Page 15 of Dissonance

I swallow, watching him reach for his shirt, fingers working the buttons with a patience I find unreasonably attractive. He gets halfway through before giving up, grabbing the back of his collar and pulling it over his head in one move. Dark hair’s scattered across a hard chest, muscles shifting beneath sun-kissed skin as he tosses it aside. His suit pants are still on, the button undone, waistband low on his hips, like he couldn’t be bothered finishing the job.

His gaze lifts, something dark and certain flashing behind it.

“Bed.”

The single word moves through me like a current. My legs carry me forward, a little unsteady, one knee sinking into the mattress, then the other, moving toward the headboard. My mouth’s dry, my heartbeat going so fast I can feel it in my hands, in my chest, at the base of my throat.

I don’t look back. I don’t need to. I can feel him watching with that dark, unwavering focus like a physical weight pressing against my spine. This is reckless. Completely unlike me. But when I peek over my shoulder and catch the look on his face, the ground shifts again, the same way it did in the elevator, and I understand something with sudden, startling clarity.

If that was just a kiss, I have absolutely no idea what comes next.

But God, I want to find out.

And I might have started something I can’t control.

Chapter Six

Thea

Present Day

Low vibrations pulse through the floor, the music next door not loud enough to intrude, but steady enough that I can’t stop the faint smile tugging at the corner of my lips as I type. Every so often, there’s a burst of laughter, the scrape of chairs, voices overlapping in that excited way that usually means things are going well. It’s been four hours, long enough for Cooper to know if they gel, to decide if Tyler’s worth the risk.

My laptop sits open in front of me, inbox half-cleared, calendar pulled up and color-coded. Beside it, my coffee has gone cold, the sight of it making my dry throat feel worse. Sliding my glasses off, I rub the bridge of my nose and check the clock.

Tension creeps up the back of my skull, pressure building behind my eyes until I realize I’ve been clenching my jaw again. I roll my neck, force myself to relax; inhale, hold, exhale, the same routine I use whenever stress tries to claw its way in.

It’s fine.

This is fine.

And yet my mind keeps circling back to the moment the studio door opened. Lockie taking his position, controlled, measured, protective in a way so instinctive it’s effortless. He didn’t raise his voice or make a scene, simply placed himself between his charge and what he perceived as a threat.

But Tyler is not a threat. And I really wish people would stop treating him like one.

Lachlan shouldn’t get to me like this. Not after all this time, not after everything. But seeing him again today—and who am I kidding, any time I see him—pushes back memories I’ve spent years ignoring. Memories that still have no business living rent-free in my head.

I shake off the shiver that follows, annoyed at myself for it. I don’t begrudge Lockie for doing his job—I don’t. Cooper is his priority, and I respect the hell out of that. If he were any other way, I wouldn’t trust him. But respect doesn’t mean he gets to silently second-guess me in my own space.

My fingers tap once against the desk before I press my palm flat to the wood. I don’t miss details. I don’t take unnecessary risks. I don’t gamble with my clients’ careers. Not Cooper’s, not Tyler’s, and I’m not about to let anyone imply otherwise just because they have a protective streak the size of America.

The music starts up again, softer this time, the melody seeping through the drywall. I close my eyes and let it settle me, let it remind me why I’m here, why this matters. Because the noise, the narratives my clients can’t control, the bullshit that trails behind them—none of it is the point. The music is, their passion is, and when it works, it makes everything worth it.

“Here.”

I jolt hard enough that my breath catches, eyes flying open. Lockie stands in front of me, a cold bottle of water set on the desk beside my laptop with infuriating care, like he’s been here the whole time, and I simply failed to notice.

He did that on purpose.

“That’s—” I stop myself, watching a bead of condensation slide slowly down the plastic. “Thanks.”

I don’t reach for it right away. He doesn’t comment, expression neutral, eyes doing a sweep of the room like he didn’t just appear from nowhere without making a sound.

Former SEAL or not, I should have known. I’ve got this…low-grade awareness calibrated specifically to him, always running in the background. But I was too far inside my own head, and he walked right through it.

Now that he’s here, I can’t stop myself from doing what I always do; catalogue the evidence of time. The grey threaded through the dark hair at his temples that wasn’t there three years ago. The lines bracketing his mouth and brow that deepen when he’s focused. Years lived at full concentration, and it shows.

Still devastating with it.