Page 11 of Protecting What's Mine

He’s tall, but not intimidatingly so. Just over six feet, the perfect height that doesn’t make him tower like a skyscraper but still makes him feel solid, unshakable. His body isn’t overdone—he’s not one of those beefed-up bodybuilder types who can barely move—but his muscles are hard, compact, and powerful. He’s built for action, for taking down threats with precision.

Then there’s his jaw, strong and sharp, framing an enviable set of lips. Full, perfectly shaped lips that I can’t stop staring at, no matter how hard I try. Lips that I know—just know—would know exactly what to do with me. Unlike Chris Henderson’s mouth, which had all the finesse of a science experiment gone wrong, I’m sure Ranger’s would be devastatingly skilled.

Not that I’d know what to do in return.

But looks aren’t everything, right? Personality is an important scientific factor. And wouldn’t you know, Ranger’s got that too. He’s funny, with a dry sense of humor that sneaks up on you. He’s patient—at least with me—and he’s caring in a way that feels genuine, not forced.

I enjoy being around him.Craveit, actually.

I peek up from my work to find him sitting on the sofa now, a book in his large hands. At some point, he moved from the doorway, his quiet strength filling the room without a word. He’s leaned back, legs spread slightly, completely at ease, as if the plush couch was made for him. His fingers are wrapped around the spine of the book, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line along the edge as he reads.

The ache that settles low in my belly is immediate and undeniable. I can’t stop imagining those big hands of his, strong and rough, working their way over my skin with the same careful precision. I clench my thighs together, trying to banish the thought, but it lingers, hot and unwelcome.

It would be a novel experience, that’s for sure. Chris Henderson’s awkward fumbling in the name of “experimentation” no longer counts in my mind. This…thiswould be something entirely different.

I bite my lip, focusing intently on the Tanzanite crystal in my hand. My fingers tremble slightly as I try to attach a delicate metal clasp, the motion far more challenging than it should be with my current state of mind.

My gaze flicks up to him again, just for a second. He’s still engrossed in his book, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, his mouth pressed into a thin line. The way the muscles in his forearm shift as he turns the page shouldn’t be attractive, but somehow it is.

God, I’m a mess.

I force myself to look back down at my work, my face heating with embarrassment. He’s completely focused, oblivious to theeffect he has on me, and yet I feel like my every thought is written on my face.

I just need to finish this necklace. Focus on the work. But even as I try, my mind keeps drifting back to the man sitting just a few feet away—the man who’s quickly becoming the center of my very distracted universe.

“That’s cool you make jewelry,” Ranger says, his deep voice pulling me out of my concentration. I glance up to find him putting his book down on the side table, his dark eyes locking on mine with a kind of intensity that makes my stomach flutter.

I smile shyly, setting down the Tanzanite crystal in my hand. “Thanks. When I was younger, I used to get bored traipsing across the globe with my father.” I twirl the edge of my necklace chain between my fingers, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

Ranger shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “Are you bored now?” His question feels loaded, as if he’s not just asking about the moment but about something deeper.

“No, I’m okay,” I reply, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to entertain me or anything.” I set my stones on the coffee table, hoping to keep my hands busy before I do something stupid—like reach out and touch him.

The way the late afternoon sunlight filters through the glass doors behind him only adds to the effect, making him look like a Greek god descended straight from heaven.

“What if Iwantto entertain you?” he asks, his tone low and teasing, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

My eyes widen slightly, and I feel the heat rushing to my cheeks. “Oh?” I manage, my voice higher than I intended. “And how would you do that?”

Say by kissing me,I think desperately, though I know better than to hope for it. Ranger isn’t thinking about me like that. He’s probably imagining some harmless distraction—a board game or a cheesy card trick. Something light and silly.

But then he rubs his hand over the scruff on his jaw, the slow motion drawing my attention to those maddeningly perfect lips. “I can think of a few things,” he murmurs, his eyes holding mine for a beat too long.

My mouth opens to respond, but no sound comes out. My brain stumbles over itself, caught somewhere betweenDid he mean that the way it sounded?andStop being ridiculous, Tory.

He lets the silence linger for a moment before rescuing me. “Let’s go for a walk on the beach,” he suggests, his voice steady and calm, as though he hadn’t just set my imagination spinning.

I nod quickly, standing from the couch and heading toward the door. “Okay, sure.” My voice is a little too eager, but I don’t care. I move toward my shoes, which are neatly placed by the door, ready to slip them on.

“You don’t need shoes for the beach,” he says, his tone amused.

“Oh, um… I knew that,” I stammer, hesitating with one shoe in my hand.Great,I think bitterly.Just add that to the list of reasons why I feel like the biggest idiot on the planet.

I can recite the entire periodic table from memory. I can identify the molecular structure of dozens of compounds withoutblinking. But sometimes, when it comes to the simplest, most human things, I feel hopelessly out of my depth.

I set the shoe down awkwardly, turning to face him. He’s already waiting by the sliding glass doors, his posture relaxed, but his eyes are sharp, watching me like he sees more than I’m willing to let on.

He slides the door open, stepping onto the lanai, the ocean breeze immediately rushing in to fill the space. I follow him out, the warm sand already calling to my toes, the rhythmic crash of the waves soothing and electric all at once.