Lena found herself grateful for the certainty, even as several staff members bristled at his tone. David didn’t do emotional cushioning or gentle persuasion. He did facts—delivered with the bedside manner of a blunt surgeon.
Usually that worked. Sometimes it cut too deep.
Jorge snorted, a harsh sound full of derision. “Right. As if ‘data ghosts’ are tripping breakers by luck.”
“They’re not,” David said, voice calm and level, unbothered by Jorge’s hostility. “They’re strategic. And getting bolder. But I will find them, and Zach will make sure they regret every bad decision they’ve made.”
Voices rose again, overlapping and competing. Lena caught fragments—accusations, denials, fears about job security and safety. The sound washed over her in a wave of anxiety that made her throat tighten. Someone grabbed her elbow—Lisa, looking panicked—and Lena shifted into reassurance mode as her own heart beat in double-time.
But then she caught Walter’s eyes across the small crowd. His expression was understanding, knowing. With a simple look, he understood what she needed.
He stepped in smoothly, reaching into his back pocket and producing a familiar flask with a theatrical flourish that drew attention. “All right, all right,” he drawled, his voice carrying the particular brand of jovial authority that only a career bartender could muster. “It’s officially shift change time. I think this calls for a round of emergency whiskey. For those now off the clock, of course.”
Several people laughed—nervous laughter, but laughter nonetheless. Walter began offering shots to anyone who wanted one; his effortless charm and well-timed levity worked like a pressure valve. The group’s energy splintered from a unified rage into mumbled dismay and scattered conversations.
Some of the tension drained from her shoulders, though her hands still trembled when she uncrossed her arms. She glanced at David, who stood apart from the group, watching everything with those sharp, analytical eyes. Their gazes met for a moment, and something passed between them—gratitude, perhaps, or shared exhaustion.
Or maybe the recognition that this was far from over.
Chapter 37
Storm Break
Later that night,the storm broke.
Not from the sky, but inside the luxurious living room of the Princess Suite.
Lena stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms hugging herself, watching the tropical breeze toy with the palms outside. The memories from the afternoon still pressed in—the suspicion in the staff’s eyes, the tension under her skin.
David’s hands slid around her waist from behind in a full-body hug. “You were amazing today,” he murmured into her ear, pressing against her back.
She leaned into him without thinking, her back to his chest, head tucked under his chin, as she watched the gentle waves lapping at the shore. She’d left the connecting door unlocked for him, hoping that no new emergency would crop up and steal him away.
“You scared me.”
His hold tightened. “I’m sorry. I swear to you, we’re gonna stop them.”
Lena turned in the circle of his arms, caught off guard by the raw tenderness in his gaze. “You sound like a guy who doesn’t take promises lightly.”
David studied her, something unreadable in those intense blue eyes. His fingers skimmed up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t make them lightly, either.”
There was no dramatic drumroll, no clichéd perfect moment.
Only the quiet pull—like the irresistible tug of gravity—that brought his lips to hers, softly at first. Testing. Waiting.
Lena’s breath hitched, and she kissed him back with an unexpected hunger. His hands were on her hips now, while her fingers threaded through his hair. She reveled in the press of his body, real and strong and warm through the cotton of his t-shirt.
He pulled back far enough to whisper, his voice rough, “Tell me if I need to stop.”
“You stop,” she whispered back, “and I’ll fire you.”
A slow grin curved across his face, and he swept her off her feet—literally.
As David lowered her onto the plush couch, Lena’s heart pounded wildly, her blood rushing like liquid fire through her veins. His eyes, now a blazing inferno of desire, never left hers as he traced the outline of her cheek, his touch tender yet possessive, sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine.
“You’re exquisite,” he murmured, his voice a low, husky growl that resonated deep within her. He slid his fingers to the swell of her breasts, molding their curves through the thin fabric, her nipples hardening under his touch. She arched her back, pressing into his palm, craving more. His hands drifted lower, skimming her waist, her hips. He caught the silky fabric of her dress, raising it inch by torturous inch.
Lena’s breath stalled as his knuckles brushed against her inner thigh, her body aching for more. She was hyper-aware of every sensation, every trace of his fingers, every hitch in his breath. He slipped a hand beneath her skirt, his eyes fixed on hers, seeking permission. She answered with a nod, her body screaming for his.
