Rhett POV
I shook my head once. A car like this, an omega in full heat, and any stranger with a phone—and by morning the story would be everywhere that mattered.
John had been waiting for exactly this kind of mistake.
One clip and the board and the stock price—everything would take a hit.
I wasn’t giving him the weapon.
I leaned down, slid my arms under her, and lifted her off the floor mats onto my lap.
Tears kept slipping down her temples. I thumbed them away, slower than I meant to.
“You’re not usually the crying type.”
She stared up at me, dazed, pupils blown wide, as if she couldn’t decide if I was real or something the heat had conjured to torture her.
My hand moved to her damp hair, then lower, settling at the back of her neck.
My palm covered the entire nape easily.
