The path curved past the cluster of staff cottages—management perk—and continued toward the end, to her cottage, with its cheerful yellow door and the potted herbs on the windowsill.
Her stomach tightened. It had been her home for months now. When would she return?
“Give me five minutes,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “I need to pack.”
Zach stopped, waiting while she fumbled with her keys. His presence at her back was solid, watchful. She wondered if he was cataloging threats even now—sight lines, entry points, vulnerabilities she couldn’t see.
Inside, Emma moved on autopilot. Bedroom first. She pulled her duffel from the closet and collected essentials: work outfits, jeans, shirts, running gear, and toiletries from the bathroom. Her hands were steady. Good. She refused to let this situation steal her composure along with her sense of safety.
When she returned to the living room, Zach stood at the window, scouring the darkness beyond the glass.
“All set,” she said.
He turned, and his gaze swept over her bags with the same thorough assessment he’d given the perimeter. Without a word, he crossed the room and picked up her larger duffel, slinging it over his shoulder as though it weighed nothing.
“I can carry my own bags,” Emma protested from habit.
“I know.” His tone suggested he’d do it anyway.
She grabbed her laptop bag and purse, took one last look around the bungalow that had been her home for the past few weeks, and followed Zach into the night.
They walked in silence. Emma expected him to lead her toward the main resort building, where temporary accommodations were easily available. Instead, he took a path that climbed upward, away from the staff quarters.
The ocean murmured to their right, waves brushing the shore in rhythmic whispers. Above, stars pierced the blackness, brighter here than they’d ever been in Miami. Emma breathed in salt air and night-blooming jasmine, trying to ground herself.
The path curved again, and realization hit her.
“Zach.” She stopped walking. “Where are we going?”
“Secure location.”
Her feet started moving again. “But there’s nothing out here except—” The words died as the owners’ cottage came into view, perched on the cliff like a sentinel. Warm light glowed from the windows, spilling onto the wraparound porch.
Oh.
“You’re taking me toyourhouse?”
“Safest place on the island.” Matter-of-fact. As if this were a tactical decision with no other implications whatsoever.
Emma’s pulse kicked up for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. “Zach, I can’t—there are other options. A room in the resort, or?—”
“No.” He was still moving, covering the last stretch with long strides. “Security’s incomplete in the main building. Too many people have access. Here, I control every variable.”
Every variable. Including her, apparently.
She hurried to catch up, her mind spinning. Living with Zach. In his space. Yeah, nothing about that said simple.
The front door opened before they reached it.
Nick leaned against the doorframe, backlit by warm interior light, his expression hovering between amused and sympathetic. “Emma. Welcome to Villa Steele.”
“Nick.” Relief flooded through her. At least she wouldn’t be alone tonight with Zach’s intensity. “I’m sorry to intrude on your space like this.”
“Please,” Nick stepped aside, gesturing her in. “You’re doing us a favor. Zach’s been impossible since he saw that note. Now that you’re here, maybe he’ll stop pacing holes in the floor.”
“I don’t pace,” Zach said flatly, carrying her bag inside.
“You absolutely pace.” Nick caught Emma’s eye and winked. “Come in. Before Zach starts issuing house rules like we’re running a military compound, let me establish my one and only rule.”
