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“Yes. That’s where Brooks is. Cade has the other upstairs bedroom and there aren’t any other bedrooms here. Besides, you’re safest with me.”

“Are we not safe here? You’re making it sound like the house will be raided at any second.”

“No, we’re safe here. There’s a security system that lines the perimeter of the property, so we’re alerted if anyone trips it by coming in.” He paused, eyes heavy on mine. “Or going out.”

I caught his meaning. If I tried to leave, he’d know.

So I was trapped here.

“If it makes you feel better, you can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the floor. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like I have no choice about anything.” Why wasn’t I getting mad? Why wasn’t his decisiveness about all this infuriating me? Did I want to sleep in the same room as him? The same bed, even?

God, I fucking did, didn’t I?

I was so pathetic. This man had shown me an ounce of compassion and I was acting like a completely different person.

“You do,” he mused. “Just not about this.”

I twirled my glass between my hands, staring at the liquid as it created a tiny whirlpool. “I want to make it clear that I’m not having sex with you.”

“I hear you,” he replied. Calmly. But he seemed to relax a little, as if he’d been tense this entire time. His shoulders sagged a fraction and his fingers loosened around his drink.

Was he actually worried about me? No one cared about me. No one. That some guy I’d just met, who was a violent criminal, did care…I just couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“Whatever,” I muttered. I threw back the rest of my whiskey and shoved the glass toward him, nodding at the decanter. “Hit me.”

He lifted a brow, the left side of his mouth curving up.

“Not like that,” I clarified. The memory of his hand on my ass was stark in my mind, and I crossed my legs.

Court refilled my glass, pouring himself a little more, then put the cap back on the bottle. “That’s enough for tonight. We’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“Like what?”

“Like getting you caught up on all the details. Then Cade, Vincent and I have to go out for a few hours. You’ll be safe here with Brooks.” He was frowning now, and I wanted to smooth it out.

“Where are you going?”

He sighed, lowering his gaze to his hand. “Out,” was his short response.

Now my anger was waking up, and that familiar feeling was so comforting that I leaned into it. Let it spread.

I might be helping them with this job, they might have gone out of their way to save my life, but I wasn’t good enough to trust with details. Of course I wasn’t. Did I really think I was something special to him? Who was I, to deserve anything more than a physical connection? I was nobody. Nothing. He’d already said he didn’t trust me, so why had I expected him to be forthcoming with information?

Fine. Fuck him. He could keep all his cards close to his chest. It wasn’t like I wasn’t doing the same thing. And I would continue to give him nothing.

No matter what he said, he was exactly like every other man I’d ever met. Only thought I was good for a fuck. And wasn’t that the truth, though?

I finished off the last of my whiskey and slammed the glass down harder than necessary. But letting out the aggression felt good. I flicked it his way, and it crashed into his glass.

“Whitney,” he said, a warning in his tone. It crackled along the fine hairs on the back of my neck, that warning, and I wanted so badly to push him. To scrape and claw against all that calm composure and tear it right down.

I shoved my chair back, hoping it scratched the wood flooring. “Where’s your room? And where’s a shower? I feel disgusting.” Curling my fingers into my palms as hard as I could, the bite of my blunt nails wasn’t nearly enough.

I wanted to hurt. I needed the pain to take me out of my head, to eviscerate the growing discomfort that would⁠—

Court snatched my hands up, unfurled my fingers and, with his eyes on mine, kissed my palms. One, then the other. Disapproval swirled with a voracious heat in his gaze as I stood there, frozen. He swept his tongue from the tips of my fingers to the heel of my palm, a slow stroke followed an even slower trail of kisses back down to my fingers. One hand, then the other.