Page 86 of Double Bucked

“No?”

“No. I’m not leaving.”

I step forward. I stand in front of the-man-formerly-known-as-my-fiancé and tilt my head. I scan his eyes and measure his gaze. I try the new name on my tongue. “Everett Hollow.”

He looks down at me. “Claire Preacher.”

“You’re my protector. Right?”

“Yes.”

“So. Stand by the door and protect.”

I twist and turn away from him. I grab Ransom’s arm and tug him.

“I’m going to bed. And Ransom is coming with me.”

29

RANSOM

Ican’t tell if I’m the luckiest guy around or the biggest idiot to follow Claire up to her room.

Both, maybe.

The second-floor hallway is a long stretch of wood-paneled walls with a red carpet that stretches out like a tongue.

Every floor feels haunted. I expect Mr. Preacher’s hollering to kick up any minute now. The quiet, somehow, is even worse.

Claire has showered. Changed. She’s standing on the other side of a huge four-poster bed. The moon is high, peeking through the trees in the window behind her. She’s got a soft glow on her from the lamplight as she threads a knot into the cream-colored robe that hangs around her form.

The robe clings to the perky lift of her tits. The slim curve of her hips.

A knot of want tightens around my throat.

Settle down, boy.

Just as I’m backing towards the door, without looking up from her robe, Claire states, “Where do you think you’re going?”

I fit myself in the entrance, leaning against the doorway. “I’m just…not sure if I should be here.”

Claire looks in the mirror. Her mouth dives into a tight frown. “Four men tried to kill me tonight. My fiancé may or may not be an assassin. As much as I’m loath to admit it, you’re the only one I trust right now. You’re not going anywhere.”

I can’t help it. A bitter chuckle climbs my throat. “You sound like your father.”

Her eyes sharpen. “What do you mean?”

“He used to say, ‘Ransom, you’re the only one I trust. You’re too damn stupid to kill me.’”

“You’re not stupid,” she says plainly. “You’re earnest. To a fault. There’s a difference.”

She reaches to the back of her head, tying her hair back.

The sheer fabric lifts, and I can damn near almost see the outline of her small breasts.

“Can you handle sleeping in the same bed as me?” Her eyes swoop to my groin and then back to mine, and her voice takes on a condescending edge. “Or is that too much for you?”

A heat rises in me. I cross my arms. “I can handle it,” I tell her. Maybe too forcefully.

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