Chapter 165
[ 514 words ]
Chapter 165:
He didn’t kiss her lips. He pressed his mouth firmly against the center of her forehead. It was a heavy, lingering, deeply reverent kiss. There was zero lust in it—only absolute, uncompromising devotion.
The heat of his lips burned through her skin, hitting her straight in the heart.
Jarrod pulled back. He didn’t say another word. He grabbed his bag with his left hand, turned on his heel, and marched out of the bedroom.
Caroline sat completely paralyzed, her fingertips slowly rising to touch the burning spot on her forehead.
In the living room, K. C. Bell stood at rigid attention. He was wearing a heavy plate carrier and holding an assault rifle.
Jarrod walked up to him. His eyes turned demonic.
He pointed a finger back toward the closed master bedroom door.
“Her life is your only priority,” Jarrod delivered the ultimate, lethal command. “If anyone tries to breach this apartment, even if it is my grandfather, you put a bullet in their head. I will take the court-martial.”
“Yes, sir,” Bell replied without a single blink of hesitation.
ѕ𝗁𝗮𝘳𝘦 𝘆𝘰u𝘳 𝘁𝘩о𝗎gh𝘁𝗌 о𝗻 𝘨a𝘭𝗻о𝘃𝘦𝗅𝗌.с𝗼𝗺
Jarrod looked at the bedroom door one last time, carving the image of the woman inside into his brain. Then he turned, stepped into the private elevator, and vanished into the dark.
The penthouse fell dead silent. Caroline slowly lay down on the right side of the bed, burying her face in his pillow, completely surrounded by his scent and the terrifying emptiness of his absence.
The blinding morning sun pierced through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, hitting Caroline directly in the eyes.
She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut, and slowly sat up. She looked down at the vast expanse of the king-size bed. The dark gray silk sheets on the right side were perfectly smooth, completely untouched.
She let out a long, heavy exhale. The chaotic events of the midnight deployment hadn’t been a nightmare. Jarrod was gone. She was entirely alone inside this sprawling, multi-million-dollar cage.
Caroline pushed the covers off, walked into the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face. She pulled on a comfortable set of beige cashmere loungewear, took a deep breath, and pushed the heavy oak bedroom door open.
She walked down the hallway and turned the corner into the living room.
She gasped, taking a sudden step backward.
K. C. Bell was standing dead center in the middle of the living room. He looked like a terrifying black iron statue. He was fully geared in his tactical vest, wearing dark sunglasses, with his hands clasped behind his back. His head swiveled slightly, scanning the front door like a human radar system.
Caroline’s brow furrowed deeply. Her dormant CIA territorial instincts flared up violently. Having a heavily armed man standing inside her private living space, watching her every move, made her skin crawl. It was suffocating.
She walked up to him, forcing a polite, reasonable tone.
“Bell,” Caroline said. “The building is secure. You don’t need to stand in the middle of the living room like a gargoyle.”
Bell didn’t move a muscle. His voice came out flat and robotic. “The Colonel’s orders are close protection, ma’am. I cannot break visual line of sight.”
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