Lena flinched.
“I’ve got a few different models to test. We’ll find one that fits and get it mounted today—something discreet that captures the door but keeps your workspace private. I can configure it so you can see it on your phone too.”
She shook her head, unsettled. “I already feel like I’m under someone’s microscope, David. I don’t want to reinforce that with actual footage. I don’t want to exist like I’m being watched all the time.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “Do you feel that way now? Like you’re being watched?” he asked, curious—not pressing.
“Yes,” she said, surprising herself with the certainty of it. “Most of the time when I’m outside. Less so when I’m around people. But sometimes even inside—it’s like the back of your neck goes tight and every part of you screams someone is aiming their focus at your back. Like you’re prey.”
She shivered. Admitting it out loud almost made it worse.
“I never see anyone suspicious,” she added. “If it weren’t for the notes and everything else, I'd have checked myself into a psych ward by now.”
“That’s what he wants,” David said, voice turning quieter, almost clinical. “To make you doubt your instincts, your reality.”
Hearing him say that—with such certainty—settled something inside her.
He crouched again with a grimace, fingers brushing the back rim of the screen. She watched, transfixed, as his fingertips hovered and then made contact.
It was subtle—a strange prickle over her skin. It was like pins and needles, but tactile, electric, faint. Just like last night when he repaired the laptop with nothing but his touch and some freaky-cool tech magic.
Her breath hitched.
He was using his power now. He didn’t have to. He shouldn’t. It took a toll; she knew it did. His headaches, the drained energy he tried to hide. Yet he did it anyway. For her.
A wave of fierce gratitude swept through her, warm and lingering like a tide. Gratitude… Yes. That’s what this was.
She shoved aside the echo of something sweeter. Something deeper.
“I’m almost done,” he said. “Give me five more minutes, and we’ll walk back together. Take five and soak up the sunshine. You’ve earned it.”
She sighed and sank onto the grass next to him, resting a hand on his leg. “Thanks, David. For this. For everything.”
He didn’t look up as he replied, “Anytime.”
Lena lifted her face to the sun, soaking in the rays, enjoying the silken caress of the breeze on her skin. With him beside her, her hand on his leg, she didn’t feel hunted. Didn’t feel watched. Not completely. Just… seen.
A few minutes later, David exhaled, shoulders dropping as the last alert cleared from his tablet, and the prickle disappeared from her skin.
“That should’ve wiped me,” he muttered.
Lena quirked a brow. “It didn’t?”
He shook his head, turning back to the screen. “Nope. Must be adrenaline. Or luck.”
She let her hand fall away, unsettled by the strange sense that everything muted without the contact.
Chapter 27
Eye of the Storm
The trick of romance,David concluded—after exactly four online articles, three whiskey shots, and one accidental group chat message to both his brothersandMarguerite—was that the successful execution of spontaneity required combat-level planning. Especially sneaky romance, where the subject was unaware of being romanced.
He stared at the beach blanket set up under the whispering palm trees, second-guessing every decision made in the last two hours. A hanging lantern powered by his own solar rig lit the area—because nothing said “effortlessly romantic” like renewable energy infrastructure. Coconut candles flickered in a calculated semi-circle, their flames dancing in the salt-tinged breeze. The Bluetooth speaker (concealed beneath a hibiscus bush because visible tech killed ambiance, apparently) was running a curated playlist namedNot a Big Deal (but Also, Notice Me).
Smooth jazz. Acoustic covers. One carefully placed Norah Jones track because the universe had a sense of humor.
David adjusted the brightness on his tablet and initiated the perimeter scan again. He didn’t think anyone was sneaking up on them—the motion sensors would’ve alerted him thirtyseconds ago—but coding sentinels was easier than bracing for Lena’s smile. Or worse: her silence.
