Page 62 of Zero Hour

He hesitated. “I won’t bore you with the details, but two of my operatives got her out.”

Her breath hitched. “A happy ending,” she murmured. “I like that.”

“You will have a happy ending too.” Then he grimaced, realizing how cheesy that sounded.

“I mean—” He rubbed his stubbly chin. “I know you’ve been through hell, but it’ll be okay.”

“I hope you’re right, Patrick,” she whispered.

The breathy way she said his name made his stomach tighten.

She stood. “I think I’ll turn in. It’s been a long day.”

He got up too. “Of course. Let me show you to your room.”

She frowned. “I don’t want to be a bother. I can sleep here—” She gestured to the sofa.

“You aren’t putting me out.”

She let out a soft laugh. “Okay, then. If you insist.”

As they walked up the stairs, he switched on the lights, leading her to the room he’d prepared.

“I changed the bedding,” he said, feeling stupid for mentioning it.

She stepped inside and glanced around, running her hand along the bedframe. “This is nice, Patrick. It’s very you.”

His brow furrowed. “It is?” How did she know what wasvery him?

“Yes. Manly, but a little rough around the edges.”

Something stirred deep inside him, but he pushed it aside. “Well, I hope you find it comfortable.”

“I’m sure I will.”

She was standing too close. Her scent—something soft and subtle, like jasmine—wrapped around him, and suddenly, leaving wasn’t as easy as it should have been.

Leave.

Say goodnight and walk away.

He gestured to the door. “I’m next door in the spare room, if you need me.”

“Okay.”

Silence stretched between them.

He turned to leave.

“Patrick?”

He froze. “Yeah?”

She stepped closer, her warmth radiating toward him, and kissed him gently on the cheek. But she lingered—just for a second too long.

And that hesitation undid him.

He turned his head, meeting her lips with his own, and the world stilled.

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