Page 76 of Wicked Heat

But this wasn’t a story, and he was no prince.

So, he did nothing but sit beside her, stroking her hair as she dozed, and hoping that the small gesture soothed her, even if only a tiny bit.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Her eyes flew open as the alarm on his damn phone chimed.

She blinked at him, then her expression cleared. “Your meeting?”

“I’m going to cancel it. I should have already.”

She reached for his hand, then squeezed it. “No.”

“Bree…”

“I’m just going to sleep,” she said. “That’s why we came here, right? Because you had an important meeting in Vegas?”

“Not as important as you.”

He saw the smile tug at the corner of her mouth, then fade. “That’s sweet. But I don’t want those bastards who are haunting me to fuck you up, too. I don’t think I can deal if you don’t go because you think you have to babysit me.”

Shit.

He considered lying to her. Telling her he’d go, then closing the bedroom door and staying in the living room, close enough that he could peek in on her.

Except, knowing Bree, she’d probably get out of bed and go into the living room just to make sure he was truly gone.

And the truth was, this meeting was crucial if he was going to take the INX project to the next phase. “All right,” he said. “I’ll go.”

And once that monkey was off his back, he could focus all his attention on protecting Bree—and tracking down whoever was behind that goddamn video.

Twenty-Three

I awaken as if pulling myself from an abyss, my mind full of nothing but darkness. No memories. No sense of time. Not even a sense of self.

I know that I’m in a bed, my head on a pillow, my body atop the covers, but under a soft throw. I blink and sit up, trying to force my fuzzy mind to make sense of this unfamiliar room.

And then the memories come.

That black screen.

That filtered voice.

Those horrible, wicked videos.

I shudder and look around for Ash, but he’s not in the room. Since I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, I don’t really expect him to be. Slowly, like someone recovering from surgery, I slide off the bed. My bare feet are warm against the plush carpeting, and when I open the drapes, I see that it’s still dark outside, the lights of Vegas twinkling like a zillion Christmas trees.

When I turn back toward the room, I notice that the other side of the bed is still perfectly made, the spread not even wrinkled. I wonder if Ash is asleep in the other bedroom, and I assume that he is. The thought deflates me. It’s probably foolish, but I want to picture him holding me long into the night, keeping me safe while I sleep, his strong arms battling back any darkness that tries to invade my dreams.

“Stop it,” I say aloud, albeit in the lowest of whispers. I shouldn’t think like that. He’s not my boyfriend, and we’re together only for this trip. Only because I need his help. And in about thirty-six hours, the money will be transferred, and this will be over.

It’s a business transaction, no matter how unconventional the terms. And he’s hardly obligated to hold me when I sleep.

Except I want him to.

That simple truth pops into my mind, and I can’t deny it. I want him with me. Holding me. Ash is safety. Whether it’s stupid of me to think that or not, that’s how he makes me feel. Like I’m the tormented princess and he’s the noble knight keeping me safe.

Even now, I feel like I’m inside that video, cursed by an evil witch who’s trapped me in a nightmare. Helpless on the floor and any moment someone will come in to touch me. To shame me. Maybe even to hurt me.