Page 45 of One Last Stand
A beat, and then she cringed. “I don’t?—”
“Stop protecting me. I am not losing you again, London. I’m tired of people walking out of my life without a backward glance. So whether you like it or not, I’m your shadow, or your watchdog, or your partner—whatever. I may not be some James Bond, but justtryto shake me.”
She leaned her head back, considered him. “That’s real cute.”
“Yeah, well, if you think I’m going to let you trolley off with Tomas, even if he is a fake fiancé?—”
“Trolley off? Really?”
“Really,” he said, not smiling.
She smiled then, something sweet. “I knew kissing you would be trouble.”
“How’s that?” he said, stepping closer again, bracing his hand over her shoulder, touching her face.
“Because I’m actually considering saying yes.”
“Consider the fact that you don’t have a choice.”
“So. Bossy.” But her voice had fallen.
He leaned down, but she put her hand on his chest. “If this is going to work, maybe we should nix the kissing in Montelena.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“I mean it, Shep. With you all nice smelling and handsome and tasting like chocolate . . . I can’t think straight. And Drago Petrov wants me dead . . . so I have to stay on my game. Aw, and I can tell by your smile that was the wrong thing to say.”
“Completely.” And he pressed his mouth to hers.
He didn’t know how long he kissed her, taking his time, the disbelief washing away, the terrible clench of his chest loosing, the last thirty days fading to shadow, but a knock brought his head up, and then Axel opened the door.
“Yep, that’s what we thought. After the shouting was over . . .”
“Go. Away.”
Axel held up his hand. “There’s someone here to see London.”
London, who, until six hours ago, was, um,dead?
“Who knows you’re alive?” He asked as she ducked under his arms. “Hey, wait—” He reached out to catch her, but she’d stepped out of his reach.
Of course.
But, hello, maybe it was one of those orphans?—
“London, stop!”
A man, dark-blond hair, lean, wearing a leather jacket and gloves, dressed in black jeans and hiking boots, stood in the lobby of the Tooth. “Hi,” he said. “We’ve never met, but my name is York Newgate.”
Shep came up to stand behind London. No one else looked worried, but he put a hand on her shoulder. Like . . . what?
He didn’t have the first clue how to protect this woman.
“I know this is the middle of the night, but I got here as fast as I could,” York said.
“I don’t understand,” London said.
“Ziggy sent me.”