Page 24 of Tapped

Which I am.

Even if it is simply contractual.

Because it’s not playing out in the bedroom.

Or anywhere else for that matter.

When I don’t respond to his comment about the kind of woman who turns him on, Micah lifts his chin. “You look like you’re wound tighter than a junkie. Put the gun down so I can explain what just happened.”

My brow furrows. “You just sent my security detail away and you want me to put this gun down? No way.”

He glances unimpressed at the heavy weapon fisted in my hand before crossing his arms to settle in. He almost looks bored. “Your husband fucked up my day so bad, I just left the office and decided to do a drive-by to make sure everything was okay. Your rent-a-cop was asleep.”

My expression falls, and my stomach plummets right behind it. “Asleep?”

He shrugs like he’s not at all surprised. “And not just a catnap. The asshole sounded like a freight train. I’m surprised he didn’t break any rules your fancy neighborhood has for noise after dark. I took the liberty and fired him. You’re welcome.”

“You fired him?” I whisper. Panic bubbles inside me. Yes, sleeping on the job isn’t good. It’s actually really, really bad given my day. But at least he was there. I mean, the chances of him waking up in case something happened are better if he’s sleeping in front of my house than at home tucked in his own bed. “Dammit. I could have made him a pot of coffee and fired him in the morning. Now I’m left with no one.”

His thick arms drop to his sides, and I tense when he makes a move in my direction. He hesitates, but only for a second. This time, he moves slower, every step he takes is deliberate and controlled.

I watch until he’s standing a breath from me. Besides my pounding heart, I don’t move a muscle. His hand wraps around mine slowly, and I don’t stop him. His hold on mine becomes firm, and now I’m not the only one fisting the gun.

I tip my head back to look up to where he stares down at me. “Do you know how to use a gun?”

My mouth goes dry, and it’s all I can do to keep my emotions in check. But I don’t admit that I hate guns or how much they scare me. “Point and shoot. Easy, right?”

“That’s not what I mean. This isn’t a western, Evie. Have you ever shot a gun?”

“Why does it matter?” My nerves are shot and exhaustion seeps in for the first time tonight. All of a sudden, the desire to wrap my son in my arms and sleep for a week is overwhelming.

He doesn’t move other than his fingers around my hand. He’s strong and controlled, and I don’t stop him when he loosens my fingers from the gun. I allow him to overpower me and the weapon that feels foreign in my palm. The moment he slips it from my death grip, I hate that my insides relax, but they do. Relief fills me as his other hand comes up and lands low on my hip to hold me in place. “A gun is an extension of your body. You control it like you would a wave of your hand. A smile. An attitude. It’s deliberate and instinctual at the same time. It doesn’t take a marksman to look at you and see nothing but a virgin thrown to the ravaging masses.”

My frown mars my face.

A smirk tugs at his lips.

“Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“Metaphorically speaking, I’m sure you’re not wrong,” I bite back and change the subject. “You still had no right to fire my security. What am I supposed to do now?”

The man proves he doesn’t care if I’m a married woman, because he makes no move to take his hand off me. “You don’t know me, but I’m not going to leave you high and dry. You won’t look death in the eyes tonight, Evie. I’ll make sure of it.”

Life and death are a part of my everyday life. I’m used to looking at death through the eyes of my patients and their families. But not when it comes to myself, and the thought of anything happening to Chase is what led me to digging that damn gun from its safe.

The accident was bad enough—

Oh, shit.

Micah frowns, and his grip on me tightens. “Are you going to pass out again?”

I shake my head. “No. But today has been hell. Too much to process … I can’t believe I didn’t think about it before.”

“Think about what?”

I step back, and Micah follows me into the house and shuts the door behind him. I vaguely hear the deadbolt click as I thread my fingers through my hair, pulling at the roots. Every nerve in my body is electric from the memory. “The accident. How did I not put it together before now?”

“What accident?” he asks.

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