Page 18 of Her Grumpy Protector

Am I just fooling myself into believing we could have a future together? It’s way too soon to be thinking happily ever afters, right? Right?

I stand up and move to the kitchen, needing something to do with my hands. "I'll make us some dinner. Nothing fancy, but we both need to eat."

He stops pacing and looks at me. For a second his expression softens. "Anniston."

"Yeah?"

"Don’t sell yourself short," he says quietly. "Not with me."

I feel my cheeks heat, but I smile anyway. "Okay. I won't."

We move around the small kitchen together, making a simple pasta dinner with the canned sauce and dried noodles from the pantry. The normalcy of it feels strange after the day we have had. Every so often our arms brush and I feel that spark again. I don’t push it. I let it sit there, warm and quiet.

Later, after we eat and clean up, we sit on the couch looking over the files on his laptop again. Banks keeps the note with his father's name on the table between us like a silent promise. We talk about next steps. About possible safe ways to search for Wyatt. About what the connection could mean for both our situations.

I still worry about Sadie. I still worry that I might never see my sister again. But sitting here beside Banks, knowing he’s fighting for his own family too, makes me feel a little less alone.

Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. Even if I have to remind myself every five minutes not to fall any harder for this grumpy, complicated man who somehow makes me feel safer than I have in months.

THIRTEEN

BANKS

The cabin feels smaller tonight. Every creak of the floorboards and rustle of the trees outside seems louder than usual. I sit at the table finishing the last of the notes from Wyatt Rivers' apartment while Anniston moves quietly around the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. She has been different since we got back. More reserved. Quieter. No flirty comments, no playful smiles, no teasing about how grumpy I look. Just careful politeness that puts me on edge.

I watch her rinse a plate and set it in the drying rack. Her shoulders are tense. She keeps her eyes down. I’m turned on by her even now, but I stay professional. I have to. After what happened last night I can’t let myself slip again. Not when everything is this raw.

"You okay?" I ask.

She glances over her shoulder and gives me a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Yeah. Just tired. Long day."

I don’t push. Of course things are getting to her. She’s not built for this life. Running, hiding, watching her back every second.Most people would have broken by now. Anniston’s holding it together better than I expected, but I can see the cracks forming.

"We should get some sleep," I say, closing the laptop. "Big day tomorrow. I want to run more searches on Wyatt first thing."

She nods. "Okay. Um… I can sleep on the couch."

"Absolutely not." I stand up and stretch my arms over my head. "You take the bed. It's more comfortable. I'll be fine here."

"Banks, you don't have to?—"

"I know." My voice comes out gruffer than I intend. "But you're sleeping in the bed. End of discussion."

She hesitates for a second, then heads down the narrow hallway without another word. I watch her go, the sway of her ass catching the majority of my attention. I force my eyes away and grab a blanket from the closet. The couch is too short for me, but it’ll have to do.

I lie down and stare at the wooden beams above me. The cabin is quiet except for the soft sounds of Anniston moving around in the back room. I hear the mattress shift as she climbs in. Then nothing. I close my eyes and try to shut my brain off, but all I can think about is her. The way she tasted last night. The little gasps she made when I was inside her. How perfectly she fit against me. My body reacts immediately and I curse under my breath, adjusting the blanket. I need to stay professional. She needs protection, not another complication.

Sleep finally pulls me under sometime after midnight.

A scream rips through the cabin.

I’m on my feet before my eyes are fully open, pistol in hand, heart slamming against my ribs. Another scream comes from the master bedroom, raw and terrified. I rush down the hall, gun lowered but ready.

Anniston’s thrashing in the bed, sheets tangled around her legs, face twisted in fear. "No... please... Sadie... don't?—"

I set the pistol on the nightstand and climb onto the mattress beside her. "Anniston. Hey. It's me. You're safe."

She jerks awake with a gasp, eyes wide and wild. For a second she doesn’t seem to recognize me. Then her whole body sags with relief.