Who the fuckmakes their daughter a business transaction?
I texted Gray the details Camille gave me as I finished patching her up. About the early morning kidnapping, her suspicions about her father’s dealings with Aiden Frost, and also the things she didn’t say—that she’s terrified of marrying Frost and afraid of being forced into it. Or that she wants to trust me, but she’s worried her daddy’s money will buy our loyalty.
Gray’s not the kind of man who would fold for the sake of money, but if her father put legal and financial pressure on him, it could force his hand. His family and the livelihoods of dozens rely on this company. I can’t ask him to jeopardize everything he’s built.
I also can’t stand back and watch a woman be coerced into a life she doesn’t want.
Gray, his sister Mae, and other operatives like Cade, Hayes, and Nash have become family, but I’d cut ties before I let any of them come to harm.
Sure as hell hope it doesn’t come to that.
Camille hides a yawn behind her hand and stirs the bowl of stew I made for dinner. My mother made sure all her boysknew how to cook before leaving the nest. She said our future wives would appreciate it. I rolled my eyes every time she said it, because love matches like the one she and my dad have don’t happen that often.
But ever since my brother Ford found Ember, I’ve wondered if maybe it happens more than I realized.
One thing I know, Camille is too tired to appreciate my cooking. She’s about to fall asleep in her bowl. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you into bed.”
She sits up and blinks. “It’s good. I’m eating.” She sags a little to one side and pokes at a noodle.
I snort, and reach for her bowl, setting it by the sink. “Let’s go.”
“You have a guest room?” she asks when I scoop her into my arms.
I tell myself that her feet still hurt, because I don’t want to admit the truth. I’m her bodyguard, not her lover. Admitting that she feels good in my arms comes too close to crossing a professional boundary I live by. “That’s my office,” I murmur as I move down the hall. “You’ll take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Her fingers twine between the buttons of my shirt. “I don’t like putting you out of your bed. I’ve never slept on a couch. Is it uncomfortable?”
Of course she’s never slept on a couch. My oil princess would have only the finest, including hotel rooms if there weren’t enough beds. “It’s fine. I’ve slept in much worse places.”
She studies me. “Like where?”
A hundred places I can’t tell her about and even more that I shouldn’t. “The hard ground. Rocky terrain. Even a couple caves.”
Her eyes flutter and she yawns. “The people you protect live in strange places.”
I pull the covers back and lay her on my bed. She’s so damn pretty, with her auburn hair spread out in waves on my pillow and my flannel shirt brushing her curves. Camille blinks those light blue eyes at me, the hint of a smile on her rosy lips—the first I’ve seen from her since we met—and I realize I’m too close.
“Sometimes,” I reply, retreating to the door. Jesus. I’ve never struggled like this with an asset. “Sleep. You’re safe here.”
Her smile never fully forms, and as I step into the hallway, I wonder if it would have if I’d stayed.
Locking down those thoughts, I send a quick text to Mae, asking her to pick up some clothes for Camille, then recheck the security system and cameras. Some deer are by the western fence, and back by the gully, a lanky bobcat wanders through the brush. The rest of the property is quiet, as expected.
I moved her far enough away from Aiden Frost that he won’t find her. That gives us time to sort this out and figure out what sort of deal—if any—her father struck with the man.
I spend a little time online finding all I can about Frost and Whitaker. There are a handful of articles about each and the businesses they run. Frost made his money in technology, which raises some flags. Dumping Camille’s phone was standard protocol, but the itch at the back of my neck says the gas station was too close to here.
“Bronco?”
Camille’s soft voice has a nervous edge to it. She hovers in the doorway to my office, arms folded over her waist.
I cross to her before I think twice. “What is it? You okay, princess?”
She shakes her head. “Can I sleep out here? With you?”
I search her face, finding tiny lines of tension near her eyes and she’s paler than a few hours ago. She’s afraid.
“Please? I can’t...” Her shoulders hunch. “The bed is too big and the shadows?—”
