Page 24 of Letting Go

And these are clothes I could never picture her wearing: hot pink capri pants, purple and white flowery top, a yellow and neon green sundress. Finally, a purse with a ton of cash inside and a small razor blade wrapped in duct tape, and a handcuff key both stuffed in an outside pocket.

My gut clenches. This was a go-bag, packed with basically costumes and the two items every protection service professional knows about: The blade and the key. Both are for escaping, for tearing through duct tape, rope, unlocking handcuffs. She'd tape them to her body when she went on the run.

What the hell was wrong? What was she involved in?

Someone starts coming up the third story steps, so I quickly shove the bag back under the bed.

The last thing I want is for her to think that I've found anything, or was worried.

But damn it.

What the hell.

Chapter Seven

Chloe

I lie in the darkness for a long time, trying to steady my breathing. My heart still slams up against my ribs. Sleep will be impossible, but I have to pretend, be still, and at least go through the motions. I thought I was going to jump out of my skin and just dive through the window when Bryce broke in.

I can't believe I screwed up so royally with the bolt. I've swapped out many locks by now—I've done it every place I've lived. I swap out the old one, install a new one, and reinstall the old one when I leave. It's gotten to be a habit. But for some reason, I didn't do it right. And now, I'm stuck. Stuck until Bryce and I fix it tomorrow.

I don't even want to touch it. I wait for him to fall asleep.

After about half an hour I hear it: The deep, labored breathing of a sleeping man. I roll over and I watch him in the dark. I imagine those arms around me. But now I don't have to imagine it. I felt him around me. I've never felt so protected. It's as if he was reading my body. As much as I had tried to make myself stop trembling, I just had to give up. Instead, the waves of anxiety flowed off me, and into him. Bryce absorbed it.

From where I'm lying, the stubble on his face casts a dark shadow as do his eyes. He's on his side, facing me. I gently throw off the covers, stand up, and walk very quietly, as quietly as I can, just to get a little closer. When he shifts, rolls on his back, one hand across his chest, the other draped over the edge of the bed, nearly brushing the hardwood floor, it's electrifying. The sheet is loose around his waist, the moonlight spilling across the wide expanse of flat, hard pecs, shadows diving deep where muscles knit together along his sternum.

He sighs, and he shifts slightly one more time, an arm coming up and around over his head. The smoothness of his tricep tapering into his armpit is so damn sexy.

I'm suddenly wet between my legs. I edge closer until I'm just a few feet away and though I ache to close the distance between us, to climb on top of him and press my lips to his, I can’t. The warm memory of having his arms around me, holding me up, rubbing my back, even bringing that cup of water, makes me want to cry again.

So sweet.

He's a beautiful man—and I'm not going to ruin him. I turn around, softly retreating, stepping carefully. What am I doing? I always get myself into trouble or get men into trouble. I'm a fucking, walking nightmare. I crawl back into bed, pull the sheet up under my chin and shut my eyes.

I can only wish sleep comes swiftly.

But I know it won't.

I watch the moon slip across the sky as the hours tick by and I turn off the alarm by my bed before it chimes at five am. I still need to get the breakfast stuff together for a dozen guests and the locals that may stop by, but then I have the rest of the day.

I think I want to take Bryce out to Rock Island.

My thighs start to quiver again.

Other than some minor prep, I have all of Tuesday off and though I know there are errands to be checked off my list, I'm in a weird, exhausted, agitated state.

"Morning," says Finn glancing at his watch on one hand while pouring coffee with the other. There's no reason for me to be up this early, except I had to get away from Bryce. "Got plans?"

"For today?"

He nods and sips.

"Not really. I think I'll just stay here. I'm going for a walk now."

"Great idea," says Claire, whipping around the corner, a book in her hand. She's scrounging for coffee as well.

Instantly I feel less productive, less efficient, less intelligent. I need to get out to Rock Island, but after yesterday, I am almost afraid. Almost. If someone were to follow me there, if Matt or Mike tried to accost me, no one would know.