Page 13 of Her Grumpy Protector

I rub the back of my neck, weighing the options like I’ve been doing for the last twenty minutes. Leaving her here alone is risky. The cabin’s secure, but nothing is one hundred percent. If someone finds it while I’m gone, she’d be defenseless. Bringing her means I can keep her in my sight the entire time. It also means more time trapped in a vehicle with her flirty mouth and those legs that I can’t stop imagining wrapped around me.

I hate how badly I want her here. I hate how much I don’t want to let her out of my reach.

"Fine," I say, voice gruff. "You can come. But you stay in the truck unless I say otherwise. You follow my orders without argument. And if anything feels off, we abort immediately. Understood?"

She gives me a cheeky salute that makes me want to kiss the smirk right off her face. "Yes, sir."

I narrow my eyes. "This isn’t a game, Anniston."

"I know." Her expression softens just a fraction. "But sitting here doing nothing is making me crazy. I need to feel like I'm doing something. Plus..." She steps closer, close enough that I catch the faint vanilla scent of her skin. "I kind of like having you watch my back. You're very good at it."

My hands itch to pull her against me. I shove them into my pockets instead. "We leave at first light. Get some rest tonight. I mean it."

She nods, but there’s a playful glint in her green eyes that tells me rest is the last thing on her mind. She walks back to the couchand picks up her book again, but I can feel her watching me as I return to the table.

I sit down and try to focus on the maps and exit routes I’ll need for tomorrow. It’s useless. All I can think about is the way she tasted. The little sound she made when I deepened the kiss. How perfectly she fit against me.

Two hours.

It’s been two hours since I crossed that line, and I’m already wondering how the hell I’m going to make it through the night without crossing it again.

The sun’s starting to dip lower outside the windows, painting the cabin in warm orange light. Anniston flips a page in her book, legs stretched out along the couch, completely unaware of the war going on inside my head. Or maybe she’s completely aware and enjoying it. With her, it’s hard to tell.

I force my eyes back to the screen. Wyatt Rivers. Address. Possible connections. I make notes, plan the approach, run background checks through the encrypted channels Vance gave me. Anything to keep my mind off the woman ten feet away who’s slowly destroying my self-control.

She hums softly to herself while she reads. The sound is light and absentminded and it goes straight to my chest. Then lower.

I’m in so much fucking trouble.

Tomorrow we drive into Halo City. Tomorrow I question a man who might hold real answers about the people hunting her. Tomorrow I keep her safe while fighting the urge to touch her again.

But tonight? Tonight I have to survive twelve more hours of her smiles and her flirty comments and the memory of that kiss playing on repeat in my head.

I glance over at her one more time. She looks up and catches my eye, lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

God help me.

"What will we do until morning?" she asks, voice sweet and dangerous all at once.

TEN

ANNISTON

I'm sitting on the couch with my book forgotten in my lap, the question still hanging between us like a spark ready to catch fire. "What will we do until morning?"

The words slip out soft and a little breathless, but I don't take them back. The cabin is quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the wooden beams settling in the cool night air. Banks is at the table, laptop open, shoulders tense under that black thermal shirt that clings to every hard line of muscle. His jaw is locked tight, gray-blue eyes fixed on the screen like it's the only thing keeping him from coming apart.

He doesn't answer right away. The silence stretches, thick and electric. I can feel the heat of his gaze even when he's pretending to work. It's been two hours since that kiss on the rug, two hours of him brooding and me pretending I can focus on anything else. My body still remembers the press of his mouth, the way his hand cupped the back of my neck like he owned me. I shift on the cushion, thighs pressing together, trying to ease the ache that's been building since he pulled away.

Banks exhales sharply. His fingers hover over the keyboard for one more second, then he slams the laptop shut with a decisive click that echoes through the small space. The sound makes my pulse jump. He stands up slowly, chair scraping back, and turns toward me. His eyes are dark now, storm-cloud gray, filled with everything he's been holding back.

"Anniston," he says, voice low and rough like gravel under boots. "You really want to know what we're going to do until morning?"

I swallow hard, but I don't look away. Heat pools low in my belly, spreading outward until my skin feels too tight. "Yes."

He moves like lightning, crossing the room in three long strides. One second he's at the table, the next he's in front of me, towering, all broad shoulders and restrained power. His hand slides into my hair, fingers tangling at the base of my skull, and he yanks me up off the couch and into him. Our mouths crash together, hot and urgent and nothing like the careful kiss we shared earlier. This one is hungry. Demanding. His tongue sweeps in without hesitation, tasting me like he's been starving for it.

I moan into his mouth, hands fisting in his shirt. He tastes like coffee and restraint finally breaking. His free hand grips my hip, pulling me flush against him so I can feel exactly how hard he is already. The thick length of him presses against my stomach, and a fresh wave of heat floods between my thighs.