Gabe

___________________

My eyes flick to the clock on the table.

 Seven am. 

If it weren't for the fact that Stu and Denaro's lackey are just down the hall, I'd selfishly stay here, unable to tear myself away. But last night has consequences beyond just my role as her bodyguard. I've already done a poor job of convincing Denaro that I don't care about Piccola, that I wouldn't prioritize her over the scam. The moment he suspects otherwise, the moment he thinks I'm going against him, she'll be in more danger than I can bear to imagine.

I slip on my crumpled trousers and button up my white shirt, keeping my eyes on her, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she nestles deeper into the tangled sheets. I should go. I need to go. Any minute now, one of the others will wake up for their shift, and I should be gone before they do. But I don't want to leave her. I never want to fucking leave her.

But I have to.

Dropping my hands to my sides, I cross the long hallway to my own room, the view of the ocean at the far end pulling me back to last night. The memory of her pressed against the balcony railing, her ass against my cock, driving me to the brink of insanity, plays on repeat in my mind. I try to convince myself that it's enough that I tried to stop this, but the truth is, Piccola is too stubborn, too accustomed to getting exactly what she wants. And I'm a weak man.

Inside my room, I shower and change into a fresh shirt and trousers, running a hand through my damp hair. I pull out my phone, checking for any messages, but there's still nothing from Denaro since the incident with the cameras at Evangeline's house. It's when that bastard goes silent that I'm most on edge.

Part of me was relieved when Stu made it clear he wanted me gone once we're back in LA. It meant the decision to leave her wouldn't be mine. She couldn't hate me for walking away. But the other part of me—the part that's addicted to being near her, that can't bear the thought of walking away now, even with everything at stake—wants to kill him for it.

That part will be the fucking death of me.

When I'm ready, I head into the kitchen and switch on the coffee machine, leaning against the counter as I wait. At some point this morning, the hotel delivered a breakfast spread—crispy bacon, buttery croissants, poached eggs, waffles topped with fresh berries, and a platter of avocado toast. There's also a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice and a bowl of mixed fruit.

It's almost seven thirty when Stu strolls into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway with a look in his eye that makes me stand up straighter. He doesn't say a word—he's a man of few, I'm learning—but he walks around the island with heavy footsteps, grabbing a cup from the cupboard. Without a glance, he pours himself a mug of the coffee I just made.

I let it slide this time.

He takes a sip before lowering it onto the counter. I stay still, waiting to see what he's going to do when he suddenly pulls his pistol from his pocket and places it on the counter between us.

I smirk, tilting my head slightly as I watch him dismantle the gun right in front of me. It's a display of force, no doubt about that, but Stu doesn't realize who he's up against.

"I want you to tell me everything you know about this stalker," he says calmly, reloading the gun with practiced ease. "Don't leave anything out."

I arch an eyebrow, gauging his reaction as I start laying out the basics—the messages, the flowers, the break-in. Stu listens in complete silence, his fingers still resting on the handle of the gun, which lies flat on the counter in front of him. His face remains impassive, but I don't miss the slight flinch when I mention that Piccola was too scared of disappointing him to tell him.

It hits me then, just how deep I've gotten into this. Somehow, against all odds, I've ended up in the same position—caring for her so much that she feels the need to hide things to protect her freedom. I knew from the start that getting emotionally involved would only complicate things, and now here I am, tangled in the very mess I tried to avoid.

Stu remains silent as I busy myself with making another coffee. I can practically feel his gaze boring into the back of my head. No doubt he's calculating the quickest way to get rid of me—whether that means reporting what I've done to Mrs. Ryder, or just pulling the trigger right here and now.

"She cares about you, you know," his gruff voice cuts through the sound of the steaming milk. I keep my back to him, not trusting myself to face him. "I don't know how or why," he continues, "but I've known her long enough to tell when she trusts someone or when she's keeping them at a distance, and she trusts you."

"But you don't," I say carefully as I turn to face him. His crinkled eyes are always narrowed, except when he's looking at Piccola.

"No, I don't," he replies, lifting an eyebrow, "but you already knew that. What matters is that she does. She's decided you're worthy of her trust, and that puts me in a very difficult position."

He's waiting for something—a sign that I'm not the untrustworthy bastard he's convinced himself I am. But he's been right all along, and nothing I say or do is going to change that. I feel compelled to try anyway.

"You don't have to trust me," I say slowly, pouring the coffee into a mug. I reach for the caramel syrup, drizzling it into the latte. "You just have to trust that I care about her safety and that I'll do whatever it takes to protect her."

He looks to the far side of the kitchen, thinking about it. "I won't say anything to Mrs. Ryder until things start to calm down," he says finally, tucking his pistol back into its holster. "Not for your sake, but for theirs. They've been through enough, and the last thing Mrs. Ryder needs is another reason to worry."

I nod.

"As for you," he continues, "I know you're hiding something." His words make my muscles tense, and a prickling sensation crawls up the back of my neck. I meet his gaze, trying to keep my expression neutral. "And I'm going to do everything I can to find out what it is."

Jack and Bailey choose that moment to walk in, sliding onto the barstools and casually helping themselves to the food on the table. My eyes roam past Bailey, ignoring his icy stare as I focus on Jack.

"Heard anything?" I ask.

"Actually, yeah," Jack replies, his words slightly muffled as he chews on a piece of pineapple. "I got the GSS report this morning. The guy's some misogynistic YouTuber who gets views by degrading celebrities. He's not just targeting Eva—he's been spouting bullshit on a bunch of celebrities' posts, but he's been especially active on hers the last few months, lining up with when the messages started. I sent him a threatening message so, hopefully, that'll scare him off now that he knows we're onto him. If not, we can start working on getting a restraining order."

My grip tightens around the coffee mug, the urge to deal with this guy myself gnawing at me, but protocol keeps my hands tied. I turn away from the counter, and the tension eases the moment I lock eyes with Piccola as she walks in. Something inside me softens instantly. I take in the sight of her—bare face, messy bun, dressed in a college hoodie and sweatpants. Somehow, she's even more beautiful now than she was last night.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, she hovers in the doorway, her cheeks slightly flushed, as if she's remembering the way my cock buried inside her, her nails raking down my back, the breathless moans that escaped her lips.

Fuck.

"It smells like caramel in here," she says, stepping further into the kitchen. She brushes past my chest, so close that every muscle in my body tenses, and she examines the coffee machine. I reach for the coffee I made her earlier and hand it to her. She looks up at me, our gazes locking for just a second too long, her fingers grazing mine as she takes the cup.

"Thank you," she says softly.

I can't take my eyes off her. "You're welcome."

"I don't remember anyone offering me coffee," Jack chimes from behind us.

I shoot him a look as Evangeline moves to the kitchen island. She picks up a bowl of fruit, biting into a strawberry, staining her lips a deep red. When she's done, she casually sucks a drop of juice off her thumb, her teeth grazing the pad lightly. My eyes darken, imagining those same lips wrapped around my cock.

"We need to talk about your stalker," I say, looking away. "Jack thinks the guy from last night could be a match. We've had a word with him, so things should die down for now. If not, we can take legal action."

"That's it?" she asks, her playful demeanor shifting to something more serious. "We just hope he gets the message and stops?"

"That's all we can do," Stu says, his voice gruff as he leans back against the counter. "If he doesn't heed the warning, then we can—"

"He didn't even say why he's been doing this?" she interrupts, looking between us with a mix of frustration and worry. She's trying to stay composed, but I know her too well. When her voice drops an octave, calmer than usual, she's fighting to maintain control.

"No," I reply softly. "But we can hazard a guess. He's a YouTuber known for criticizing celebrities. He probably thinks he can get some kind of attention by harassing you."

She doesn't respond right away, instead picking at the fruit platter in front of her, her fork lingering over a slice of kiwi. I watch her, every instinct screaming at me to pull her into my arms, to tell her that everything will be alright, that I'll handle it. But I know better.

"Give me his username," she says, looking directly at me. "I have a few things I want to say to him."

"Not a chance."

Her eyes narrow, silently demanding that I give in, but when I don't, she stands up. "I should get ready," she says, her gaze skirting mine. "Make sure Kat eats something when she wakes up." She doesn't wait for a response, just turns and heads back to her room as I step forward.

"Leave her," Stu advises. I barely hear him, my eyes still locked on the spot where she disappeared. "She'll come around after a while."

But following orders has never been my strong suit. I push off the counter and follow her up to her bedroom and out onto the balcony, where all of this began. The door slides shut behind me. She turns around slowly, her gaze sweeping over me, pausing at the navy shirt I've thrown on today. There's a flicker in her eyes—something that sends a jolt of electricity straight through me.

"I'm mad at you," she says, her green eyes narrowing with defiance as I step closer. Her palms press against my chest, trying to keep me at bay, the warmth of her fingers seeping through my shirt.

"I can see that." Her breath hitches, and I can feel her fingers tense against my chest. I can't help the way my pulse quickens as I lean in just a fraction closer, my mouth hovering near hers, close enough to feel the rush of air escape her lips. "I'd be more surprised if you weren't."

She refuses to look at me. "It's not fair that he just gets to make my life miserable for months and get away with it." Her voice trembles with anger, and I can feel the heat radiating off her. "If it's really him, he broke into my house, Gabe. He sent me a picture of his—" she stops suddenly, biting down on her lip.

"What picture?" My voice is calm. Calmer than I feel as my imagination runs wild.

"Nothing."

I can't help the surge of protectiveness that rises in me. My jaw tightens, and I move closer, pulling her flush against my chest. She's hiding something from me. "What picture?" I ask again.

"Fine." She pulls out her phone and shoves it toward me. I glance down, and my blood runs cold as I see the image on the screen—a picture of this asshole's cock. "That's the guy you won't let me confront. He gets to torture me for months and face zero consequences."

The urge to find this bastard and make him pay is all I can think about, but I clamp down on it, knowing that the last thing she needs is for me to lose it. My hands instinctively find her waist, pulling her closer until her body is trapped against mine.

"Do you think I don't want to make him suffer?" I ask, my voice barely audible as I run my nose along the sharp line of her jaw, inhaling the warm, vanilla scent that clings to her skin. It's a scent that drives me crazy, one that makes it impossible to think of anything else. "If I had my way," I say against her skin, "I'd find him and kill him myself, but I have to put your safety first."

I pull her even closer, my lips grazing the soft skin of her neck, feeling the rapid pulse of her heartbeat beneath my touch. "I need you to trust me, Piccola. Everything I do, I do to keep you safe."

She tilts her head slightly, daring me to say more. "Because you like me," she challenges.

My hand slides up, fingers tangling in her hair as my heart races. "Don't test me, Piccola. Promise me you'll let this go."

"I'll let it go," she says, her voice laced with challenge, "on one condition."

"I'm listening."

Her eyes flash with that dangerous spark, knowing she's got me exactly where she wants me. Without missing a beat, she slips her hand between us, her fingers trailing down the front of my shirt before finding their target through my trousers. "When we're back in LA, I get to kiss you anytime I want."

She makes it sound like a punishment. My thumb traces the curve of her lips before I tangle my fingers in her hair, gripping it in my fist. There's no point in denying it anymore. No point holding onto any sense of restraint. She's already shattered every wall I've put up.

One week. I'll give her a week of letting her have her way, and then I'll end this for good. Pulling her closer, I breathe her in, "You've got yourself a deal, Princess."

A sly smile curves her lips as she strokes me softly, her manicured fingers teasing me with just enough pressure to make my dick throb beneath her touch. I grab her wrist and hold it still, tightening my grip around her. The last thing I need is to walk out of here with a fucking hard-on.

"Our flight leaves soon. Get ready," I order, my lips barely grazing her neck. I feel her shiver under my breath as I tilt her head just enough to catch her scent. "And give me your phone. I need to forward the last few messages."

She pulls back slightly, a frown creasing her brow. "I thought there was nothing more we could do."

"There isn't, but we still need all the evidence in one place."

Instead of stepping away, her lips find mine in a gentle kiss. It's soft at first, but the second I feel her mouth against mine, something inside me snaps. I grab the back of her head, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as my tongue parts her lips. She sighs into me, and her hand resumes its slow, deliberate path across my trousers. I'm hard in seconds, teetering on the edge of giving in and letting her do whatever the hell she wants.

Just as I'm about to lose all control, she pulls back, her lips curving into a teasing smile. She slips her phone into my hand without a word and starts to turn away. I grab her waist, dragging her back into me, pressing my mouth to her ear. What do you think you're doing?"

"Giving you a reason to stick around once we get back to LA," she says, then slips out of my grip and heads toward the shower, leaving me standing there, throbbing with frustration.

This woman is going to be the death of me.

I adjust myself, trying to shake off the frustration she left me with and focus on scrolling through her messages. The screen shows that picture of his tiny fucking cock, and I struggle to keep my anger in check as I read the message beneath it:

See you tonight, Evangline.

Something cold and paralyzing washes over me as I pull out my own phone and flip to a specific message.

Saw the headlines yesterday. Keep Evangline calm.

Fuck me.

Her stalker is Denaro.