She grinned. “Ah, so itisclassified.”
Though he shook his head, there was the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his lips.
Rising, she moved toward her suitcase at the end of the bed. “Well, if you’re planning to camp out all night, I should warn you, I have terrible sleeping habits. I toss, I turn, I hog the blankets.”
“I won’t be sharing your bed.”
She paused, shooting him a mock-serious look. “Right, glad we got that settled. You don’t snore, right? Because if you do, I’ll smother you with a pillow.”
For the first time, a low, quiet chuckle broke from him. It softened his hard edges, just enough that she had to look away before she smiled too wide.
“Noted,” he said.
Elise slipped behind the bathroom door, heart oddly lighter, and told herself the flutter in her chest had nothing to do with the man sitting sentinel by her window. Nothing at all.
By the time Elise emerged from the bathroom, Blake hadn’t moved. He was still by the window, chair angled so he had a view of both the door and the street below. His jacket hung across the backrest, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his forearms strong and steady in the muted glow of the city.
She cleared her throat, trying not to look impressed by his immovable calm. “Comfortable?”
“Perfectly.”
Man, it really wasn’t a comfortable chair. She’d used it and could attest to that, but if he wanted to say he was good, who was she to argue? “Good. Because I don’t intend to whisper ancient Irish bedtime stories to make you feel at home.” She slid beneath the covers, the cool sheets brushing against her skin.
He didn’t answer, and for a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of traffic beyond the glass. Elise stared at the ceiling, arms folded over her chest as if she could will herself into sleep. She told herself she should be furious, indignant, even,that a man she barely knew had commandeered her room. That he’d decided for her what was safest without asking.
But the truth was, her heart wasn’t pounding with anger. It was … settling. The ever-present prickling on the back of her neck, the suspicion she was being watched, had dulled the moment he’d stepped through her door.
And that was unacceptable. She rolled onto her side, scowling into the pillow.Get a grip, woman. He’s just a man. A pushy, arrogant one with a hero complex.
Her mind tried to drift back to her notes and the foundation donations. Yet every time, Blake intruded. The sound of his low chuckle when she’d threatened to smother him with a pillow. The way he’d scanned the room without hesitation. The way his presence seemed to anchor the air itself.
She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would block him out. It didn’t.
“Trouble sleeping?” His voice carried softly across the room.
“No,” she said into the darkness, sharper than she’d intended.
He didn’t reply, but she could feel him there, steady, silent, immovable. Watching over her as he’d promised.
And instead of bristling, instead of plotting how to kick him out, she found herself breathing easier. Which only made the knot in her chest twist tighter.
Because she was not a woman who needed protecting. She was not a woman who let anyone dictate her path. And she sure as hell was not a woman who should be comforted by a stranger standing guard in the night.
And yet …
Her last conscious thought before sleep pulled her under was a reluctant, infuriating truth … She didn’t want him to leave.
Blake hadn’t movedall night.
The chair by the window had grown less forgiving with every passing hour, but discomfort didn’t matter. He’d trained himself long ago to ignore frustrations like pain, cold, hunger, and fatigue. What mattered was the rhythm of the city outside, the muted noises of the hotel settling, and the steady rise and fall of Elise’s breathing from the bed.
She’d fallen asleep tense, fighting it with every muscle, her stubborn pride refusing to admit she still felt safer with him there. But eventually, exhaustion had won. She’d curled on her side, hair spilling across the pillow, the frown between her brows softening into something vulnerable.
Vulnerable but not weak. He’d seen the steel in her eyes, and heard the razor-sharp intelligence in her words. She was digging into Marek Zajac with a recklessness that could get her killed in half a dozen ways. And even after she’d been warned, she’d still pushed forward. Determined. Fearless. Or maybe too damn stubborn to recognize danger when it closed in.
He respected it. Almost admired it. Almost.
But admiration had no place here. His orders were clear. Keep her alive until Zajac returned to Budapest. Then the mission shifted. Elise wasn’t supposed to know that part, and she never would. She thought he was just security, another pile of hired muscle sent to trail her steps. That was fine. Let her keep believing it.
