I frown as the doors of two more cars open. “Then who are those other people?”
His jaw tightens. “The Harrington family’s personal security.”
Roman appears beside him, also holding a mug of coffee from my kitchen. He’s always so serious, but there’s a tilt to his lips that makes me think he finds this all amusing. “I told them to rent a bus. Did they listen? No. Grant had to bring his own security detail.”
Is it normal for a CEO of a banking empire to travel with his own security?
“You could’ve warned me they were bringing all this,” Valen mutters.
“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, you know what’s on Grant’s plate.”
Ooh, so Grant is mysterious. Maybe he’s a superspy or an undercover operative. Oh! Maybe he’s the head of a secret society who does deliciously dark deeds to save innocents.
Valen’s rumble of laughter has me jolting out of the safety of my fictional worlds—the place my mind drifts to when reality is more than I can handle.
I blink feverishly when I realize he’s now crouched down in front of me, his hands on my thighs, grounding me to the present. “Still telling stories in your secret garden, Honeybee?”
My lashes touch my brow line, and my mouth gaps like a fish. “D-did I say all that? Out loud?”
His smile could stop wars.
“And—and you remember? You remember that I…”
The beautiful smile slips from his full lips, and his eyes lose focus. “You made up stories when Terra’s gaslighting was too much. You locked yourself away in the safety of your mind. You made up different endings to fight off the mental manipulation.”
He does remember. At least some of it. “Yes,” I whisper.
His fingers press into my thighs, welcome pressure that regulates my pulse. This close, I can see the flecks of silver in his blue eyes, the faint stubble along his jaw. His thumb moves—just once, a small stroke against my leg—and blood whooshes in my ears.
“I do remember that…now,” he says.
Progress. That has to be progress, right?
“Well, ain’t that sweet.” Pops voice cuts through the moment like a bullhorn. He winks at me, but Valen pulls his hands back as though he’s been burned.
I immediately miss his warmth.
“Trust me, Honeybee.” The corner of Valen’s lips tilt up. He’s teasing me. “Grant is too strait-laced for any deliciously dark deeds.”
“Ah, you heard that, huh?”
Death by embarrassment, here I come.
“I did.” Happiness slowly lifts his entire face as he stands, and I’m trying very hard not to laugh. “I can’t wait to hear what other…thoughts you have inside that beautiful head of yours.”
Swoon. Blush. Breathe.
Valen Stone thinks I’m beautiful, and the rush of confidence that roars through my body makes me feel almost…powerful.
A loud bang has me jumping in my seat, and he places his hand on my shoulder, as though he felt my unease through the airwaves. Maybe I should see Dr. Callaway again. Valen’s touch should not be the one thing that grounds me—too many years have passed.
“Jesus, Chase,” Valen growls. “Do you have to pound on everything you see?”
“Just checking to see how solid this thing is.” The man speaking is an exact replica of Roman. In fact, I do a double take to make sure I’m not seeing things.
Valen told me they were identical triplets when we were young. Seeing it in person is an entirely different beast.
Roman is still on my porch, and there are two more Romans and one almost-Roman standing next to Valen’s tank—his home for the last two stinking weeks. I refuse to call it a mobile command center, no matter how often Roman insists.
