She trembles under my touch, her defiance crumbling under the weight of my intensity. "But you said..."
"I lied to Logan," I admit. "I lied to my President to keep you safe. But I never lied to you. Not when I touched you. Not when I kissed you." I lean down, brushing my lips against her ear. "Not when I was inside you."
She lets out a choked sob, body softening against mine. The fight leaves her, replaced by the exhaustion of the emotional whiplash.
"I'm scared," she whispers. "You're... this life... it's too much. The violence. The intensity. I'm a lawyer, Chase. I fight with paper. You just assaulted a man in the hallway."
"I protect what's mine," I say simply. "And you are mine. Aren't you?"
I slide my hand down her throat, resting fingers over her pulse point. It flutters like a trapped bird. I apply the slightest pressure—grounding her, claiming her.
"Tell me," I demand softly. "Tell me you don't belong to me."
She stares up at me, pupils blown wide. She wants to deny it. Her logic screams at her to run. But her body... her body knows.
"I..." She swallows. "I can't do this."
"Yes, you can." I kiss her forehead. "You're strong enough for me. You're the only one who is."
I step back, releasing her, but I don't give her space. I walk over to her suitcase.
"What are you doing?" she asks, wary again.
I zip the suitcase shut. "You're checking out."
"I told you, I'm going back to?—"
"No." I lift the suitcase effortlessly. "You're checking out of the lodge. You're coming with me."
Her eyes widen. "To the cabin?"
"To the mountain," I correct. "Where Oswald can't get to you. Where you can't run away from this conversation."
"This is kidnapping," she says, but without heat.
"Call it protective custody," I drawl, walking back to her. I wrap my free arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me. "You’re done running, Cassandra. I gave you space, and you tried to leave me. Lesson learned. No more space."
I steer her toward the door. She resists for a fraction of a second, heels digging into the carpet. Then, with a defeated, frustrated sigh, she leans into me.
"You're an arrogant, overbearing asshole," she mutters into my chest.
"I’m the man who owns you, Cassandra. The man who’s going to spend the rest of the night reminding your body exactly who it belongs to. We’re going back to the mountain, and I’m going to bury myself so deep inside you that Oswald’s name will be scorched out of your head."
We walk out into the hallway. Oswald is gone. The door to the stairwell is shut. I keep her tucked tight against my side, shielding her from the world. We take the elevator down this time. When the doors open to the lobby, people stare. I look like murder, and she looks like she’s been crying, but I dare anyone to say a word.
The valet brings my bike around. I toss the suitcase at the valet, my eyes never leaving Cassandra. "Secure storage. If there's a scratch on it, I'm coming for you. I'll send a prospect for it by sundown."
"Yes, sir," the kid stammers.
I climb onto the bike and hold out a hand for her. Cassandra looks at the bike, then at me. She looks at the road leading out of town, back toward safety and normalcy. Then she looks at the mountain looming behind me, dark and wild.
She takes my hand.
I pull her onto the seat behind me. She wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her face against my leather cut. Her warmth seeps through the layers.
"Hold on tight,Cass," I say, kicking the bike into gear. "I'm never letting you go again."
As we tear out of the parking lot and hit the incline toward Grizzly Peak, the panic in my chest settles into a cold, hard resolve. I have her back. But this isn't over. Oswald is still out there. The permit remains a mess. And I have to explain to Logan that I just declared war on a corporate law firm.
