Page 4 of Rescuing Sophia

As the team disperses, I linger, my thoughts churning.

Sophia.

Just the thought of her name sends a rush of heat coursing through my veins. I make my way out of the briefing room, my feet carrying me automatically through the familiar halls of Guardian HRS. My mind, however, is far away, lost in memories of that night on the yacht.

Sophia huddled on that bed, barely dressed.

Her eyes wide with fear and desperation.

The way she flinched when I approached.

How her expression softened when she realized we would be rescuing her as well.

Sophia’s presence of mind, directing us to the safe and insisting we grab the documents, hard drives, and thumb drives with crucial information on the Sentinels, was impressive.

It was impressive, especially given the chaos.

Nor will I forget the way her body pressed against mine. The way she clung to me. The way she felt when I held her in my arms during the boat ride back to shore. So light, as if years of abuse had whittled her down to nothing but skin and bones. Yet she clung to me with surprising strength, her face buried in my chest.

The memory sends another wave of heat through me, followed immediately by self-loathing.

What kind of man gets turned on by a trauma victim’s desperate grab for safety?

I’ve rescued many women, but none ever got under my skin like Sophia. I’m fucked in the head. That’s what I am. Stay away. Keep my distance. Get through this fucked up assignment.

For her sake and mine.

But that’s not happening.

Fuck me.

I drag a hand down my face and grimace.

Each small interaction replays in my mind—a highlight reel of moments I’ve tried—and failed—to forget.

Sophia’s hand gripping mine as we led her to safety. Her body fitting perfectly against mine when I carried her off the yacht. Hervoice, trembling yet clear, directing us to the safe and the critical information inside. The fleeting look in her eyes filled with gratitude and something more. Leaning on me for support during the boat ride back, her breath warm on my neck.

These moments refuse to fade, playing repeatedly, pulling me deeper into dangerous attraction. The truth is impossible to resist: I’m intensely attracted to Sophia Reeves.

Deeply, irresistibly, irrefutably attracted.

It’s more than just her physical beauty, though. God knows she’s gorgeous. Long, dark ringlets cascade down her back. Eyes the color of storm clouds, gray and intense. High cheekbones and full lips that beg to be kissed. Her body, slender yet strong, every curve draws me in.

No, it’s more than that. I am impressed by the strength and resilience that allowed her to survive unspeakable horrors. The intelligence shining in her eyes, choosing each word carefully to minimize any retribution, as if every word might be turned into a weapon to use against her, intoxicates me.

Lost in these thoughts, my feet carry me on autopilot. Suddenly, I find myself outside Medical, the familiar surroundings snapping me back to reality.

Sophia is here…

Already, my blood heats as desire stirs.

I’m a fucking monster.

How am I supposed to do this?

How can I be the Guardian she needs when every part of me aches to hold her close and never let go?

I lean against the wall, taking deep breaths to center myself. This isn’t about me. This is about the mission. About taking down Sentinel and making sure no one else has to go through what Sophia did.

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