Page 8 of Hideaway Reunion

She stutter-stepped and he followed her gaze to the black bags he’d left at the door. Glancing back at him, her eyes were wide. “Is this what you do all the time now? Show up and save the day with all the tactical, black-ops vibes?”

He kicked himself for not being more discreet. “A lot of guys prefer black luggage.” The quip fell flat. “I wasn’t on any black ops,” he assured her. “Each assignment has specific requirements. I wanted to be prepared for anything here. It won’t stay there,” he promised.

She was the most important person in his life. He was closer to her than his parents. They talked more frequently and she was infinitely better company. Always had been. Without her, he might’ve given up sports just to spite his pushy father and helicopter mom. Ever since the military, he’d taken a perverse pride in not being able to tell them any details about his career.

He wouldn’t allow this nonsense from Indigo Reef to drag her down.

Her smile flitted and faded. He gave her credit for trying so hard. “Cookies.” She said it with a firm determination to change the subject.

“Got milk?” he asked.

“Of course.” At the wall oven, she opened the warming drawer and the sweet aroma intensified, filling the kitchen.

“Holy cow,” he breathed. A half dozen oversized cookies filled the round plate she set on the countertop. “Shouldn’t we have dinner first?”

“After today?” Roni shook her head. “No way. Consider it an appetizer if you want. We can order in or I can fix something fresh.”

He poured milk and split a cookie in half to dunk it. Warm and gooey, he indulged in the moment, lingering over the delicious goodness. “Oh, my word.”

This time her smile was genuine and lasted a little longer. “Glad you approve.” At his urging, she took half a cookie for herself. Her small bites only drew his attention to her mouth. Then she licked her lips, her thumb, and just when he was sure he was doomed to the torture, she turned serious. “Jess tells me it’s not just the house under your protection, but me too.”

“That’s right.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Why.” She held up a finger. “The real reason, Brayden. Be specific.”

He could do that. She deserved the full picture. “I found evidence in the forest between the properties that someone’s been watching the house. Until we know why, we’re keeping an eye on all of you.” He downed a bite of the cookie before continuing. “We’re keeping it low key until we have more intel. Trent’s with Natalie, Jess assigned someone to Celeste, and I’m here for you.”

Did that sound as possessive as it felt?

“How does that work? Natalie complained about feeling like she was under house arrest.” Roni rolled her eyes. “Granted, she’s the queen of drama, but is that what I should expect?”

“You should expect us to stick together,” he said. “No getting around that. You’ll be tucked in safely here, or if you have clients, I’ll be with you.”

Her eyebrows, several shades darker than her hair, dipped low over her blue eyes. “And if you’re with me who’s protecting the house?”

“Jess will put someone else on the house when we’re gone, if the devices I install aren’t enough. I’d rather do that than transfer your protection to someone else.”

She seemed to exhale and the evident tension across her shoulders eased. “I appreciate that.” Her lips twisted to the side. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Celeste brought over chicken salad, fresh bread, and a citrus salad when she dropped off my stuff. Or we can order something.”

“Homemade gets my vote.” And not just for security reasons. His stomach rumbled in anticipation. “I can help or I can stow the gear first.”

Roni pulled a casserole dish out of the fridge, then plates from the cabinet. “I’ve got this. Housekeeping did a fast reset for us, so choose whichever bedroom you prefer.”

If it were up to him, he’d share a room with her. After finding that creepy observation spot with the zip ties in the trees, he felt the pressure to stay close, to keep her in sight at every opportunity. He picked up his bags. “Which one are you in?”

She tipped her head toward the suite, her hands busy with the salad. “The manager’s suite. It was easiest.”

Of course, she had chosen the first-floor suite with a queen bed, sitting area, bathroom and exterior door to the deck. Odds were good that whoever returned to that spot under the oak tree would figure out her location within a couple of hours.

As much as he wanted to respect her space, he couldn’t allow her to stay in that suite alone. This entire situation was one big powder keg of desire on the brink of erupting. Wondering how to explain himself without scaring her, he headed that way.

“Hang on.” She stopped him. “Where are you going? Guest rooms are upstairs.”

He braced for the inevitable argument. “The manager’s suite. If someone tries to force a lock or break a window in the middle of the night, I need to be close enough to hear it. Don’t worry. I’ll take the floor. Or I can stay out here.”