His mouth moves slowly, testing me, and seeing how far I’ll let it go. My pulse thrums wildly, my head light, my body reacting before my mind can catch up. For just one second, I let myself fall into it.
Into the quiet possession of his touch. Into the thrill of being wanted so completely. As quickly as it started, his lips are gone, and he exhales against my skin, his nose brushing my cheek.
“See you soon, Willow.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
While watching me, he slips out the door. I stay rooted to the spot for a beat, my breath coming too fast, my head too full. Then I force myself to move. To fix my hair. To step out of the bathroom like nothing happened.
But the second I do, Carson’s gaze snaps to me.
His nostrils flare, his features tighten, the playful glint in his eyes gone, replaced by pure instinct. Hunter, standing beside him, stiffens. His eyes darken, his body going rigid. The shift between them is so small, so fast, but I sense it. They know.
They can smell him.
“Peaches,” Carson says, and it is more than my nickname. It’s a warning and question all rolled into one.
Hunter doesn’t wait. His jaw tightens, and then he moves—fast—down the hallway and straight out the backdoor. My breath catches. He’s going after him.
Carson exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand over his mouth. His gaze flicks between me and the door before he mutters a quiet, “Fuck.”
Graham arrives in time to catch the tension, his eyes narrowing. “What happened?”
Carson doesn’t answer at first. Just looks at me, waiting for me to spill the beans.
I cross my arms. “Nothing.”
Graham’s gaze hardens, then lowers slightly. He inhales deeply, and I can tell the second he smells the slight musk Finn gives off.
His expression goes stone-cold. “He was here.”
I swallow hard. “I handled it.”
“You handled it?” Graham echoes, slow and deadly. His jaw clenches as he turns toward Carson. “Where’s Hunter?”
“Looking for him.”
Graham cuts him off. “When he finds him, we’re taking care of this once and for all.”
Then he reaches for his phone and walks away, already issuing orders. Carson doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. His eyes on me makes my stomach flip, because I know he can tell that whatever happened in the bathroom just now, I liked.
They all know. And that makes their job harder.
CHAPTER 11
Graham
Willow’s father is pissed.
“Explain to me how he got that close.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, inhaling slow and steady as I sit in the sleek, overpriced office chair across from his desk. The city skyline glows behind him, a panoramic view of his empire—one that he’s willing to tear apart if it means keeping his daughter safe.
“He knew her schedule,” I say evenly. “He waited until she was alone. And he was smart about it. He didn’t linger. Didn’t give anyone a chance to react.”
Mr. Delong leans forward, his knuckles whitening where they grip the desk. “And you let that happen.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. “It won’t happen again.” I don’t mention the fact that he got past all of my guards and into her apartment when she was going through her heat. He would probably skin me alive.
His sharp blue gaze burns into me. Assessing. Testing. He’s used to men backing down, bowing to his authority, but I don’t work for him. Not in the way he’s used to.
