The gray-eyed guy growls, “We're assigned to protect you, not stalk you.”
The tall, dark one remains silent, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Don't judge me,” I snap at him. He hasn’t said a word, but his eyes scream that he thinks I’m just another spoiled,rich girl. Sure, I am both spoiled and rich, but that doesn’t make me terrible to be around. Not normally, at least.
The corner of his mouth tilts up, infuriatingly teasing, but he still says nothing.
Then the calm one speaks up in a low, measured tone: “This is Graham,” he says, tapping the gray-eyed guy’s chest. “Hunter,” he continues, gesturing toward the tall, dark man, “and I'm Carson.”
His voice. Holy shit. I've got a thing for voices, and his is every bit as laid back as he sounds, smooth honey pouring straight into my veins. I fight the urge to shiver as it washes over me. The imaginary drawl I thought he had, has nothing on this.
Stepping forward, he tilts his head toward me, close enough it feels conspiratorial, a smile playing on his lips. “And you're Willow Delong. Hunter’s sister watched you onOmega in Paradise.”
A flicker of embarrassment prickles the back of my neck. Great. Another person who knows me from that show. I twist my lips, chewing on my cheek as a bead of sweat slides down my back. The thought of walking another five miles in these boots doesn’t sound fun at all.
“You look tired,” Graham says, his gray eyes softening as he pulls out his phone. “I'll call your driver.” I watch him do exactly that, and my stomach dips; Landon was the last and only alpha who even tried to take care of me, and he did a shit job of it.
I swallow hard and spin on my heel, determined to reclaim some independence. But I don’t get two feet away before strong arms and an unmistakable musk wrap around me—an aroma reminiscent of ice cream, butter pecan to be exact.
Before I know it, I’m hoisted onto a broad shoulder. “You will be waiting for your driver.” Spoken slow, deliberate, eachword stretched with the kind of authority that leaves no room for argument. A shiver races down my spine, heat pooling exactly where it shouldn’t. Fuck me.
I’m too stunned to react at first, while passersby begin to whisper and point, and I feel my cheeks flush hot. If I were on my feet, I’d probably shove him into the nearest wall. I might be small, but I’m mighty.
I start to struggle, and suddenly, a firm hand lands on my ass. “No.” That single word has my blood boiling. Then, with a quiet chuckle, Hunter adds, “You haven’t heard that word a lot, have you, princess?”
Draped over his shoulder, with the blood rushing to my head, I can only catch snippets of their conversation as they continue talking among themselves. I try to twist away, but I'm pinned too securely.
“Put me down, you brute,” I snap, though my protest is muffled by my position.
“Five minutes,” Graham says. I can’t see him, but I assume he’s busy checking his phone.
“I’m not staying on his shoulder for five minutes,” I retort.
Hunter chuckles again. “No?”
“I’ll tell my dad,” I threaten.
“She’ll tell her dad,” Carson echoes, voice light, the smile obvious in the lilt of his words.
“Honey, we’re doing exactly what your dad told us to do…protecting you, taking care of you,” Graham says as he circles Hunter and leans down to catch my gaze. “Your feet hurt, and Hunter here is making sure you don’t have to stand on them for the next five minutes until your driver—that you left behind—gets here.”
How did I ever think he was attractive with his gray eyes and chiseled jawline? I want to punch him in his too handsome face. Up close, I can see flecks of blue in their depths,and his smile, as he tries to convince me they’re just doing their job, makes me want to scream.
“My dad is overreacting. Finn isn’t dangerous.”
Carson appears next to Graham, his relaxed posture at odds with the sharp gleam in his hazel eyes. “Not dangerous?” he repeats, tilting his head slightly. “Did you see the amount of shit the investigator dug up on him in twelve hours?”
I press my lips together.
Okay, so maybe Finn is dangerous. Maybe his obsession isn’t as harmless as I told myself it was. Maybe I should’ve actually read that file instead of brushing it off. I’ll read it as soon as I get home. My dad will send it over if I ask.
Carson studies me for half a second before his mouth quirks up at the corner. “Oh, you didn’t read it.”
Damn it.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of confirming that, so I hold his gaze instead. His irises are a swirling mix of green and gold, pretty in a way I absolutely refuse to acknowledge, not now, not ever.
Carson doesn’t need verbal confirmation to know he’s right. His smirk says he already knows.
