Then she’s there.
She steps into the living room wrapped in nothing but my shirt, the fabric hanging off her like it belongs there, likeshebelongs here, and the sight of it hits me hard and fast.
Fuck.
“What is going on, Khai?” she asks, her voice unsteady as she tugs the hem of the shirt down, as if willing it to offer more coverage than it ever will.
Jaxon’s attention snaps to her instantly.
I feel it before I see it, the shift in the room, the spark of interest lighting behind his eyes. He straightens, that familiar, infuriating grin spreading across his face as he moves toward her.
“Hey,” he says easily, extending his hand. “I’m Jaxon.” His smile turns sharper, more amused. “And you must be Emmy.”
His other hand runs through his blond hair like he’s on display, like this is a game.
My jaw tightens.
She hesitates only a second before taking his hand, offering him a small, polite smile while tugging the shirt down again, self-conscious but composed. “Hi,” she says softly. “Nice to officially meet you. You visited Khai in the hospital.”
The words are harmless.
The moment is not.
Something dark coils in my chest as I watch them, how close he stands, how easily he looks at her, how unaware she is of what she’s stepped into.
This is exactly why I brought her here. And exactly why I shouldn’t have let anyone else see her like this.
Jaxon’s gaze drops, just for a second, but it’s enough.
It lands on her bare legs, exposed beneath the hem of my shirt, and something inside me fractures cleanly.
I’m at her side before I consciously decide to move, my arm sliding around her, my hand settling firm and possessive at her hip. I pull her into me, a clear message written in the tension of my grip.
Not yours. Never yours.
Jaxon immediately lifts his hands, taking a few deliberate steps back, the smirk already pulling at his mouth.
“I know, I know,” he says easily. “She’s yours.” His eyes linger on her anyway, unapologetic. “Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate beauty, man.”
I pin him with a look that promises consequences.
He gets the message.
Jaxon turns away, retreating toward the kitchen, lifting his glass for a casual sip like he hasn’t just crossed a line.
Next to me, Emmy tries to pull free. Instead, I turn fully toward her, placing myself squarely between her and him. My hands settle at her waist, anchoring her there, not rough, not gentle. Intentional.
Low, controlled, I lean down and murmur near her ear, “If you’re going to be around him, put on the pants I left out for you.”
I straighten slowly.
Her eyes lift to mine, defiance flashing bright and unmistakable. Then she smiles, soft, sweet, and absolutely dangerous.
“They’re too big,” she says calmly. “And besides…”
She leans in just enough for her words to reach only me.
“I prefer going commando.”
