Page 31 of Ready For His Rule

Chapter Five

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Tick.

Tock.

Tracy had always had a love-hate relationship with time.

As a teenager, it had been her worst enemy, pushing back against the plans she’d carefully laid for her grown-up life. But after early high school graduation and an accelerated pace through college, it became her biggest ally—especially after meeting Ryker. She’d begged time to stop, for as many days and nights in the man’s arms she could get. For a few years, time had really listened…

Until the phone call from Iraq that had proved the extent of the bastard’s true evil.

Throughout it all, she’d never not been conscious of time. Nor, especially for the last few years, not cared about it.

Until now.

She dragged a hand through her mussed hair, lifting from a bed piled with pillows and blankets. It was centered in a cozy bedroom with polished wood paneling extending halfway down the walls, where alabaster wainscoting took over. The theme of European-style elegance continued in a Cherrywood armoire with mother-of-pearl insets, leading her gaze toward a sunken sitting area with a Victorian-influenced fireplace. Natural logs burned on the grate, their warm light flickering over matched furniture with modern lines, two chairs and one love seat, upholstered in burgundy velvet.

Though the man sprawled on the love seat made the thing look more like a piece from a doll play set.

Or a dragon sleeping on his turret.

Just waiting for a young virginal princess to seduce…

How she wished she could fill even one of those categories now.

“Young” cooperated with her sometimes, especially after longer sessions on Capitol Hill. She was the first to admit she didn’t know everything, but after a day trying to soak it all up from people twice her age, “young” was definitely how she felt.

“Virginal”? No tricking anyone about that one anymore. Duh.

“Princess” was the trickiest. She could pull it off if the inspiration was bad-ass, like Elsa, Leia, or Eowyn. She had to have Eowyn on the short list. Luke would have her head on a platter otherwise.

Luke.

Panic knifed through her belly and didn’t stop there. Her legs shot out, kicking the covers free, helping her out of the bed despite a wave of crazy dizziness. She blinked, temporarily stunned at the pink tank and sleep shorts she wore, until remembering a sweet-faced brunette offering her the ensemble after they’d gotten here last night. Nothing would’ve changed even if she was buck naked, though. Nothing else mattered when it came to her son. Especially after yesterday.

There were three exits to the room. One obviously led to an en suite bathroom, and another, covered by vertical blinds, was obviously the portal to an outdoor space.

Meaning she sprinted for door number three.

She’d gotten halfway to the door, off a landing near the fireplace, when a rumbling voice halted her.

Thatvoice.

“He’s safe.”

Lava turned into words. A dark, growly crust crackling over dangerous liquid fire. Turning her body to magma. Turning her senses even hotter.

Making her very aware of what she was wearing—well, wasn’t wearing—as she pivoted, attempting to look as graceful as a Bond girl about it.

Who the hell was she kidding?

Bond? She felt more like the newest clown spilling out of the funny car, especially standing higher than him. Okay, two steps’ worth, but that was enough. She wasn’t naked but might as well be, despite how the man gazed at her with nothing but patience, silence, and only slightly widened eyes. Her sights quickly adjusted to the dimness, letting her observe his own change of clothes. The dark suit was gone, replaced by black track pants and a gray, nearly-painted-on T-shirt.

Hel-lo, Mr. Bond.

She could sure as hell dream of saying it now—though Keoni John Franzen was, without a doubt, hotter than Sean Connery, Roger Moore, and Daniel Craig combined.

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