9. Luke

My feet pounded on the sand as I ran down the long stretch of beach leading back to my house.

The ocean was rough this morning, whitecapped and angry beneath a cloudy sky. Behind me, the Laurel Lighthouse stood tall at the end of the cape, candy-striped and blinking. To my right were the weathered, beachfront homes of Cape Avalon's oldest families, back when this part of East Hampton was a bohemian refuge, attracting artists and writers seeking a creative respite from New York City.

Scattered between the smaller bungalows were the mansions of the coastal elite, squeezed onto every last bit of space available. They towered above the older homes, with heated swimming pools, rooftop decks, and garages filled with gleaming sports cars.

These houses were occupied less than half the year, while the locals hunkered down for the winter, when the wind whipped knife-sharp through the sand.

Not that I could begrudge the summer people. I earned my living by teaching their kids and out-of-town guests how to windsurf and Jet Ski. But Cape Avalon's bohemian scene still thrived in protected pockets. Like at the Shipwreck, a dive-like gay bar that had been running a popular drag show every Thursday night for the past thirty-five years. The vibe was part queer oasis, part literary hideaway, with a smattering of surly locals warming barstools on the weekend.

The bookstore I worked at in the offseason held poetry readings there, with attendees huddled close in a drafty room steeped with secret queer history. Of broke writers and whiskey-stained manuscripts, charged glances and stolen intimacies.

I'd been there just last night, eager to join friends and get out of my house. Get out of my fucking head. In a single day, I'd bungee jumped off a bridge, been almost exploded by a car bomb and then narrowly missed being crushed to death by an antique chandelier.

Plus, I couldn't stop obsessing over my extremely serious bodyguard pinning me to the ground with his body to keep me safe. Couldn't stop obsessing over his perfectly straight tie. The strength in his grip. The gravelly restraint in his voice when he'd said, You will follow every one of my instructions for your own safety. Do you understand?

So really, I wasn't that surprised when I jogged closer to my house and felt the distinct weight of Elijah's attention, clocking me as I came to a stop on the sand. I stacked my hands on top of my head and took a moment to catch my breath. And when I tipped my head back down, he was standing right in front of me.

Furious, I would guess. Though he disguised it well—hands clasped, sunglasses hiding his eyes, not a hair out of place.

"Mornin'," I panted, lifting the end of my shirt to wipe the sweat from my face. "Why do I get the feeling I'm in trouble?"

Ripley reddened. "You weren't in your bed, Mr. Beaumont."

"It's Luke," I corrected, then shot a grin toward Elijah. "Also, warn a guy before you traipse into his bedroom, will ya? Someone could have been sleeping over."

Elijah's eyebrow lifted slightly. "And was there someone?"

"Not this time. But it's been known to happen quite a bit."

His expression hardened. "Then you'll have to notify your security team in advance."

I raked a hand through my hair and brushed past them, heading toward the house. "Sounds romantic. I'm sure my future partners will appreciate being subjected to a thorough background check by you."

"Do you think this is a joke?" Elijah asked, his voice dangerously soft. I halted midstep, spun around. Ripley must have fled because only Elijah remained, standing completely still, his expression stoic.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

He closed the distance between us until the tips of his shoes almost brushed mine. "We had a deal yesterday. Part of that deal involved you obeying my instructions."

I crossed my arms and leaned back against the wall. "I remember our deal. And I don't see how I'm disobeying you. I went for a run, Elijah. On the beach where I live, with neighbors I've known for a good portion of my life. I don't think Dan and Tina two doors down are gonna finally take this opportunity to murder me in broad daylight, do you?"

"That depends. Do they have motive?"

"Oh sure," I said with a laugh. "‘I'm so sorry, your honor. But Luke Beaumont was simply much too charming and much, much too handsome. He had to go.'"

This close, I could have sworn the ends of Elijah's lips twitched, ever so slightly.

"We'll use that scenario then," he continued. "Your neighbors murder you in a fit of rage over your good looks and sparkling personality?—"

"Why, thank you."

"—and as they do so, you're suddenly without the highly trained person literally paid to prevent such a thing from happening."

I opened my mouth to argue. Snapped it shut. With an eye roll, I passed through the opened screen door into the kitchen. "I didn't think it was a big deal, okay?" I called back, grabbing a coffee mug. "Do you actually expect Ripley to run alongside me on the beach?"

Elijah appeared next to the counter, sunglasses now tucked into his pocket. There wasn't a single nick on his clean-shaven jaw whereas I now had two days' worth of dark scruff.

"He would have done just that," he said. "It's what we're trained to do."

I poured a cup of coffee. Flashed him a smirk. "Would you run with me if I asked?"

"Absolutely."

I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "But what if I'm faster than you, Elijah?"

"You're not faster than me. And the point still stands. If you believed you weren't breaking the rules, you wouldn't have climbed out a window like a teenager breaking curfew." A muscle bunched in his jaw. "Anything could have happened to you. Nothing would have stopped the person who planted that bomb from attacking you on a deserted beach in the early morning. Violence isn't selective when it comes to location, friendly neighbors or not."

Elijah's gaze drilled into mine, so intensely that a blush climbed up my neck. I took a long sip of coffee, attempting to regain the upper hand.

"You really don't want me to get hurt, huh?"

"Luke, I'm being serious here," he said sharply.

"So am I. I told you I didn't want a babysitter. It's not my vibe, dude."

He tipped his head. "And yet you signed a contract yesterday that suggested otherwise."

"That's right," I said cheerfully, snapping my fingers. "I signed it after you agreed to help me dig up some scandalous shit on my dad. Which you're still going to do, right?"

A pause. "Yes. Right."

I held his gaze. "Really? 'Cause you've got the honor of a medieval knight. If you referred to me as my liege, I'd be less fucking surprised."

"Honor is a problematic virtue to you?" he asked mildly.

"It's certainly not as much fun as some of the other virtues."

"Ah, yes," he said. "Patience, chastity and humility. Three virtues you embody well."

Then he paused.

A slow grin slid up one side of my face. "You were about to say my liege, weren't you?"

"I was not."

I shook my head with a laugh, strolling toward the hallway. "Feel free to make jokes in my presence. Unless you think that blurs too many professional boundaries." I reached behind my head, yanking off my shirt. "I'm gonna take a quick shower before I head in. Help yourself to coffee, OJ, water, bagels, doughnuts…"

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry."

I glanced up from untying my swim trunks. The lines of his throat tightened but his face stayed passive. "Bodyguards are allowed to eat though, yeah?"

"Correct."

"But are you allowed to…enjoy it?" I whispered.

Elijah glanced at his watch, ignoring me. "If you had an itinerary for today, I'm guessing you're already behind."

"I'm a surf instructor in the summer and a bookseller in the winter. I don't really do itineraries," I called back, kicking the bathroom door shut and twisting on the shower. Wondering what his company's protocol said about the appropriate distance to keep when clients were bathing.

Wondering if Elijah was right outside.

Hot water streamed through my hair, loosening the tight muscles between my shoulder blades. I lathered shampoo, reminding myself that he was not fantasizing about me in this shower. He was probably coordinating the fastest route to the estate to ensure optimal safety. Or scrutinizing my disorganized bookshelf. Running a single finger along the hearth and staring at the dust streak left behind like it was a personal affront.

I, however, was thinking about Elijah running.

More specifically, running next to me. On the beach. Preferably shirtless, with a heaving chest and heavy breathing. Hair slightly disheveled. Sweat beading in the hollow of his throat. My cock twitched at the image. Twitched again when I pictured running my tongue up the cords of his neck, tasting salt.

Listening to whatever strangled sounds of pleasure he'd surely try to hide.

I cranked the water temperature to freezing and let a jittery burst of cold shock me back to earth. Once out, I wrapped a towel around my waist and pulled open the bathroom door. Steam billowed into the hallway, where I could just make out the very edge of Elijah's jacketed shoulder and the side of his right hand.

I opened my cabinet mirror and grabbed my razor and shaving cream. "Any news on who tried to blow us up yesterday? And if it has anything to do with that letter about the flash drive?"

"Nothing to report," he replied. "Given the violent nature of what happened, the local police have assigned my team an officer liaison, which means we'll be kept updated on any leads. But nothing's shaken out yet."

I smoothed shaving cream along my jaw and beard line. Wiped the mirror clean of steam and caught a quick glimpse of Elijah's profile. He turned away quickly. "What, uh…" I cleared my throat. "What other threats did he receive when you worked with my dad?"

"Most were one-off events, individuals targeting your father for his wealth and visibility," Elijah said. "They weren't made public and didn't result in anything dangerous."

I dragged the razor down the left side of my face, following my cheek. Water still dripped from my hair and onto my shoulders.

"He had a positive reputation throughout the Hamptons, so public threats and demonstrations were rare," he added. "Your brother will probably fill you in more on the Sunrise Village project, which Lincoln was working on before he died. There's a massive protest there right now, trying to block TBG from building."

The name Sunrise Village tickled the back of my brain. Preston had mentioned it yesterday, described it as "absolutely fucked" but I'd been distracted by everything else going on. The village was considered a Cape Avalon touchstone, a collection of seaside cottages turned into a beloved artist's retreat. I hadn't realized TBG was involved with it.

But knowing my father, it probably wasn't for good reasons.

"His building sites have been protested before by environmental groups," Elijah continued, "some more dramatically than others." His feet shifted in the hallway but I didn't look that direction. "Most of his public disagreements were with members of city council over building permits. Or disgruntled employees, trying to sue him."

I snorted, knocking excess shaving cream into the sink. "You mean Lincoln Beaumont was a horrible person to work for? Never could have guessed." I peered over my shoulder, trying to catch his eye. "Elijah?"

"Yes?"

"How did he treat you?"

The hesitation was barely there, but I sensed it. "Your father was always courteous to his protection agents."

You don't have to lie, I almost said, but he spoke before I could.

"He had a stalker once, right before I came on board."

My hand froze, midmotion. "Sorry, what?"

"Some B-list celebrity who believed your father had ruined the condo he paid him to build. He was obsessed with your dad. The guy ended up being pretty dangerous in the end. He used to wait outside the estate, try to get into the offices in New York. He followed your stepmother into a store once, scared her pretty badly. Until recently, that was the most nervous I'd ever seen your dad about his own safety."

I rinsed the razor and started on the right side of my face. "You told me there'd been an increase in threats in the months before he died. I'm assuming that's why he was nervous?"

There was movement in the hallway. Elijah's phone was buzzing, and whatever he read there had him lifting his walkie to his mouth and murmuring something I couldn't catch. After a few moments, he replied, "I believe that's why. He was…very agitated, almost paranoid. So much so that I was worried his stalker had returned and he hadn't told us. But I've seen no indication of that. You really weren't made aware that any of this was happening?"

"I, uh…no. No, I wasn't aware," I said with a shrug. "Lincoln and I weren't speaking when he died. Though apparently he didn't tell Preston any of this either."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be," I said sharply. As sharp as the feelings trying to force their way through my body. A therapist might have called it regret. I knew what it really was—longing for a relationship that had never been and now never would be.

"Was your stepmother speaking to you?" Elijah asked.

"Celine? No way. She's perfectly nice, but it's not… It was never…" I paused, dragging the razor along my jawline. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. You've read our files, you know what happened to my mother."

Elijah didn't press and I didn't expand. I raised my chin, moving the razor down the side of my neck. Then cursed at a bite of pain.

"Luke?"

I winced at my neck in the mirror, where a decently sized cut was starting to bleed through the shaving cream. "It's nothing. I just cut myself." Opening the cabinet, I reached for a few cotton balls and a small first aid kit. Blood trickled down the front of my throat, more than I expected. "Never mind about the cut. It's more of a ‘slight stabbing' situation."

"May I come in?" Elijah asked gruffly.

I glanced down at my low-slung towel and bare feet, the room partially filled with steam, and almost cracked a joke about this situation looking suspiciously like one of those "blurred boundaries" mentioned in his contract. But then his broad shoulders and stern gaze appeared in the doorway.

"Sure…why not?" I sputtered.

He was all efficiency as he prowled forward, those dark eyes narrowing to the wound. Without looking away, he grabbed a cotton ball from the counter. Hooked two fingers beneath my chin and tilted my face up before firmly pressing cotton to the cut. I hissed in a breath.

"Does that hurt?" he asked.

"I can take it. Just wasn't aware that first aid would be part of your responsibilities."

He exhaled. I felt it like a caress along my skin. "Ensuring that you don't bleed out on your bathroom floor is my responsibility."

"In that case, thank you. I promise I'm not usually this much of a mess," I replied, hoping that the lie in my voice wasn't too obvious.

I heard the rustle of the first aid kit being opened.

"I'm going to bandage this now," he said, fingers leaving my chin. I sucked in a breath at Elijah's nearness, at my own vulnerability. He emanated a disciplined and dangerous control in that suit, his movements utilitarian while I fought a full-body tremble.

With a single snap of his fingers, I would have followed his every command. Happily.

"I know…" I swallowed hard. "I know what you must think of me."

He tossed the packaging into the trash. "That would imply I think of you. I do not."

"Ouch."

He finally shot me a look. "I think about your safety, Luke, as I should. Per the boundaries of my position and my own professional philosophies."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Which are?"

"Your safety above all else."

I propped my hip against the sink. "And were you thinking about my safety when you essentially called me a spoiled brat yesterday?"

"I didn't…" He stopped. Shook his head. "I was out of line as well as wrong. I'm sorry, Luke. Truly."

"I'll say you were wrong. We didn't even have a private jet." I shrugged, caught his eye. "We had a private helicopter."

He blinked. "And?"

I cracked a smile. "That was a joke, Elijah. I make a lot of them and you should feel free to laugh. Not that I'm commanding you as your boss. I'm simply encouraging you to express yourself. Especially if you find me funny."

His face remained impassive. "Duly noted. I look forward to the day."

"Fuck me," I said with a laugh. "Okay, I get it. You don't like my jokes."

He moved smoothly out of the bathroom and I ached to call him back in.

"When are you heading into the office today?" he asked.

Sensing defeat, I turned back to the sink and rinsed off the rest of the shaving cream. Patted my cheeks with aftershave. Reminded myself that flirting with my bodyguard was an inherently bad idea regardless of how intriguing he was.

"I'll be heading in as soon as I'm done here," I called over my shoulder.

"And when will you be sending me the itinerary information I requested?"

I draped a towel over my head and rubbed my hair dry. "Uh…also as soon as I'm done here?"

His silence was damning, and I wasn't sure why I cared so much about his approval. The faster I found the information I was looking for, the faster I could get back to my old life without Elijah "Fun Is My Archnemesis" Knight trailing me everywhere.

But then I walked out of the bathroom and found him standing in front of a picture of me with my nieces. When he saw me looking, he dropped his gaze and checked his watch instead.

"Those are my nieces, Lizzie and Rory," I said. "They've got me wrapped around their little fingers, if it's not obvious."

His reply was a short nod.

"Do you…have any?" I asked.

Elijah cleared his throat. "Yes. Three nephews."

"Do you see them often?"

"Couple times a year. Sometimes less."

"Well, that sucks," I said. "I'm sure they miss you."

His shoulders tensed. "They understand what my job entails and the sacrifices I make."

Guilt flickered through me at those words. I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Elijah, I'm sorry about this morning. I was being a jackass. I'll only go running with you from now on."

"Thank you."

"From here on out, it's gonna be patience, humility and um…what was the third virtue again?"

A slight arch of his eyebrow. "Chastity."

I snorted. "Okay, just patience and humility."

"An improvement, then."

I cocked my head. "For the record, you've made like three jokes this morning alone."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said—though I swore he was fighting a smile beneath that stony exterior.

I'm gonna crack this man wide open,I thought.

It was my worst idea yet.