He’d pushed away the one person who’d made him want, for a second, to put the knife down.
Such a fucking idiot.
Chapter 24
Broken Glass
The cottage wallsclosed in somewhere around hour six.
Emma sat at the small desk off the side of the living room, laptop open, staff rosters glowing on the screen. Guest services still needed two more hires. Housekeeping was staffed, but she flagged three additional candidates for follow-up references. Food and beverage was?—
Emma closed the laptop with more force than necessary. She wasn’t retaining any of it.
Her eyes tracked to the window for the dozenth time in as many minutes. One of Zach’s security team walked past on patrol, barely visible in the fading light. Beyond him, palm fronds swayed in the evening breeze. The ocean would soon turn colors in a spectacular island sunset that never failed to steal her breath from the moment she’d first arrived.
She’d spent the entire day like this: reviewing rosters, answering emails, as if everything was normal. First in her office, then here in the cottage. Pretending her world hadn’t shrunk to four walls and armed guards and a man who’d kissed her like she was air itself before shutting down so completely he might as well have been carved from ice.
They’d been avoiding each other since last night’s explosion. Zach vanished early in the morning, leaving Nick to walk her to her office. He'd dropped in twice during the afternoon—once for coffee, once to speak with David about electrical routing—but he hadn’t so much as glanced at her while she had pretended to be engrossed in her work. He’d finally returned for the night a few minutes ago.
Emma pushed back from the table and stood, her muscles protesting the long hours of sitting, while outside, the sky was bleeding pink and gold.
She couldn’t do this anymore. Not tonight.
Zach was at the kitchen island, studying something on his tablet. He looked up as she approached, those iron-gray eyes alert, assessing. Looking for threats even in the simple act of her walking across a room.
“I need to get out of this house.” The words came out firmly, a declaration of intent, not a question.
His expression didn’t change. “It’s late.”
“Zach—”
“It’s almost dark. Visibility decreases. Risk increases.” He set the tablet down, his posture shifting into something she recognized now—immovable object mode. “You’re staying inside.”
The frustration that had been building all day sharpened into something with edges. “I am not having this conversation with you again. I am not a prisoner. You are not locking me in.”
“I’m not locking you in.” His voice was maddeningly calm, the same tone he probably used to discuss ammunition counts or patrol rotations.
Emma gestured at the windows, their hurricane-resistant glass, the security sensors embedded in every frame. “What do you call it then? Telling me I can’t go out? If you want rules, fine. Let’s talk rules. But I will not be kept prisoner!”
Something flickered in Zach’s eyes. Frustration. Concern, maybe?
“Let’s start with this. If there is a direct threat to me, you tell me immediately. No exceptions.”
He was silent; his jaw worked as he calculated the odds, his tactical mind running through scenarios and probabilities. The moment stretched thin between them, taut with everything they weren’t saying about last night.
“Fine. Agreed.”
Emma blinked. She’d been bracing for his refusal.
“We’ll walk.” He was already moving, checking the knife at his belt, his phone. “We stay within the secure perimeter. Twenty minutes, max. And you do not go out in isolated areas without a bodyguard until the threat is resolved.”
She almost refused on principle. Almost told him she didn’t need a babysitter. But the words died in her throat because refusing would only restart the argument, and she was so tired of fighting. Him. This situation. The invisible walls closing in from all sides.
“Fine,” she echoed, the word tasting like ash, shoulders drooping. “But I can’t live this way, Zach. I can’t live in a cage. I’m used to being outside, moving around.”
She turned away to get her sneakers, and from the corner of her eye, she thought she saw him reach out to her, but when she glanced back, he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, face impassive.
Great. She was imagining things now.
