I sink into her slowly, inch by inch, until I am buried to the hilt in her tight, welcoming heat. The groan that tears from my throat is raw and deep. She feels perfect. She’s hot, slick, gripping me like she never wants to let go. I start to move in long, deep strokes, savoring every slide, every clench of her body around mine.
“Mine,” I whisper again, lips brushing her ear, then her neck, then the curve of her breast. I kiss and nip at her skin as I thrust into her, slow and possessive, claiming her with every roll of my hips. “My woman. My partner. My Bee.”
She meets every thrust, hands roaming over my back, nails lightly scoring my skin. “Mine,” she gasps. “Every stubborn, protective part of you. I’m not letting you go.”
The pace stays slow but intense, our bodies rocking together in perfect rhythm. When her second orgasm builds, I feel it in the way she tightens around me, in the way her breath hitches and her moans grow softer, sweeter. I reach between us to circle her clit, driving her higher until she shatters beneath me with a beautiful, broken cry of my name.
The sight and feel of her coming undone pushes me over the edge. I bury myself deep and follow her, groaning her name as pleasure crashes through me in powerful waves. I empty myself inside her, hips grinding slow and possessive, drawing out every last pulse until we are both spent and trembling.
We stay locked together afterward, my weight carefully braced above her, foreheads pressed together as our breathing slows. I roll to the side and pull her into my arms, tucking her against my chest. Her fingers trace the fresh bandage on my ribs, then move higher to rest over my heart.
“I was terrified when that knife came at you,” she whispers.
I press a kiss to her temple, my arm tightening around her. “I’ve spent years convinced I didn’t deserve a second chance. That letting anyone in would only end in loss. But you… You make me want to risk it. You make me believe I can have more than just the job.”
She lifts her head to look at me, hazel eyes steady and full of quiet strength. “We’ll figure out the ledger. We’ll deal with whoever is behind the heist. But we do it together. No more walls. No more pushing me away to keep me safe. Partnership, Jax. Real partnership.”
I nod, the last of my resistance dissolving under the weight of her words and the warmth of her body against mine. “Partnership,” I agree, voice rough with emotion. “You and me, Bee. From now on.”
She smiles, soft and beautiful, and settles back against my chest.
Chapter Eleven - Isabella
I am still wrapped around Jax when his phone buzzes sharply on the nightstand.
He tenses instantly, reaching for it with the reflexes of a man who never truly relaxes. I sit up beside him, pulling the sheet around my breasts as he unlocks the screen. His expression darkens the moment he opens the message. It is a video file from an unknown number. He taps play, and the screen fills with the face of a man I immediately recognize.
Charlie Thibodeaux. Mrs. Eleanor Thibodeaux’s grandson.
Late thirties, polished, wearing an expensive suit, standing in what looks like a dimly lit study lined with bookshelves and expensive art. His voice is calm, cultured, and ice-cold.
“Miss Monroe. Mr. Harlan. I trust the storm treated you kindly. You have something that belongs to me. Return it intact within the next twelve hours. I have eyes everywhere in Tidehaven. Try to involve the police or your little security team,and I’ll make sure you get to watch Miss Monroe suffer. You know where to deliver it. No games.”
The video ends with a still image of the stolen painting propped against a wall, clearly undamaged but out of reach. The timestamp shows it has been recorded less than an hour ago.
My stomach drops like a stone. “That’s Charlie,” I whisper, voice shaking. “Mrs. Thibodeaux’s grandson. He was at the preview. He stood right beside her while she told me how the painting reminded her of her grandmother’s stories. He smiled at me. Asked thoughtful questions about the centerpiece. He even complimented the lighting.”
Mrs. Thibodeaux had been so warm, so genuine. She had welcomed me into Tidehaven’s heart with open arms, and her own grandson had orchestrated the heist, using his grandmother as unwitting cover.
Jax’s jaw tightens, fury flashing in his eyes. “He used his own family as camouflage. The ledger must have entries under the name Thibodeaux. They’re old money. Offshore accounts and black-market deals hidden behind ‘art transactions’ wouldn’t be a stretch. He wasn’t just stealing the painting for profit. He was protecting his family’s secrets.”
I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing. “She trusted him. She brought him to the gala, and he stood there smiling while those men shot at me.”
Jax sets the phone down slowly, his hand finding mine. His grip is firm, grounding. “He’s not some faceless man. He’s someone who looked you in the eye and still hurt you.”
The words land heavy between us. I squeeze his hand, anger rising alongside the hurt. “We can end this together.”
He shakes his head before I even finish speaking, already pulling away emotionally, even as his body stays close. “No. You’re staying here. Safe. I’ll lure him out alone. Make him thinkI’m delivering the ledger. Once he shows himself, I take him down. End of story.”
I sit up straighter, the sheet slipping down around my waist. “Absolutely not. We’re in this together, Jax. You said it yourself last night. We’re partners. Not just you protecting me from a distance. I’m not going to sit here waiting while you walk into a trap alone.”
His expression closes off, the walls I thought we had torn down slamming back into place. He stands, pulling on a pair of sweatpants with sharp, angry movements. “This is different. This man has reach. Resources. If something goes wrong, I won’t be the one paying for it. You will. I won’t let that happen.”
I climb out of the bed after him, not bothering to cover myself, anger and hurt rising hot in my chest. “So what? You’re just going to push me away again? After everything we shared? After you finally let me in? You’re going to do the same thing you always do, decide what’s best for me without asking?”
He turns to face me, bare chest still bearing the fresh bandage, muscles taut with tension. His eyes are stormy now, filled with fear and frustration. “Yes.”
“You’re scared,” I say, voice steady even as tears prick at my eyes. “I’m the woman who fought beside you at the safe house. I’m not a liability, I’m your partner. If you walk out that door alone, you’re not protecting me. You’re just running away because you’re scared to let me stand beside you.”
