"I was going to fix it up and sell it," she says, eyes searching mine. "Leave in three days. But... I'm not selling it."
Victory surges through me. Sweeter than the kiss. I’ve won. Or at least, I’ve won the first battle. She’s staying.
"No," I say, smoothing hair back from her forehead. "You're not. You're staying right here."
I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the surrender. My hands slide under her t-shirt, skin to skin for the first time. Her waist is narrow, her skin fever-hot. I trace the line of her ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. She arches into my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.
I want to take her right here against the wall. I want to rip the t-shirt off and feast.
The heavy vibration against my thigh starts suddenly, followed by a sharp ringtone that cuts through the haze like a knife.
My phone.
I ignore it, grinding my hips against hers to drown out the intrusion. I kiss her jaw, her ear, my teeth grazing her skin. But the ringing persists—harsh, demanding, and signaling a world that doesn't give a damn about my hunger.
I ignore it. I kiss her jaw, her ear. The ringing persists. Harsh. Demanding.
"Austin," she whispers, putting a hand on my chest. "You have to answer that."
"I don't have to do anything but this," I mutter, nipping at her earlobe.
"It might be important," she says, sanity bleeding back into her voice. She unwraps her legs from my waist and slides down until her feet touch the floor. "It might be... club business."
I curse, loud and violent. She’s right. If it’s ringing this late, it’s not a social call. It’s trouble.
I pull my phone out, keeping one arm securely around her waist so she can’t move away. I look at the screen. Logan.
"Yeah," I answer, voice rough.
"We got a problem," Logan’s voice is clipped. "Perimeter breach near the eastern ridge. Blake found tracks. Fresh ones. Too close to the house."
My blood runs cold. The lust evaporates, replaced instantly by the cold, hard armor of the Vice President.
"How close?" I ask, grip on Courtney tightening.
"Too close," Logan says. "I need you at the clubhouse. Now. We're locking down."
I look down at Courtney. She’s watching me, eyes confused. She sees the change in me—the shift from lover to soldier.
"I'm at the estate," I tell Logan. "I can't leave her here."
"Shane is on his way to relieve you," Logan says. "He'll sit on the house until morning. But I need you in the war room, Austin. We have to decide how to handle the Costas before this turns into a war."
"Fine," I snap. "But tell Shane if he lets a single fly into this house, I'll kill him myself."
"He knows," Logan says. "Five minutes."
He hangs up.
I shove the phone back into my pocket and look at Courtney. The mood is broken, shattered by the reality of my life. The reality I’m trying to drag her into.
"I have to go," I say, words tasting like ash.
"Is everything okay?" she asks, stepping back. She pulls her t-shirt down, covering her thighs.
"No," I say bluntly. I reach out, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at me. "Listen to me, Courtney. You lock that door the second I step out. You go into this room, you lock the windows,and you do not come out until you see me or Shane. Do you understand?"
"Shane?" she asks. "Your brother?"
