"Don't call me princess." She glares up, our breaths mingling. "I'm Indigo. And I don't need a shadow cramping my style."
"You need me more than you know." My voice drops. It’s rough, a littletoorough. "That bouquet? Next could be real."
She swallows, but doesn't back down. "Fine. But if I'm stuck, you're entertaining me. Tell me more about your brothers. Seven Hawthornes? Sounds chaotic."
Diversion tactic. Annoying, but clever. "Nash is the oldest—holds the family intel. Crewe's the strategist. Sin's the wild card. Banks handles tech. Jace and Colt are the muscle twins."
"And you?" She tilts her head, lips quirking. "The grump?"
"The one who gets shit done." I snag the whisk from her, our fingers brushing. "Now eat. We review threats after."
She rolls her eyes but complies, scrambling eggs with flair. We eat in tense silence—her on the couch, me standing. Then she starts again. "So, fake boyfriend duties. We doing breakfast in bed pics for optics?"
"No."
"Why not? Scared of a little role-play?" She winks, crossing her legs. She’s breathtaking.
My blood heats. "Not scared. Professional."
"Boring." She stands, brushing past me to the bathroom. Her hips sway, and I can’t turn away. "I'm showering. Join if you want—protocol says stick close."
I know she’s joking, but damn if the temptation doesn’t punch the shit outta me. "I'll wait outside."
"Coward."
I grit my teeth, posting up by the door. The water runs, and my mind wanders—her under the spray, skin slick.
No. Job first.
A little while later, she emerges in a robe, hair wet, smelling like coconuts. "Your turn. I'll behave."
Doubt it. I shower quick, cold to kill the fire. Back out, she's on my laptop.
"Snooping?" I snap, towel around my waist.
She spins, eyes widening. Her eyes drink me in—chest, abs, ink from my military days. Heat in her gaze. "Research. Derek's file? He's uglier than I remember."
"Off limits." I grab the laptop, but she's up, blocking me.
"Share, Mack. I'm the target."
"You're the pain in my ass." I lean in, trapping her against the desk. My heart pounds, sending blood straight to my cock. It hardens, and I breathe in deep. "Move."
"Make me." She tries for defiance, but her breath catches. Her pupils dilate.
Tension snaps. I grip her arms—gentle but firm—pulling her close. "You push too far, Indigo."
"Maybe I like the pushback." Her voice is husky, and her lips part.
Fuck this. I kiss her. Hard. Claiming. She melts, her hands on my chest, nails digging. Passion explodes. She tastes like coffee and fire, moaning into my mouth.
I break it, my breathing ragged. "Fuck. That wasn't?—"
"Protocol?" She smirks, flushed. "Screw protocol."
My phone buzzes, breaking the moment in half. It’s Cass. "Update: Voss alibi shaky. Team en route."
I step back, cursing. "We can't."
