Chapter 27.
1225 Words
The alarm clock on the nightstand didn't just wake Briar; it sounded like a tactical alert. 4:00 AM arrived with a cold, unforgiving clarity that felt entirely at odds with the sweltering, whispered chaos of the night before.
As Briar shifted to turn off the ringer, her movement was instantly restricted. She wasn't alone. A heavy, muscled arm was draped over her waist, pinning her securely against a chest that felt like a wall of heated granite. The realization hit her like a lightning strike: she had fallen asleep. In Victor’s bed. In her mother’s house.
"Victor," she hissed, her voice a panicked thread.
The arm tightened instinctively before it relaxed. Victor’s eyes snapped open- not with the grogginess of a normal sleeper, but with the lethal alertness of a man trained to wake up in a combat zone. For a split second, his gaze was predatory, scanning the room for a threat before it settled on Briar.
The hardness in his eyes melted into something dark and dangerously warm.
"The clock hit zero," he rumbled, his voice thick with sleep and gravel.
"We fell asleep," she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. "If my mother had walked in to check on 'the guest'..."
"But she didn't," Victor said, his thumb grazing the line of her jaw as he pulled her back for one lingering, possessive kiss. "Mission success, Briar. Barely."
He let her go, and the sudden absence of his heat felt like a physical wound. Briar scrambled out of the twin bed, her legs slightly shaky as she gathered her clothes from the floor in the dim moonlight. She beat a hasty retreat to her own room down the hall, her heart only slowing once she had the door locked behind her.
An hour later, getting dressed for work was an exercise in strategic camouflage. She stood before her vanity mirror, tilting her head to the side. There, just below the jawline, was a faint, blossoming plum-colored mark- the unmistakable brand of a man who had claimed his territory.
"Damn it, Victor," she breathed, a traitorous smile tugging at her lips. She quickly unpinned her hair, letting the thick waves fall forward to cover the mark, then pulled on a high-collared knit sweater despite the lingering warmth of the autumn morning.
By the time she made it down to the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee was already heavy in the air.
Victor was already there. He was seated at the small circular table, looking impossibly sharp in a charcoal tactical shirt that hugged his shoulders. He looked like a man who had slept a full ten hours and woken up ready to command a battalion, not a man who had spent the better part of the night dismantling her defenses and sleeping with her tucked into his side.
Eliza was at the stove, humming as she flipped pancakes. "There’s my early bird! I was just telling Victor that you’re usually halfway to the bakery by now."
Briar moved toward the coffee pot, her gait slightly stiff. She felt Victor’s eyes on her immediately. It wasn't the polite gaze of a houseguest; it was the heavy, weighted stare of a man checking his perimeter.
"Good morning, Mom," Briar managed, her voice steadier than she felt. "General."
"Good morning, Briar," Victor rumbled. The sound of his voice- that low, resonant vibration, sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to her core. He didn't look away. "You look... rested."
The mockery in his tone was so subtle Eliza didn't stand a chance of catching it, but Briar heard it loud and clear. He was enjoying the memory of her sleeping in his arms.
"I am," Briar lied, gripping her coffee mug. "Though I think I might have pulled a muscle at the fair yesterday. I’m feeling a bit stiff."
Victor took a slow, deliberate sip of his black coffee, his eyes tracking the way her hair shifted as she moved. "Physical exertion often leads to delayed onset muscle soreness. You should probably focus on... light stretching today."
"I'll keep that in mind," she countered, finally braving a glance at him.
Eliza turned around, resting a hand on her hip as she looked Briar over. "You know, stiffness aside, you look wonderful this morning, honey. You have a real glow. Doesn't she, Victor? I think that fair air did her some good."
Victor set his mug down with a soft clink. He leaned back, his large frame dwarfing the kitchen chair, and allowed his gaze to travel slowly from Briar's eyes down to where her hair parted just enough to reveal a sliver of the mark on her neck. His expression remained a mask of perfect, military professionalism, but his eyes flared with a dark, triumphant heat.
"She does indeed have a certain... radiance, Mrs. Smith," Victor said, his voice dropping an octave. "It’s a remarkable transformation from how she looked when I arrived."
"See?" Eliza beamed. "Even the General notices. Now, Briar, don't forget the cinnamon rolls for the church council meeting this morning. I promised Mrs. Gable you’d have them ready by seven."
"I'm on it," Briar said, moving toward the door to grab her keys.
As she passed Victor’s chair, the space was narrow. Victor shifted his legs, his heavy boot pinning the hem of her jeans for a split second, forcing her to stumble slightly toward him. His hand shot out, catching her forearm to "steady" her.
The contact was electric. His thumb brushed against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, right over her racing pulse.
"Careful, Briar," he murmured, his face inches from hers. To Eliza, he looked like a concerned guest helping a clumsy hostess. To Briar, he looked like a man who wanted to drag her right back up the stairs. "You wouldn't want to lose your footing so early in the day."
"I've got it, Victor," she breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could smell him- that sandalwood and iron scent that was now ingrained in her skin. "I'm perfectly stable."
"Are you?" he challenged softly, his grip tightening just enough to be possessive before he let go.
"I should get going," Briar said, looking toward her mother. "I'll see you later, Mom. Victor... try not to let the 'quiet' of the house bore you."
"I have plenty to keep my mind occupied," Victor replied, picking up a section of the local newspaper. "I’m currently reviewing the local topography. I find the... hidden paths... particularly interesting."
By 6:00 AM, the bakery was a hive of activity. Briar was halfway through the cinnamon rolls when the bell above the door chimed.
She didn't look up, assuming it was one of her regulars. "Just a minute, I’m just finishing the glaze!"
"Take your time, Briar. I’ve got all morning."
The voice was like a bucket of ice water down her spine. It was smooth, practiced, and held a proprietary edge that made her stomach turn. Travis.
"Travis," she said, her voice flat as she looked up. "What are you doing here?"
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