I fucked up on the first day. That’s why I can’t be around Avery. She does things to me. Things I can’t control and I despise not being in control. I despise being weak. When she slid her body against mine, I snapped.
It won’t happen again.
I sit outside on the terrace while she showers. There’s no way I’m going back in there. Not until I’m certain she’s asleep. I don’t trust her, and I don’t trust myself. The woman is bewitching, beguiling, feminine and feral. And has the smartest mouth of anyone I’ve ever met. It’s a fatal combination.
Part of me envies her carefree attitude, another part despises it.
I snatch my phone from my pocket. The background checks on Avery’s ex boyfriends all came back clean. Doesn’t mean I’ve ruled out eradicating every single one of them for touching her when I can’t—won’t.
I rake my fingers over my scalp.
Who the fuck is the stalker?
Houdini?
I need to find him, kill him, and put an ocean between Avery Williams and me before I do something I’ll regret.
Even if I wasn’t supposed to be protecting her, Avery is Scarlett’s best friend. I can’t just fuck her and fuck off, like I normally do. We move in the same circles. It would be weird and awkward, as well as utterly inappropriate.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Thomson.
‘Report.’ My team are used to my bluntness.
‘Perimeter’s clear, boss. But the drummer from the wedding band—Raven McCormac—was asking for Miss Williams at the barbecue. He was quite insistent apparently. Told Scarlett he wanted to catch up about old times.’
‘Old times at the Luxor, no doubt.’ He used to frequent the place often. Did Avery dance for him? Did she let him touch her? My jaw clenches.
At least he wasn’t on her fuck list—he won’t be joining it anytime soon if I have anything to do with it… For security reasons. Obviously.
‘Don’t let him out of your sight. If he so much as farts, I want to know about it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How are things in Dublin?’
I ordered our Command Centre to deploy a Tier One residential security package to Avery’s house. Specialized installation teams will integrate our proprietary system—motion sensors, infrared cameras, and military-grade facial recognition software—directly into our European Operations Hub, where over two hundred security specialists monitor our clients’ properties around the clock. The same setup we use for foreign dignitaries, with direct alerts routed to both the central monitoring floor and my personal security team.
‘Installation will be complete before you return.’
‘Good. I want eyes on every entrance, every window, every possible point of access. As soon as the cameras are live, send me the link.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And don’t bother me with anything else until this business is tied up. Ask Dixon to oversee all other operations for the immediate future. I can’t risk any distractions.’ I have my hands full with the obvious one.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘How is our paparazzi friend doing in Wicklow?’
‘He’s had better days apparently,’ Thomson sniggers.
‘Make sure they keep him fed and watered. I want to deal with him myself when I get back. And Thomson?’
‘Yes, sir?’ he clears his throat.
‘Bring me over a bottle of Beckett’s Gold.’ After watching everyone on the beach–including my brother and my men–drooling all over the only woman I’ve wanted in years, I need it. I wanted to tear their eyes out—all of them. Which is why I need to get this thing wrapped up, before I do something crazier than the stalker.
Two hours and two double whiskeys later, I force myself to head back inside, moving silently across the marble floor. The suite is dark except for moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting silver stripes across the furnishings. The scent of Avery’s peony perfume lingers in the air like a sweet torment, mocking me for pulling away when every cell in my body begged me to stay.
My eyes gravitate to the bed. Avery’s asleep, curled on her side like a content cat. Her blonde hair spills across the white pillow in golden waves, catching the moonlight like spun silk. Her long sweeping lashes flutter against her porcelain cheeks as she dreams.
Is she dreaming of me?
I couldn’t bring myself to look at her after that kiss.
Couldn’t face seeing the hurt, rejection or disappointment on her face, knowing I was responsible for it. But there’s no trace of it now. Her flawless face is worry-free.
Even in sleep, she’s stunning—all silky skin and soft curves. The flimsy fabric of her nightdress has ridden up, revealing a dangerous amount of thigh. I stare for a long beat as the steady rhythm of her breathing fills the quiet space. I could watch her all night—which is fucking terrifying. I’m worse than the stalker, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes from her—from the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the soft parting of her full rosy lips, the way she burrows deeper into the pillow. It all screams vulnerability. I lean in closer, my fingers tingling with the need to touch her. The urge to protect her wars with the need to run as far as fucking possible.
I eye the suede couch. Another sleepless night stretches ahead of me, but that’s nothing new. Sleep and I haven’t been on good terms since my last tour. Most nights I manage three, maybe four hours before the nightmares hit. On the really bad nights, I don’t sleep at all. At least tonight I have a good excuse for staying awake—keeping her safe.
A soft murmur escapes her lips, and my entire body tenses. But she just shifts slightly, the silk of her nightdress whispering against the sheets. The sound sends my mind places it shouldn’t go—again.
I’m in for a long night.
