Page 39 of The Rebel King

“I’ve never needed it before.”

“You weren’t my girlfriend before. Once people know they can get to me through you, you can’t expect me to let you wander around unprotected.”

“Letme wander around? You mean like an unaccompanied child in an amusement park?”

He answers only with an impatient frown and a tightening of his lips.

“No one knows about our relationship yet, Doc.”

“And just how long do you think I’ll accept that?” he asks, his voice quiet, unyielding. “Accept people not knowing we’re together?”

“Maybe for the next eighteen months while I’m running your brother’s campaign?”

Even as I say it, I know he won’t agree. It sounds exhausting even to me, hiding how we feel for that long, but I want to protect what Kimba and I have built, and I don’t want to detract from Owen’s platform with sidebar romance fodder for the tabloids.

“We can compromise and ease into discussing our relationship,” he says, resting his elbows on his knees and turning to look at me, “but I’m not going through this entire campaign pretending not to be in love with you.”

My heartbeat stutters even hearing him say the words. The intensity of his stare warms my skin in the frigid morning air. I scoot closer to him on the bench.

“We can work something out,” I say, dropping my head to his shoulder. “But not this early in the campaign. Owen hasn’t even announced, and Kimba and I need to establish ourselves and prove that we can do this on merit first.”

I turn my face into his shoulder, drawing in the scent of him. “Later. We’ll let people know later. So you see, no need for security quite yet.”

He doesn’t respond right away but reaches up to cup my head and lift my chin, catching and holding my eyes for a moment. “Let’s talk about how we found you in Costa Rica.”

His statement catches me off guard. “Well, I know your friend Grim owns a security firm, called in some favors, and arranged the rescue. So I assumed through his contacts.”

“No, not his contacts.”

“What do you mean?” I try to laugh, but he looks so dour. “You’re being cryptic.”

“We used your bracelet to find you.”

“My bracelet?” I touch the compass dangling from the links he clipped around my wrist. “I don’t get it. What do you mean?”

“There’s a geotracker in your bracelet.”

The air seems to go even chillier around me. “A geo—”

Anger stunts the words in my throat. I swallow a string of curses and accusations. This relationship, this man is precious to me, and I know the first things to spew from my mouth will be words I could never take back—words that might damage us irreparably. I stew in outraged silence for a few more seconds before trusting I won’t have a nuclear reaction.

“You’ve been tracking me?”

“Not at first, no.” He sits back on the bench and stretches his long legs out in front of him.

I strip my glove off with my teeth, and my cold, stiff fingers fumble with the bracelet’s clasp.

I can’t get the damn thing off.

“Stop.” He puts a staying hand over mine. “Don’t take it off.”

“I thought it was a gift, not a monitoring system.”

“Itisa gift. I meant it as a gift.”

“It just does double duty as a tracking system for your pet girlfriend. Isn’t that how people make sure if their dogs get lost, they can find them? I guess this is much more efficient than putting posters of me up in the neighborhood if youmisplaceme.”

“Will you listen to me and stop talking just to vent your anger?”

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