Page 39 of Defending What's Mine

Melanie pats Charlotte’s arm. “Your broody shadow kept his distance, promise. Though next time I expect him at the table—there’s only so much bubbly I can drink alone.” She winks at me.

“Rain check,” I say. My gaze skims the hallway—clear—then back to Charlotte. “Ready?”

We escort Melanie to her suite first—sixth floor—then take the elevator down. Charlotte leans against the mirrored wall, fatigue softening the edges of her posture. Yet when she meets my reflection, her eyes are bright. She doesn’t speak until the doors slide open on four.

“Thank you,” she says quietly as we walk toward our room.

“For what?”

“For being there. For…doing this. Whateverthisis.”

I unlock the suite, usher her inside. Only when the door’s bolted do I let my guard drop an inch. “This is me keeping you alive,” I say. “And maybe making sure you can laugh again without looking over your shoulder.”

She slips off her wedges, stands barefoot on the plush carpet, and studies me with a searching kind of gratefulness that twists my insides. “You know, that almost sounded like feelings.”

“It’s professionalism.” I start to turn away, but she steps closer, fingertips brushing my sleeve. Needle-shock of connection.Damn.

“I like your brand of professionalism,” she whispers. Then, mercifully, she heads to the bathroom to change.

I exhale, forehead against the wall. Dean’s warning echoes:Keep your head clear. But as Charlotte hums behind the door—some random jazz melody picked up in the lounge—I find clarity slipping, one note at a time.

Cartel leverage, desperate suitors, threatening notes—those I can handle.

Falling for the woman I’m hired to protect? That’s the enemy I never trained for.

18

Charlotte

Am I really doing this? I pause in front of the full-length mirror, fingertips grazing the cool glass as I size up my reflection. My heart hammers, and I give my hair a few brave flicks—gentle teasing at the roots, soft fluff around my face. Why yes, I am.

I step into the lacy black lingerie I bought with Melanie’s enthusiastic encouragement: a delicate balconette bra with scalloped edges and matching cheeky panties. The silk brush against my skin sends a thrill up my spine. In the mirror, I adjust the bra strap, tugging it into place until it fits just right. My stomach flutters low with nerves, anticipation, and excitement all tangling together.

I inhale deeply, reminding myself of the way Asher’s eyes linger on me when he thinks I’m not looking. The kindness in his gaze, the longing. He wants this, right? I guess there’s only one way to find out.

My hand slides to the doorknob—cold metal grounding me—and I turn it. The door clicks softly open.

Asher is on the bed, one knee bent, propped against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. The evening light filters through sheer curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. It feels like the perfect moment.

He glances up, phone lowering. In that instant—when his eyes meet mine—time slows. He freezes, every breath caught in his chest. Then he sets the phone aside, his gaze drinking me in, gray eyes wide and unblinking.

I watch him, heart pounding, as he takes in the lace and silk, the curve of my neckline, the way the shadows highlight my skin. It’s as if he’s memorizing every detail. A slow, deep smile curls his lips, and I realize—this is exactly what I hoped for.

I watch Asher rise, the hem of his T-shirt brushing the top of his jeans, muscles shifting under soft fabric. He moves toward me in long, confident strides.

His voice drops to a rough whisper the moment he reaches me. “Wow. You’re breathtaking.”

My pulse jumps, and I manage a small breathless sound. “Thank you.” The words escape me in a rush of heat and anticipation.

He cups my cheek with one large hand, thumb tracing the curve of my jaw. His touch sends a jolt straight to my core. “Charlotte,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my temple, “are you sure?”

I lock my gaze on his, that fierce gray fire he hides behind professional calm. All the fluttering nerves vanish. “I’m very sure, Asher.”

A low growl rumbles in his chest, and he leans in, thumb gliding down my cheek, across my jaw, to the broken edge of laceagainst my collarbone. “I’ve been imagining this on you. Dying to see you in it.”

Heat blossoms white-hot beneath my skin. I curl a finger around his wrist. “Really?”

He nods, voice husky. “Yeah.”

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