Page 25 of Forbidden Access

The good parts, she kept to herself, like a secret diary hidden away in the corners of her mind. But now, she’d let someone else into that sacred space, and it left her feeling exposed.

Sighing, she climbed into bed, trying to push the day’s events out of her mind. But it was useless. From the next room, she could hear Damian moving around—his heavy footsteps, the creak of the shower door, the sound of water rushing down. She imagined him under the spray, water sluicing over his tanned, muscular body, and a sudden, vivid image sprang to mind. His broad chest, the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin, how the droplets would cling to the lines of his abs before sliding down to where the towel hung low on his hips.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the image away, but it only grew more vivid. She could practically feel the heat of his body, the strength in his arms. She’d felt it earlier, when he’d held her, his hands firm against her back. It was a memory that had lodged itself in her brain, stubbornly refusing to leave.

She rolled over, trying to find a comfortable position. But sleep was elusive. Her mind kept drifting back to him, to the complexity of the man she’d vowed to protect. He was an enigma—a brilliant crypto developer with a dark past, yet he’d also fought for something good, something real. He’d been hurt, betrayed, and that vulnerability called to something deep inside her.

Damian Clayton was more than just a job. He was a man who had lived through hell, just like she had. And that connection, that shared experience, was dangerous.

She threw back the covers, knowing sleep wouldn’t come. But just as her feet touched the carpet, she heard a loud crash from Damian’s room. Her heart leapt into her throat.

Grabbing her Glock, she bolted down the corridor and flung open his door. “Are you all right? I heard a crash.”

Damian stood there, a towel slung low on his hips, looking sheepish. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I knocked over the vase, that’s all.”

For a moment, she couldn’t move. It was like her imagination had conjured him right in front of her. His body was exactly as she’d pictured—tanned, muscular, with a smattering of dark hair on his chest. And that towel... barely hanging on.

“A vase?” she echoed, her voice sounding distant even to her own ears.

“Yeah.” He gestured to the broken glass scattered across the floor, the remnants of the vase and the flowers lying in a sad heap. “It was dead anyway. I tried to move it, but it slipped. My hands were wet.”

She finally managed to drag her gaze from his body to the mess on the floor. Her heart was still pounding, but she forced herself to lower her weapon. “Okay, as long as you’re not hurt.”

“I’m fine.” His voice was soft, and she realized he was looking at her in a way that made her pulse race even faster.

His eyes dropped to her oversized T-shirt and leggings—practical sleepwear for someone always on alert. But the way he was looking at her now made her feel... exposed.

“You got here pretty fast,” he said, his tone almost teasing. “I thought you’d be asleep already.”

She forced a smirk, though her heart was still thudding in her chest. “It’s my job. I should really be in here, protecting you, but I know you don’t want that, so?—”

“It’s not that I don’t want it.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “It’s just that I’m a private person. When we started this, I didn’t know you very well.”

“And now?” She wasn’t sure why her voice came out so breathy, so needy.

“Now, I know you much better.” His eyes locked onto hers, his voice a seductive murmur.

Oh, God.

If he came any closer, she wasn’t sure she could control herself. Her mind was screaming at her to back off, to put some distance between them, but her body... her body wanted to close the gap.

He took another step toward her, and she felt the heat radiating off his skin. “In fact, after everything that’s happened today, I think it would make me feel a whole lot better if you stayed.”

Her throat went dry, and she struggled to find her voice. “I’m not sure it’s strictly necessary.”

He grinned, that infuriatingly sexy grin. “You are my wife, after all. It would be strange if we didn’t share a room.”

“It’s not real,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “None of this is real.”

He moved closer, his hand sliding around her waist, pulling her against him. The heat of his skin seared through her thin T-shirt, and she couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down her spine. “Let’s pretend,” he murmured, his lips hovering inches from hers. “You’re good at that.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, her body screaming at her to close the distance, to feel his lips on hers again. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words never came. Instead, his lips crashed down on hers, demanding, hungry.

The world tilted on its axis. His kiss was nothing like the first—this was raw, intense, filled with a passion that stole the breath from her lungs. She gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into the hard muscle as she kissed him back with equal fervor.

All the tension, the frustration, the anger she’d been holding onto—it all poured out in that kiss. And he matched her intensity, his hands roaming up her back, pulling her closer, closer until there was no space left between them.

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