Page 45 of Her Remarkable Protector

But I stop. My hand lowers, the weight of the Glock suddenly heavier in my grasp. A long, silent sigh escapes my lips as reality sets in.

Escaping is always easier in your head than in the real world. I’m no superwoman. I can’t single-handedly take down the Stoneborn Circle’s army if they decide to catch up with me. I still need Chase. There’s a reason lionesses keep a male lion in the pride. It’s not for his charm—it’s for his strength, his ability to protect. Security.

I know I can unleash hell on Damon, but keeping myself, Laramie and Oakley safe? That’s a battle I can’t win alone. Having Chase in my corner makes it easier, less risky.

For now, I’ll let him be my pride leader.

15

HONOR

Staying with Chase has sent my mind in all sorts of directions. I try not to entertain the thoughts, but I can’t deny it—this feels like a family. He’s the man of the house, and I’ve been lucky to have his presence.

Laramie had settled into what felt like a ‘normal’ routine, but in the last few days, she’s swapped marathon sleeping for marathon crying. It’s like the world’s tiniest siren has taken up permanent residence in the house—two days straight, no apparent reason. We took her to the doctor, who assured us nothing’s wrong—she’s just ‘being a baby.’ The doctor even hinted that my stress might be rubbing off on her.

Stress. That’s probably it. Trying to keep Chase Samson at arm’s length while pretending I’m unaffected by my unfairly attractive host is like trying to put out a fire with a paper fan. It’s not going well.

My nerves are stretched thin, unraveling with every piercing wail. Chase has offered to help more times than I can count, but I’m stubbornly holding my ground. The line between self-reliance and dependence is blurring far too quickly, and I’ve already leaned on him more than I care to admit.

Laramie’s cries echo through the house as I stumble into the kitchen, clutching the formula bottle like it’s some magic elixir. I fumble with the container, my hands trembling slightly as exhaustion creeps into every movement.

Chase appears, cool and unruffled, like a soldier who’s seen far worse. He looks tired, though. The kind of tired that seeps into his posture, but not his will.

“I’m sorry,” I say, guilt bubbling up as I glance at him. “She’s keeping you awake, too, isn’t she?”

“No, no,” he says quickly, waving off my concern. “She’s not bothering me. But I can see how it can push you to your limits.”

“I’ll be fine,” I insist, my tone a little too brisk to be convincing. “I’ll just go back to my room and close the door.”

Chase leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “I’m not exactly the baby type, you should know that by now. But there was this one time. I rescued a baby. Older than Laramie, but I swear, that baby stopped crying the second I held him.”

I narrow my eyes at him, too tired to hide my skepticism. “You? A baby whisperer? Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

He smirks. “I’m just saying. You want me to try?”

Laramie’s cries pierce through my defenses, and I know I’ve lost. With a sigh, I hand her over. “Fine. Let’s see if you’ve got the magic touch.”

Chase takes her, his large hands surprisingly deft as he cradles her. For a moment, nothing changes. The crying keeps going—loud, relentless, and echoing off every surface like some form of surround sound. I almost snatch her back, already regretting this experiment.

But then, he starts bouncing her lightly, whispering something I can’t quite catch. Surely, it’s not some secret SEAL code. And yet, like magic, the cries taper off. Laramie’s tiny body melts into his arms, her eyes fluttering closed as if Chase himself radiates some kind of built-in baby tranquilizer.

I stare, dumbfounded. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He doesn’t respond, just walks over to the crib and places her down with the same care he’d use handling something fragile and precious. She settles instantly, her breathing hush and even.

“Can you do that to me?” The words escape before I can stop them. How can I be jealous of my own baby? But it’s a good kind of jealous—the kind that makes me long for what she has. To be held. To let everything go, even just for a moment.

Chase turns, his expression inscrutable. “You can’t do it yourself?”

Oh, of course. Such a simplistic response—a classic male move.

“You mean, like guys do it when they’re bored?” My hand involuntarily fists, moving up and down as if I’m clenching a rod.

His face blushes. “Oh, no! No! Not like that. I mean, like meditation. Or anything that you know will make yourself relax.”

Relax. That was what I had in mind initially—his company, comforting words, and perhaps some caresses. But now that this conversation has veered off into the naughty DIY territory, I humor the possibility.

But let’s face it. First, I’m way too damn tired. Second, trying to self-soothe would probably frustrate me so much, I’d end up wide awake for another forty-eight hours straight. No thanks.

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