Page 29 of Jenna's Protector

Her lids flutter, and I lean in, our breaths mingling. I can almost taste the sweetness of the apple pie on her lips, but at the last moment, I pull back.

This isn’t a date.

It’s a professional encounter, no matter how it feels. Kissing her would be taking advantage of her in a vulnerable state, and honorable men don’t do that.

Reluctantly, I step back, immediately missing her warmth.

“I should take you back,” I say, my voice strained. “Malia must think I’ve kidnapped you.”

Only after the words are out of my mouth do I cringe. Kidnap? Did I really say that? What a fucking idiot.

“Yeah.” Jenna nods, disappointment flashing across her face. “I suppose so.”

The warmth of the moment cools, replaced by a growing awkwardness. Our easy banter fades into stilted silence as we walk back to the truck, the space between us now feeling vast and empty.

Max, sensing the change, whines softly as we all climb in.

The drive back is quiet. The only sounds are the soft growl of the engine and Max’s occasional shuffling. I steal glances at Jenna, who stares out the window, her expression unreadable in the passing streetlights. The jacket still drapes over her shoulders, a reminder of our brief closeness.

At her coffee shop, I cut the engine, uncertainty hanging heavy between us.

“Thanks for lunch.” Her hand lingers on the door handle. “It helped me relax.”

“I’m glad.” I force a smile. “It was nice getting to know you better.”

I walk her to the front door of her shop, hyper-aware of the space between us. There’s a moment of hesitation, a pause where I consider leaning in for a kiss, but I catch myself.

I pull her into a hug, careful not to overstep. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Jenna rises on tiptoe and brushes the lightest kiss against my cheek.

And with that, she’s gone.

TEN

Jenna

I wake with a start,my heart racing. The lingering sensations from my dream still tingle across my skin. Sunlight filters through the curtains, painting my small apartment bedroom in a soft, golden glow. As I stretch, memories of last night flood back in vivid detail.

Carter’s strong hands were gentle yet firm. His touch sent electricity coursing through me, which was intoxicating. That almost kiss left me breathless, wanting more.

I close my eyes, savoring the memory of his arms around me and his body’s warmth against mine. I can’t help but smile.

Lunch with Carter was—unexpected.

Wonderful.

The easy conversation, the laughter, the way he looked at me—like I was the only person in the world—felt so natural, so right.

For the first time in years, I let myself imagine what it might be like to have more. More dinners, more laughter, more of Carter.

My dreams last night definitely explored ‘more’ in vivid, sensual detail. My cheeks flush as fragments of the dream resurface—Carter’s lips on my skin, his hands exploring, the way he made me feel cherished and desired.

Shaking off the lingering tendrils of the dream, I slip into my yoga clothes. I pause at the irony as I unroll my mat in the living room. Yoga, the one thing I kept from my time at the enclave, has become my sanctuary—a way to clear my mind and find balance in the chaos of my memories.

As I move through the poses, my breath is steady and controlled. Tension slowly releases from my body, but today, unlike most mornings, my mind keeps drifting back to Carter.

To the case.

---