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And on top of that, they had to narrow down a possible suspect list. Sure, the break-in could have been random, however, instinct suggested it stemmed from a greater, more personal agenda, mostly because the intruder hadn’t taken anything. That, combined with Sage’s twitchiness.
Ten minutes past the hour, she appeared, searching the street then locking her unreadable gaze on his. Euphoria surged through him at the sight of her. Was she equally happy to see him? Glad he’d kept his word?
She sagged into the passenger seat. Straight away, his soldier senses detected something was up—and not in a good way. Something or someone had spooked her.
“Thanks for coming.” She locked her door and clicked her seatbelt into place without making eye contact.
“I said I’d be here, and I stick to my word.”
She half smiled, still refusing to look at him.
“You okay?”
“Take me home, please.” Still no attempt to swing her gaze his way.
He started the engine and headed to her house. “What’s wrong?”
“I had a shit day, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay. Let me help.”
She glanced at him with raised, dubious eyebrows. “And how are you going to do that?”
“Unless you explain the situation, I can’t. I can be your bodyguard but not much else. If you want to try to resolve what’s going on, you need to confide in me.”
She twisted more in her seat, clamped her jaw tight and stared at him. “Really? Like back in the day when I wanted to be accepted, a part of things. Where was your support then, your understanding, your empathy, your reliability, your protection?
“You couldn’t wait to get away from me. What’s different now? You haven’t seen me for years, haven’t even tried to make contact and suddenly you want to help? Doesn’t make sense. What are you playing at?”
A tirade. One she’d obviously bottled up and needed to get off her gorgeous chest. And he fucking deserved her rage, her disbelief. He hadn’t made things easy. Not at all. And now he had to work double—no, triple—time, to win her trust.
“All good points…and totally justified. I can’t apologize enough for how I behaved. I was an emotionally immature dick. But I’ve learned, grown, changed. Let me make things right.”
She raised her eyebrows in challenge. “Fine. Prove it.”
“I will. The military has taught me to be patient. I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to trust me. Hopefully, forgive me. And I promise, I’ll only overstep if you’re at risk. My number one priority is to keep you safe.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.” He stopped at a red light and turned toward her. “Look… All I ask is that you’re upfront with me. I know you’re not telling me everything, and I’ll do whatever it takes to find out the details. If you want me to do my job and waste the least amount of time, you’ll disclose whatever you know. The less you say, the more ineffective I’ll be and the more you’re exposed to danger.”
She stared at her fingers in her lap, pressing each digit like counting beads on an abacus—an old-fashioned, tried-and-true anxiety coping mechanism. His candid response had made her nervous, reinforcing his presumption.
Sage stayed like that, as though ignoring him would end the conversation. No chance. She didn’t realize how determined he could be, how persistent, like a dog with a delicious bone.
He’d let her stew on his response, but she couldn’t escape his questions for long. She’d be a captive in her false-sense-of-security safe haven. And he’d play on that for her own good.
The moment he parked in her garage, she bolted out of the car, keys in hand, and charged inside before he could get close. He followed, a door slamming in the distance. Her bedroom, if he had to hazard a not-so-difficult guess.
He’d let her think she could evade him by making herself a solitary-confinement-style prisoner. However, eventually, she’d have to come out to eat.
Alexander got to work on dinner, a meal she’d loved when they had been teenagers. He’d shopped, factoring in her preferences from the past, and hoped the power of the mouthwatering scent, in addition to the nostalgia, would draw her out.
It might be underhanded, but he’d attempt anything that could work. He placed several pieces of short-cut bacon in a frying pan—because she’d always hated the fatty, streaky, overly crispy stuff. When they were done, he lifted them onto a paper-towel-topped plate to absorb any excess oil.
Then he cracked five eggs onto the sizzling surface—three for him, two for her—and sprinkled on a little salt. She liked hers sunny-side up, the yolks soft so they bled onto her thick-sliced, multigrain toast. Whereas he liked his firm, well done. He’d love to see her well done, too. Make her whimper, make her scream his name.
Fucking focus. He had to get control of himself, especially if he planned to bring his A-game, get her relaxed enough to divulge the full extent of her troubles. He had to stop the sexual innuendo or he’d do something stupid, something way too rash, like haul her against him for a kiss.
