Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Devon said nothing right away. Instead, he lowered himself onto the trunk beside me; the wood creaking under his weight. He didn’t touch me, but his quiet presence was strangely comforting.
He swayed his head from side to side as if he were weighing his options. “Okay, so if he’s sleeping a lot, I can stay out here when he’s awake. The house is safe, and if anything goes down, I’ll still be close. That should give him space and keep our contact to a minimum.”
Genuine gratitude blazed in my eyes. “That could work.”
“It’s gonna have to.” He bumped me with his thigh. Not quite the personal moment we’d shared in my bedroom, but warm and friendly all the same.
A comfortable silence fell over us as we sat there, the sounds of crickets and frogs serenading us in the background.
He finally sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I didn’t need the rope thing, did I?”
I smiled. “No. And if you had any idea how many times the horses have pooped on that wash rack, you’d never take your shoes off there again.”
“Oh-kay,” he drawled, shooting to his feet. “Right, well, what time does your dad usually get up? Because suddenly I need another shower.”
“Not until at least nine. Come on, while you do that, I’ll make you some breakfast before I banish you from the house for the day.” Without thinking, I extended my hand, and without hesitation Devon took the cue and pulled me to my feet.
It was something so simple and casual, and yet the moment his fingers wrapped around mine, something shifted between us.
Nothing big or dramatic. Just… noticeable.
And if I’d noticed, I had absolutely no doubt Devon had too.
12
DEVON
The barn had become my unofficial headquarters. There was no command center, no glowing wall of monitors or sleek desks. Just weathered wood, the smell of leather, and a wide-open view of the Beck family home.
From the doorway of the barn loft, I had a perfect line of sight to the house. Every window. Every door. Even the little stretch of porch where Lofton liked to sit in the evenings with a glass of wine.
I leaned back in the rickety chair, arms crossed over my chest, boots propped on the beam in front of me.
It had been a week since I’d first rolled through those gates. Seven days of mapping the land, sneaking up to bed after everyone went to sleep, and more than anything, waging war with my brain to avoid all thoughts of Lofton Beck.
Turns out, staying away from her father also meant staying away from her.
And seven days earlier, I would have been fucking ecstatic about that.
And yet, somehow, I wasn’t.
Jenn and Terry had left a few days earlier, so Lofton stayed busy with her father. All of which took place inside the house and left me hanging out in the barn like a seriously overpaid scarecrow.
I scrubbed a hand over my jaw. It wasn’t entirely miserable, though. She fed me.
Celebrities were notorious for surviving on lemon water and green smoothies, so I didn’t have high expectations for what we’d be eating in Tennessee. So much so that I’d swiped every protein bar from the beach house before we’d left. But oh, holy shit, Lofton Beck could cook. I’m talking homemade chicken and dumplings, pot roast, some kind of steak thing she called a London Broil that damn near melted in my mouth.
I’d added running the perimeter to my usual workout, hoping I wouldn’t be going home twenty pounds heavier. But without fail, every morning, she’d appear in the barn with coffee strong enough to wake the dead and a plate of something fresh from the oven. Biscuits, eggs, sometimes sausage or bacon, along with a side of fruit.
Lunch and dinner followed the same pattern.
It wasn’t just me either. When Lofton cooked, she did it for the whole army. She’d load up containers and I’d deliver them to the gate for Chris, Matt, and Apollo.
We’d her, repeatedly, that she didn’t have to feed us.
And she’d told all of us, repeatedly, that she enjoyed doing it.
Still, despite all those small daily interactions, the moments between us had been scarce.
Probably for the best, though. That charged tension from the first few days had faded into something quieter. Like both of us had stepped back from the edge of something we never should have approached.
And thank Christ for that.
A sharp vibration buzzed against my thigh. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. The name on the screen made my brow crease.
I answered immediately. “Grant.”
“Got a situation up here,” Chris said.
My posture straightened, my whole body going on alert. “What kind of situation?”
There was a brief pause. “Sebastian Cristobal is here.”
The air in the barn went still. I didn’t know all the details of Lofton’s past, but I didn’t live under a rock either. Sebastian Cristobal was Hollywood’s hottest action star and a global sex symbol. Neither of which I could give a single fuck about.