The Jilted Heiress And Her Protector

ed her heavy

penthouse, striking her retinas like physical blows. She groaned, a harsh, dry sound scraping her

mples. Her stomach rolled. She dropped ba

The fabric was wrong. She wasn't wearing her usual silk nightgown. She looked down. She was

st her ribs. She frantically scanned the messy bedroom. Her des

se lounge at the foot of her bed. A dark

opped. A tall figure stepped

stopped

lightly messy, lacking its usual severe corporate styling. Colette stared at his chest. His crisp white dres

the thick duvet up to her chin in a rigid, def

osition, your clearance, and what your 'loyalty' to the Beaumont family actually means." She lifted her chin, refusing to let him see the depth of h

dable, a smooth mask of stone. He tilted his head slightly

w, deliberate

erating Officer. The estate steward's adopted son. He was always quiet, always in the background, always perfec

nightstand. The glass made a quiet,

avy shadow over her trembling form. Colette held her breat

er. He picked up her disca

code-a detail that made Colette's stomach drop-and

d, suspicious register, the realization sending a fresh wave of unease t

fortress. "Your passcode is entirely too simple. For secu

flawless deflection. "Check your call logs from last night," he said

hand. Her fingers shook violently as

calls to Julian Sterling. Twelve times she had stood in that

line. One outgoing call to Alexander. Dur

ned, his tone devoid of judgment. "You were crying

nted flashes. The cold pavement. The tears ruining her mak

called Mrs. Davies. The housekeeper changed you out of your ruined clo

ined from her muscles, leaving behind a hollow, crushing mortification. She had

't look at him. She stared at the intricate patt

n. He reached out and pressed the c

xpected, sharp jolt of electricity shot up Colette's

feel?" he

replaced by something dangerously tender, something that