His Bullet Bound Me

Chapter 12 – Touch of Heat

The SUV waited in the shadow of the Lane estate like a sleeping beast.

Aurora stood at the top of the marble steps, watching the last of the cameras finally be dragged away from the gates. The press had tried to swarm earlier, but the new security perimeter and the chaos of the shooting had broken their formation. For once, the city’s vultures were slower than the danger.

Inside the house, her father had argued.

Inside the house, her father had shouted.

Inside the house, her father had looked straight at Marcus and said, in that clipped, calculating voice politicians used when they forgot they were speaking to people: “You answer to me, not my daughter.”

And Marcus, infuriatingly calm, had replied, “I answer to the contract, sir. The contract says I keep her alive.”

Now Aurora inhaled the cool night air and headed down the steps, pulse still humming from that exchange.

The rear door of the black SUV opened before she reached it.

Marcus.

He filled the doorway like he filled every space—controlled, dangerous, dark suit fitting broad shoulders like it had been sewn directly onto his frame. The cut of his jaw looked even sharper under the estate’s security lights. There was a faint shadow of stubble along his throat that shouldn’t have been distracting.

It was.

“Back in the box?” she asked lightly, stopping in front of him. “Or is this a field trip?”

“One hour,” Marcus said. “We’re making a loop. Checking reaction time on the streets. Watching who follows. Then back inside.”

“So I’m bait.”

“You’re the target,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Semantics.”

“Reality.”

His eyes flicked over her quickly, the way they always did, like he was cataloguing threats in the set of her shoulders, the length of her dress, the way her hair was tied up in a loose knot.

“Get in, Aurora.”

“Ask nicely.”

Something dark flashed in his gaze. “Please. Get in the car.”

She smiled, slow and wicked. “There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile, quickly strangled. He stepped back to give her space.

Aurora climbed inside, sliding across the leather seats until she settled in the middle instead of by the window. Marcus followed her in, closing the door behind them with a solid thud that cut off the sounds of the estate.

The world shrank to black leather, low engine rumble, and the heat of his body barely a foot from hers.

Cole started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

Aurora stared straight ahead for all of three seconds.

Then she turned.

“So,” she said lightly, “are you going to pretend that conversation with my father didn’t happen?”

Marcus’s gaze stayed on the street ahead, scanning. “Which part?”

“The part where he acted like I’m an asset on his campaign spreadsheets and you’re just another line item.”

“Because that’s what he believes,” Marcus said, matter-of-fact. “He’s a man in a race. He sees pieces on a board.”

“And you don’t?”

“I see threats,” Marcus said. “And the things that stand between them and you.”

“That’s very poetic for a man who growls for a living.”

“Poetry isn’t my job.”

“What is your job?” she pushed. “Exactly? Be specific.”

He finally looked at her, eyes cool and cutting. “My job is to keep you breathing.”

“That’s very biological,” she said. “What about everything that makes breathing worth it?”

His jaw flexed. “That’s your job. Not mine.”

She leaned back, studying him. “You really think you can separate those things?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t.”

He didn’t answer.

The SUV slipped through the city—past polished glass towers and old brick facades, past neon signs and election posters bearing her father’s name. Aurelia at night wasn’t soft. It glowed in sharp edges and reflections, a city that thrived on deals and secrets.

Inside the car, it felt like a different kind of secret was forming.

Aurora reached for her seat belt.

Marcus’s hand shot out again, fingers curling around the strap, pulling it snug across her chest. His knuckles brushed the bare skin at the edge of her collarbone. Heat sparked under her skin, bright and immediate.

“You do that a lot,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Grab my seat belt like it insulted your ancestors.”

He slid the buckle into place with a clean, metallic click. “Because you keep forgetting to use it.”

“I don’t forget,” she said. “Sometimes I just like seeing you react.”

His gaze cut to hers. “You’re using basic safety as a test?”

“Maybe.” She lifted a shoulder. “You are very dramatic about it.”

“It’s not drama,” Marcus said flatly. “It’s physics. Sudden deceleration plus unsecured body—”

“I know how momentum works,” she interrupted. “I did pass high school.”

“You also almost caught a bullet today.”

“And you caught it for me,” she said softly. “We’re both very good at something, apparently.”

His eyes darkened. “That wasn’t a bullet.”

“It could have been,” she said. “The next one will be. Or the one after that.”

His fingers tightened briefly on the seat belt strap, knuckles whitening.

She smiled a little. “See? Dramatic.”

“Aurora—”

“You keep doing that too,” she said. “Saying my name like I’m a problem you can’t solve.”

“You are a problem.”

“Ouch.”

“A very smart, very stubborn, very high-risk problem.”

She tilted her head. “And yet…you chose this assignment.”

For a moment, something like regret flickered in his eyes. Or maybe it was something else. Something more dangerous.

“Marcus,” she said softly, “look at me.”

He already was, but this time his focus shifted from threat assessment to something slower, heavier.

“You said earlier that once you cross a line, you won’t cross back,” she reminded him. “And that you only stay if I stop testing you.”

His throat worked. “I did.”

“Well,” she said. “I haven’t tested you since.”

“That’s debatable.”

“I haven’t tested your staying,” she clarified. “This…is something else.”

He waited.

She slid off her heels, toes sinking into the carpeted floor. Then, without breaking eye contact, she lifted one leg and stretched it out casually so her bare calf brushed his thigh.

His muscles went rigid.

“Aurora,” Marcus warned.

“There,” she said. “Now you can’t pretend you don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I never pretended.”

“Good,” she murmured. “Because I’m really bad at subtle.”

He stared at her leg for a heartbeat too long before dragging his gaze back up.

“Move,” he said quietly.

“Make me.”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t want me to.”

She smiled, slow and lethal. “I really think I do.”

The air between them thickened, heavy with things that weren’t in any contract.

The SUV turned onto a narrower street, cutting through an older district—brick buildings closer together, windows glowing warm gold, pedestrians scattered along the sidewalks.

Aurora let her foot slide higher, the inside of her knee brushing the crease of his trousers.

He caught her ankle.

His hand circled her skin in a firm hold that was nowhere near gentle.

Her breath hitched.

“Be careful, princess,” he murmured, thumb pressing hard against her pulse. “I don’t play games I can’t win—and I never lose when the prize is you.”

“Everyone plays,” she whispered. “Some people just cheat.”

“I don’t cheat.”

“No,” she agreed. “You just change the rules.”

He held her there for a moment, thumb pressing against the rapid beat of her pulse. Something about the way he touched her—restraining, not caressing—made heat climb the back of her neck.

“Marcus,” she said, very quietly. “Do you want me to stop?”

His fingers tightened, just a fraction.

“No,” he said. “I want you to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“That I am not a safe place to test how far you can go.”

Her lungs forgot how to work for a second.

Then, because she had never been good at backing down, she whispered, “Good. Because I’m not looking for safe.”