A Harmless Little Ruse (Harmless #2)(25)

I live six miles from The Grove, but it’s like living in another world. The apartments on the beach up the coast are nice and way above my old pay grade in the military, but as I pound out the miles on dirt paths and paved roads, dipping into the beach sand here and there, I feel the money change.

You can smell money in California. It smells like a freshly-watered green lawn.

Having studied topography and boundary maps of the three square miles around The Grove, I know exactly how to get on the estate grounds without being noticed.

Which enrages me. My guys should be better.

I trained them to do better.

“Gentian!” I bark into my ear piece. “Jesus Fucking Christ, I just snuck onto the grounds. What the hell are the -- ”

A red laser from a rifle sight bounces right between my eyes.

“Not good enough,” I grunt. “Twenty seconds is all they need. Do better.”

“We just turned the sight on to make a point, sir. Had you the entire time.”

Good man.

“Fair enough.”

“There a problem, sir?”

“No. Just coming in to check out the terrain and reinforce security.”

“They’re safe, sir. We’ve got it covered.”

Apparently, they do.

He comes out of the bushes to my right, wearing dark, casual clothes, gun belt loose around his waist, no attempt made to hide it.

“Lindsay’s here,” he informs me.

“Where else would she be?” I bark.

“There was some question about whether she’d accompany her mother to New York for a charity event.”

“Oh.”

“Her mother declined. Said Lindsay’s not ready for it.”

I snort. “Monica’s PR people probably told her the numbers wouldn’t move in the positive direction.”

“I gathered as much.”

Gentian’s looking at Lindsay’s window, which is dark.

“No sign of those bastards or their operatives?”

“None.”

“You double-checked the backgrounds of all my men?”

“Yes. They’re clean.”

My bladder has been screaming for attention since mile three. I walk around a bush, void it, and come back to find him gone.

“Sir?” My earpiece crackles. “Change of the team for the new shift. If you need me, we can meet up again inside.”

“No. Go do the shift switch.” I stare at the pale grey glass, the nighttime sky reflected in her window, the sheer curtains behind it wispy, decorative nothingness. We’ve added thick curtains designed to help with gunshots. While the glass is bulletproof, it’s not perfect. I make a mental note to check on additional infrastructure issues we can upgrade on the house.

And then the curtains part, Lindsay appearing in the moonlight, wearing a gauzy nightgown, her hair down and loose around her shoulders.

My mouth goes dry.

My heart stops.

My body burns.

She’s looking out at the ocean, the waves gorgeous under the moonlight, the sound so soothing it’s a lullaby. I don’t look, instead taking the rare chance to observe her without her knowing. In profile, she’s ethereal, the long line of her straight nose leading to a full upper lip I’ve kissed a thousand times, and want to kiss a million more.

Her flowing blond hair tumbles down around her shoulders like it’s eager to caress her, as if it knows how privileged it is to be part of her body. She tucks a loose strand behind her ear and sighs, leaning against the window pane on her hands, blinking as she breathes slowly. Her eyebrows turn down and the worry lines appear on her face.

She’s too young to have worry lines like that.

I want to smooth them away.

It’s my job to protect her, but it’s my life’s mission to make her feel like she never needs to be protected. To make her feel so safe she never has to worry again.

As her forehead presses against the glass, she closes her eyes, long lashes resting softly against the fine bones of her cheeks. Lindsay is the only woman I’ve ever truly wanted. I’ve been with others, but that wasn’t real – it was just the momentary relief of not being alone. Fleeting and simple, it left me unfulfilled. Unsatisfied. Wanting more, but always with someone else.

With the woman I’m staring at right now.

A single tear rolls down her cheek and my throat tightens. I want to wipe it away. I want to bury her cheek in my shoulder and hold her until she doesn’t hurt any more.

Her eyes snap open and meet mine.

Drew, she says, her mouth forming my name.

And then she closes her eyes and lifts her hand, pressing her palm against the glass.

That’s all the invitation I need.

The sprint around the house and through the kitchen door is greeted by various security team members calling out, “Sir,” snapping to attention like the ex-military members they are. Rank doesn’t count here.

Being their boss does.

I’m up the stairs two at a time until I stop in front of her door, two guys watching me, turning away when they are certain of my identity. My heart’s slamming in my chest like I’m slapping it. I curl my fingers into a fist and knock.

“Come in,” she says in a tiny voice that feels like tears.

I open the door without looking at her, pivoting to close it slowly, turning the lock without discussion. I know why she invited me.