Page 65

“Fine, you’re in,” Heath said. “But I’m watching.”

“You’re always watching, brother.” Arlo chuckled. “It’s what keeps us alive.”

At Ryder’s feet, Cassandra shifted again. Small, involuntary. She was in pain. Of course she was. She’d been face down on wood for the last thirty minutes. Her back, her knees, the position itself were hurting her.

He reached down and slid his hand under her arm, pulling her into a sitting position. “Come here, princess.”

She tensed. He slid his arms the rest of the way under her and lifted her smoothly off the floor, settling her across his lap. She weighed barely anything. He tucked her face into his neck and wrapped his arm around her waist.

For the room, he was just a man adjusting his property.

“Affectionate,” Arlo said.

“When she earns it.”

Cassandra’s breath was warm against his throat. Shallow at first, then slowing as she settled into him. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. Small, unconscious. Holding on.

His hand rested on her hip. Her body fit against his, and his brain went straight back to the bedroom earlier tonight. No audience. No cover. His mouth on hers and her hips rocking against his thigh and that sound she’d made.

That sound. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It was so fucking difficult to untangle everything in his head. A few minutes ago, he’d told these men he could keep stolen children compliant during a fourteen-hour transport, and the words had come out smooth, not because he was good at acting like Nolan, but because the skill set was real.

This whole not-actually-a-charade with Cassandra proved it. Every command he’d given her since the kitchen last night showed he could still read, control, and direct another person without breaking a sweat.

Just like old times.

The Diehls looked at him and saw a man built for control. They were right.

But then there was the bedroom earlier tonight. Her mouth on his. Her fingers in his hair. The way her breath caught and then that sound and her body moving against him because she wanted to be closer.

He’d wanted it too. More than he’d wanted his next breath.

For four years, he hadn’t let himself get close to a woman. For four years, he’d known he didn’t deserve it.

That was still fucking true.

But that hadn’t been the only reason he’d chosen celibacy. Somewhere inside, he’d been terrified of his ability to shift from tenderness to calculation without his brain even consciously choosing to. His warmth could toggle into something strategic in a heartbeat, even in intimacy.

It was in his nature. What had made him so very good at his job before hadn’t left him just because he was no longer doing that job.

So he’d made sure not to let any woman close enough to test the theory.

Until Cassie.

But the toggle in his brain hadn’t clicked. He’d been so sure it would. So sure that intimacy and control were the same circuit, that letting someone close would inevitably wake the cold precision. But it hadn’t.

With her, just the two of them, there had been nothing but warmth. No calculation of how he could use the closeness against her if needed. No frigid remoteness filling his brain the way sex had always been for him.

Just the heat and the desperation and the simple, uncomplicated act of wanting someone who wanted him back.

He didn’t deserve her. That hadn’t changed. Four years of penance didn’t erase what he’d done to people, and sitting in this lodge proving the old skills were intact sure as hell didn’t help his case.

He had no right to the way she was holding his shirt right now. No right to the sound she’d made. No right to any of it.

But still, he played with her hair, not because anyone in the room expected it. Because he wanted to.

The business conversation wound down. Arlo seemed satisfied. Heath was still reserving judgment overall but content for the moment. At some point, the crew drifted back into the common area, and the evening settled into the nightly routine: drinks and low conversation.