Damn… He held her closer than he’d meant to.
Taryn Hayes.The woman who’d met him blow for blow with wit, sarcasm, and federal procedure, had never let him off the hook.His enemy, so soft in his arms, asleep, made something inside crack.
Sure, she was all sharp edges and stubborn pride in the daylight—but seeing her like this stirred something primal inside him.Something protective.
She shifted slightly in his arms, her nose brushing that place where his neck met his shoulder as if snuggling up to him.
If she’d been awake, she would’ve made a smart-arse comment, demanding he put her down.
But she wasn’t.
Heaven help him—his body noticed.
Not in a way he could shake off.It wasn’t lust or heat, but something deep beneath his skin, to settle there like it had always belonged.
His throat burned.His chest ached.Like he’d been holding a breath for years and hadn’t realised it until now.
She may have come to tear down everything he’d built.And yet, she was the only one who’d seen him for who he really was.The criminal under the badge, and the desperate fighter clinging onto something worth keeping in a life full of wrongs.
She snuggled up to him, asleep in his arms likehe was safe.Like he was the thingworthtrusting.And that—
That undid him
Where in that stillness as the world slept around him, he finally allowed himself to feel…
The shape of her in his arms.The warmth of her against his chest, where the strange, impossible peace of a man who’d spent years surrounded by chaos, was somehow left holding the calm he never knew he’d craved until now.
He carried her into his room, to the big bed that he’d made with fresh black sheets, and laid her down so gently, like she might vanish if he moved too fast.
He didn’t linger.
And he didn’t let himself touch her again.
He just stood there, arms burning with the memory, with his weary heart now thudding with life, somewhere beneath the armour he hadn’t taken off in years.
Then he left her alone.
Twenty-five
Taryn woke to the distant clink of glass.For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling, confused by the softness beneath her.
Black sheets.In a room that was too quiet.
Finn’s bed!
Her pulse tickedhard.
She was alone.And fully dressed.
Taryn swung her legs over the edge, the hardwood floor cool under her bare feet.The air smelled of citrus and something else… Tomatoes, basil and other herbs?
She followed it out of the room, hearing someone humming.
In the kitchen, a redhead stood barefoot at the bench by the sinks.Well, as close as she could get with that round belly, elbow-deep in a basket of fresh produce.Food filled jars lined the bench as she moved with practised ease, stacking things into the pantry like she belonged.
The woman looked up as she put some jars away.‘Morning,’ she said, casually turning to slice a mango sitting on the counter, with an exceptionally sharp knife.‘Well, you don’t look nearly as scary as Finn made you sound.’
‘Who are you?’
