save the charm for someone who your colleagues aren’t stalking.”
As we head for the door, I pause to grab my favorite book from the nightstand. Hunter watches me curiously.
“Never know when you’ll be stuck in a billionaire’s panic room,” I mutter, shoving it into my purse.
He places his hand at the small of my back, guiding me toward the door. “It’s a penthouse, not a panic room.”
“Is there a difference when you’re essentially a prisoner?”
