His jaw ticked, a crack in the marble. “You’ll have an escort.”
“I figured.” I grinned, weaponized. “But let’s keep it to one. If more show up, my neighbor is going to start a podcast about it, and neither of us needs that kind of exposure.”
He almost smiled. Almost. The edges of his mouth moved like tectonic plates threatening to shift. “Fine. One. But don’t rearrange the security measures.”
“I’ll put everything back where I found it.” I paused, feigning deep thought. “Except maybe your feelings. Those I’m going to keep fucking with.”
He didn’t deny it. Didn’t even look annoyed. “As long as you come back.”
I tried to meet his stare and not feel anything.
I failed.
Epically.
The rest of the morning moved fast. Grace stayed passed out, arms splayed in a pose of absolute surrender. I transferred her back to the crib in my suite, took a fast shower, then pulled on my only clean t-shirt and a pair of jeans that had survived three tours and a year in a rental car. The baby’s powder scent still clung to my skin, layered with the penthouse’s impossible air of cedar and money.
I stood at the crib longer than I needed, just watching Grace sleep. Her whole face was relaxed, lips parted, the faintest dimple pressed into her cheek. It was the first time in days I’d seen her look peaceful.
I thought about last night. About Braham’s mouth, his hands, the way he’d kissed me like he’d spent months thinking about it and zero time rehearsing. I thought about the way I’d kissed him back—no games, no sarcasm, just pure, reckless want.
I wasn’t staying for that. I wasn’t staying for the imprint, or the pack, or the fact that I apparently made a better wolf babysitter than anyone else alive. I was staying for Grace. She was the only thing in the last few days that made sense.
I repeated it to myself. For Grace.
Even I didn’t believe it.
I shrugged on my jacket, and paused at the mirror to check my teeth. No spinach. Good. I could face down a CEO and a city full of mercenaries, but I wasn’t going to show up to my own rescue mission with breakfast in my smile.
Down the hall, I found Braham by the window, talking in low tones to Ashe. The beta looked me over, nodded once, and turned to prep the SUV. Braham just watched me, unreadable.
“Back in an hour,” I said. “Unless there’s traffic, or a shootout, or a surprise intervention staged by the entire Portland book club scene.”
“Take what you need,” he said, voice steady.
I hesitated. “If I’m gone more than two hours, you send a search party?”
“Of course,” he said, and I could tell he meant it. “And, Flynn?”
“Yeah?”
He let the silence hang, then: “If you’re going to stay, you’ll need better towels. The guest suite ones are subpar.”
I snorted. “Is that how you woo all your conquests? Critique their thread count?”
He arched a brow. “Just the ones I want to impress.”
I grinned, despite myself. “Noted.”
The elevator opened. Ashe stood inside, hands loose at his sides, wearing the expression of a man who’d already preemptively planned for every bad outcome.
I rolled my shoulders, shot Braham a two-finger salute, and said, “See you on the other side.”
He didn’t answer, but his gold eyes tracked me all the way into the elevator. I punched the lobby button, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I was looking forward to coming home.
I just had to decide which one it was.
Chapter Eight
