"Do you?" The anger flared hot and bright. "You already made decisions concerning my business. Already bought equipment. Without asking me. Without eventellingme."
"I was gonna ask—"
"When? After you'd already spent the money? After you'd already decided what I needed?"
"I can handle my own problems," I said, straightening my spine.
"I know you can." Gage took another step closer. "But that doesn't mean you should have to."
"Yes, it does." The words came out harder than I intended. "Because the second I let someone else handle things for me, the second I accept someone else's 'help,' I lose my agency. My independence. Everything I've built."
"That's not—"
"Isn't it?" I challenged. "You're already making decisions for me. Following me. Checking on me. When does 'protection' become control, Gage?"
His jaw tightened. "When it's about power instead of care."
"And how am I supposed to know the difference?"
"Because I'm here." His voice roughened. "I'm standing here telling you about it instead of just doing it. And if you tell me to return all that equipment, to walk away right now, I will."
I wanted to. Should have. Should have protected myself, kept the walls up, held myself back.
But the truth was—I was tired. And scared, even if I hated admitting it. And so damn attracted to this man I could barely think straight when he stood this close.
"I've been crazy about you for months," he said, the admission raw and honest. "Been finding every excuse I could think of to bring Judge into that clinic just so I could see you. And when I saw you Thursday night—when I saw you on that pole, strong and beautiful and completely in your element—" He stopped, shook his head. "Then I saw that creep watching you. Saw your building with no security. And I can't—"
His voice cracked slightly. "I can't stand the thought of someone hurting you. Can't think about anything else."
The vulnerability in his voice matched the fear I'd been trying to ignore since that shadow at the window.
"You're being possessive," I managed weakly.
"Yeah." No apology in it. "I am."
"You followed me home."
"I did."
"That's not okay."
"I know." He raised his hand slowly, giving me time to pull away, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The tenderness in that gesture made my breath catch. "But I'm terrified someone's gonna hurt you Lacey, and I won't be there to stop it. I’m a sheriff, goddammit. How do you think I’d feel if someone got to you on my watch, my territory? Been losing my mind thinking about it since Thursday night."
I should have stepped back. Should have told him this was exactly what I didn't need—another man trying to place limits on my life, make choices for me that should be mine to make.
Instead, I was staring at his mouth.
"Tell me to leave," he said quietly. "Tell me you don't feel this, and I'll go. Won't follow you again. Won't interfere with your business. I'll respect your boundaries. You have my word."
The fact that he was offering me the choice—really offering it, not just paying lip service—made something inside me crack.
I closed the distance between us and kissed him.
Gage made a rough sound of surprise and hunger and relief all mixed together. Then his arms came around me, hauling me against him, and the kiss turned desperate.
His mouth was demanding, taking everything I offered and giving it back tenfold. I gripped the front of his coat, felt the solid warmth of him even through the heavy fabric, and desire ignited low in my belly.
Months of wanting. Months of stolen glances and careful distance and professional boundaries.
