Page 10 of Protecting What's Mine

Why does he have to look at me like that? Like he’s studying me, trying to figure me out, peeling back the layers I’ve spent years building to keep people at arm’s length.

The worst part is, I want him to.

I sneak a glance up at him, hoping he’s turned his attention elsewhere, but no—he’s still watching me. His dark eyes are locked on mine, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. My cheeks burn, and I quickly look away, pretending to focus on the necklace again.

This is ridiculous. I’ve always been composed, confident in my own quiet way. But one day with Ranger, and I feel like a nervous wreck. My pulse races every time he’s near, my thoughts scatter the moment he speaks, and the way his voice rumbles through the air? It’s like he’s rewiring my entire nervous system.

I grip the clasp tighter, trying to steady my hands, but it’s no use. The truth is, I don’t feel like myself around him. I feel… exposed. Vulnerable in a way I’ve never felt before.

And the craziest part? I don’t hate it.

I glance up at him again, just for a second, and catch him shifting slightly, leaning one shoulder against the frame. His gaze softens—not by much, but enough to make my heart skip a beat. It’s like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and he’s giving me just enough room to flail without drowning.

But it’s not just his presence that’s messing with me. It’s the way he makes me feel seen, like I’m more than just the overly protected, science-obsessed daughter of my father. Like I’m not invisible.

I take a deep breath, setting the clasp and pliers down and lean back into the cushions. The crystal pendant gleams on the table in front of me, unfinished, but I can’t bring myself to care. Not when Ranger is standing there, a living, breathing distraction I can’t seem to shake.

The thought makes my cheeks heat all over again, and I drop my gaze to the pendant, pretending to examine it like it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. But the truth is, there’s only one thing on my mind.

I try to keep my head down, pretend I don’t notice the way his gaze feels like it’s burning through me, but it’s no use. My pulse races, my hands tremble slightly as I think about it.

This is new.

Thisfeelingis new.

Yes, I’m a virgin. Overprotective father, remember? But I’ve experimented. And that’s all it ever was—experimentation. I’ve kissed boys.Practicedmight be a better word for it. Chris Henderson, my old lab partner, was the closest thing I ever had to a boyfriend, and even that was more about science than anything else.

I used to tell my dad I was off to study with Chris, which wasn’t a lie. We studiedeverything. Including making out.

We’d analyze each kiss, break down the specifics like it was part of a biology project. Which muscles were involved, the mechanics of head tilts, even the chemical reactions happening in our brains. We tried each step together like we were dissecting a frog in a high school lab.

It was weird. Too clinical.

There’s definitely science involved in attraction—hormones, neurotransmitters, pheromones—but what’s happening to me now? This isn’t clinical. This is chaotic, consuming, uncontrollable. Every time Ranger so much as glances my way, my stomach flips like I’m on the edge of a roller coaster. Butterflies? Oh, no. This is aswarm.

I’ve never felt this way before. Not even close.

Every time his dark, smoldering eyes lock onto mine, I lose the ability to breathe. My thoughts scatter like leaves in thewind, leaving me speechless and flushed. It’s embarrassing how obvious it must be.

What’s worse is, I think he knows.

Ranger is nothing like Chris or any guy I’ve ever known. Chris was awkward, scrawny, and sweet in a way that made him feel safe. Ranger, on the other hand, is pure danger wrapped in a body so perfect it defies reason. He’s tall, broad, and muscled in a way that seems impossible. His voice is deep, a rumble that makes me shiver every time he speaks, and when he’s close, the air seems to shift, charged with something electric.

And it’s not just the way he looks. It’s the way he moves, the way he watches me, the way his mere presence fills the room. There’s a confidence about him, a quiet strength that makes me feel simultaneously safe and completely unraveled.

I try to distract myself, to focus on the necklace I’m making, but my hands shake too much to keep going. I set the pendant down on the coffee table and let out a soft sigh.

Ranger shifts slightly in the doorway, his gaze never leaving me.

I bite my bottom lip, trying to steady the fluttering in my chest. If just one look from him does this to me, how am I supposed to survive being around him every day?

The logical part of my brain knows I should focus on staying safe, on getting through this ordeal without letting my emotions—or my hormones—get in the way. But every time Ranger is near, logic goes out the window.

And for the first time in my life, I don’t want to analyze it. I just want to feel it. I return to my work, focusing on the pendant.

He must think I’m a twit, the way I mumble random, nonsensical things every time he looks at me. Every time his dark eyes flick in my direction, I lose my train of thought, babbling about crystals or some obscure scientific concept no one cares about.

Let’s face it—Ranger isn’t interested in science girls like me. He’s probably traveled the world, experienced more than I can even imagine. He’s had women—countlesswomen—fall at his feet, because any man who looks likethatis bound to.