Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 38307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
That hits harder than the proposition did. Because she sees it. She sees me fighting.
I take a slow breath. “It costs.”
Rowan nods once, eyes steady. “Okay.”
For a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us is electric, tight with everything we’re not doing. Then Rowan steps back, returning to the couch, giving me space like she’s trying to help me keep control. It’s the kindest thing she could do.
It’s also pure fucking torture.
I turn toward the window, forcing my attention outside. Tree line. Fence line. Shadows. I can handle shadows. What I can’t handle is the woman behind me who just offered herself like a lifeline and then took it back with more grace than most people manage in a lifetime.
I keep my voice level. “We start drills in ten.”
Rowan’s laugh is soft. “Yes, sir.”
I glance back at her. Her eyes are on me. They’re dangerous. Danger I can handle… but her, damn, I don’t think I’ll be able to. And I remind myself, again, like a prayer.
Protect her.
Stay sharp.
Do not touch.
EIGHT
ROWAN
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. Not because I’m used to getting what I want. I’m not. My career is built on being told no and then asking better questions until the no turns into a confession. But this is different.
Sin didn’t turn me down with disdain. He didn’t mock me. He didn’t treat me like I was silly for wanting something human in the middle of something terrifying. He turned me down like a man who wanted to say yes. Which, honestly, is worse.
Now we’re doing drills, and my nervous system is having a full-blown identity crisis.
Sin clears the living room space with the calm precision of someone rearranging furniture for a party, except the party is called “Survive an Attack” and the guests are adrenaline and bad outcomes. He points to the front door. “You hear a knock. What do you do?”
“I open it and say, ‘Hello, potential murderer,’” I reply.
His eyes narrow. “Try again.”
I fold my arms. “I ask who it is.”
“From where?”
“Behind the door.”
His gaze sharpens. “No. From cover. You don’t stand in front of a door you don’t control.” He moves to the wall, and shows me the angle. “Here. You can see the entry without exposing yourself.”
I step into position, feeling ridiculous and oddly alive. My pulse is already ticking up, my body responding like this is a game even though it isn’t.
Sin stands close, just behind my shoulder. He’s not touching me, but still, I feel him. I feel the heat from his body. The faint scent of coffee and something clean and masculine that makes my brain short-circuit. He speaks near my ear. “Again. Knock. What do you do?”
I swallow. “I move to cover. I ask who it is. I don’t open the door.”
“Good.” His voice is low. “And if you hear glass break in the back?”
“Run?” I guess.
“No.” He steps around me, quick and controlled. “You move. You go to the safe room.”
“The safe room is where?”
He points down the hall. “Second door left. Closet inside. Panel opens. You get in. You lock it and you wait for me.”
My chest tightens on the word wait. I hate waiting. I hate being powerless. I hate the idea that if something happens, my job is to hide while he bleeds for me. I nod anyway, because I’m not stupid.
Sin picks up a stopwatch from the counter. Of course he has a stopwatch. He probably has spreadsheets for breathing. “Ready?” he asks.
“For what?” I ask.
“For stress,” he replies. He starts the timer. “Knock,” he says sharply.
My body jolts. I move to cover, doing it exactly the way he showed me, because I want to prove I can learn. I can handle this. I can be useful. “Who is it?” I call out, voice steady.
Sin’s voice changes, deeper, harsher. “Open the door, Rowan.”
My stomach flips. It’s an act. I know it’s an act. Still, my skin prickles. “No,” I say.
“Open the door.”
I tighten my stance. “No.”
Sin steps closer. His presence shifts behind me. The air thickens. “He says he’s from the power company.”
I scoff. “In the middle of the woods?”
“People lie,” Sin says.
I glance back at him, and he’s watching me like he’s pleased and pissed off at the same time. That look does something to me. Something hot and dangerous. My mouth opens before my brain can help. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m evaluating you.”
“Same thing,” I mutter.
He moves in front of me now, close enough that I can see the faint shadow on his jaw, the line of his mouth. His gaze drops briefly, then lifts.
My pulse stutters. I try to focus on the drill. I do. I really do. But all I can think about is how it would feel if he stopped using words and started using his mouth.