Page 111 of Tempt Her

And she begged me to stand down.

Watching her endure his abuse? Her sacrifice blazed down my throat, scorching my chest. Stuttered beats started to disrupt my heart’s normal rhythm, blurring my vision. Fighting not to do the right thing, to help her, to fucking kill him?

It made me ill.

But I want to see that motherfucker behind bars so bad, too; I followed her order.

There’s no telling the scope of what he’s involved in. Rumors at bars say Gentry Evans uses golf tours to hide a sex-trafficking ring. If that’s so,and I know it is, then I won’t fuck up a case that can save a lot of people.

I sank back into the shadows when he staggered upstairs, clearly not feeling well. Stacey followed right after him, staying on mission.

I know my baby poisoned him with laxatives.

Good girl.

She keeps buying time until the Feds finally come for him. And I’ll be right here. Waiting for her. Protecting her.

It has me sitting on the floor, hiding in the darkest shadow beside the tall dresser. I have sightlines down the hallway to anyone’s approach.

Hell, for days, I’ve hidden in worse in Kandahar. A guest bedroom in a Hilton Head mansion is a fucking vacation.

But I’ve never felt this fucking bad doing it. My chest is tight. My legs twitch. My fingertips tingle. And one fear keeps thrumming through my erratic pulse—I’m lying.

I’m lying to the men I love. I’m lying to the woman I’m falling in love with. I’m lying to a daughter who doesn’t remember me.

I’m lying to myself to think this secret won’t kill me.

Leaning my dizzy head back, I close my eyes and do my four-count breathing. It’s my training, and it buys me another hour of life before the sound of sneaking footfalls cracks my eyelids open.

Fuck, am I dead?

It’s an angel floating my way in a creamy gown.

“Ford?” She whispers into the darkness.

I give myself this second to enjoy the sight. Light frames Stacey’s silhouette. It finds her golden strands, making them gleam while I see through her gown. Her feminine curves and carves of muscle stir my cock.

Her beauty is breathtaking, and that’s dangerous for a man like me, who fights for each one.

I answer her apparition, “Here.”

It takes her eyes a moment to adjust. The blinds are open in the bedroom. The hurricane wails outside, but the neighbor’s gas street lamp glows through the storm, finding the dark shadows in this room, giving her enough light to see me finally.

She kneels before me, whispering, “Are you okay?”

Even her submission feels like care, like she wants to please me. And it does.

“If the Feds don’t come for that piece of shit in a week, I’m killing him. That’s non-negotiable.”

She reaches for my knee. “That won’t be necessary. It’ll be days, I promise.”

“How do you know?”

“I feel it.”

“Feelings don’t stop his abuse. But I fucking will.”

She doesn’t reply. She just curls beside me, lifting my arm to wrap around her; like a kitten, she wedges into my body, and I fucking melt.

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