I kick off my jeans, leaving me in my boxer briefs. I don't care about modesty. She’s seen every inch of me on that rug. But tonight feels different. Tonight, I’m stripping off the SAA armor and standing here as just a man. A tired, desperate man.
She hesitates, then reaches for the hem of her sweater.
"Leave it," I say hoarsely. "Keep it on."
If she gets naked, I won’t be able to stop my cock from impaling her again, ramming into her pussy until we’re both drowning in her juices. I need the intimacy more than the friction right now—a revelation that terrifies me. I need to know she’s there when the nightmares start.
She dips her chin and crawls under the heavy duvet. I slide in beside her. I wrap an arm around her waist and haul her flush against me. I pull her leg over my hip, tangling our limbs together. I tuck her head under my chin.
She fits. God help me, she fits perfectly. Like she was the missing piece of the puzzle I didn’t even know I was building. Her hand rests flat on my bare chest, right over my heart.
"Goodnight, Shane," she whispers.
"Night, Bianca."
I listen to her breathing even out. I focus on the warmth radiating from her body, seeping into my cold bones. For the first time in months, the vigilance in my brain starts to dim. The urge to scan the perimeter fades. The monster curls up at her feet and closes its eyes.
She’s mine. The club can’t have this part of me. The Costas can’t touch this. I tighten my hold on her, possessive even on the edge of sleep.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs without pain.
I can finally breathe.
7
BIANCA
Sunlight cuts through the unfamiliar rafters, dust motes dancing in the beams like suspended gold. Disorientation hits hard. The mattress beneath me is too firm, the sheets smell like cedar, and the space is enormous. Then the memory of the night crashes into me.
Shane.
I roll over, reaching for the wall of heat that should be next to me. My hand lands on cold cotton. The dip in the mattress remains, the indentation where his massive body lay curled around mine like a dragon guarding its hoard, but the man is gone. My chest hollows out. I push myself up, the quilt slipping and pooling onto my lap. The smell of the bed and this room hits harder now in the morning. Woodsmoke, gun oil, and that deep, masculine scent that wires directly into my veins. Last night meant survival. He held me as if I were the only anchor keeping him from drifting into the abyss he carries inside that leather vest.
"Shane?" I call out, my voice raspy.
The heavy silence of a house built for a giant answers me. I slide out of bed, my legs shaky. The last few days have rewired my nervous system. I came here to be a nanny, to paint, to escape the gray slush of Philadelphia. Instead, a man who looks like he could crush a boulder with one hand held me like I was the most fragile thing in the world. And I don't want to leave.
I pad downstairs, the wood cool against my bare feet. I’d shed the heavy teal sweater I slept in and changed into a bright teal sundress—short, light, and a loud, colorful middle finger to the gray timber and suffocating rules of this house. The kitchen is empty, but a pot of coffee sits on the burner. Beside it lies a piece of paper, anchored by a heavy set of keys.
Had to go to the shop. Do NOT leave the cabin. I saw a stray dog on the ridge—I don't want you or Maddie outside until I’m back. I’ll bring food for the kid. - S
No pleasantries. Just orders and boundaries. I trace the jagged handwriting with my fingertip. Once more, he pushes me away. I feel it in the brevity of the note. He let me in last night—let me see the exhaustion behind the monster mask—and now he retreats. He rebuilds the walls, brick by brick.
"Bianca?"
I spin around. Maddie stands in the doorway of the living room, her hair a bird's nest of tangles, clutching a stuffed bear.
"Hey, sweetie," I say, shoving the note into my pocket. "Sleep well?"
She nods, rubbing her eyes. "Where's Daddy?"
"He had to go to work early," I say, crouching in front of her. Maddie’s lower lip trembles. She starts to cry about the 'scary dog' and wanting a pink donut.
I stare at the keys on the counter, the heavy metal glinting like a challenge. He’s already trying to manage us from miles away—promising donuts like we’re pets he can keep happy with a treat as long as we stay in our cage. My skin feels too tight, still humming from the way he held me last night, and the silence of this cabin is starting to feel like a shroud. Shane isn't just being overprotective; he's trying to erase me. I’m an artist, not a ghost, and I won’t spend the day waiting for a master to return and unlock the door.
“Maddie,” I say, my voice sparking with a sudden, reckless defiance. “Why don’t we go and get you those donuts? We can take Bumble.”
I grab the keys. They’re heavy, cold, and smell like the man who thinks he can just shut me out like that.Let’s see if this town is actually as dangerous as he wants us to believe.
