"Let’s just wait for the police," Winn said, pulling her against his chest. He kissed the crown of her head, his lips lingering longer than necessary, breathing her in. His hand slid down her back, fiercely protective. "You can stay at my place. I’ll have Reese look into it in the morning. You can take the day off tomorrow to deal with this."
Ivy nodded slowly, her legs carrying her deeper into the house as if by instinct. The silence pressed in on her until the distant wail of police sirens cut through the night.
Relief should have come with that sound, but instead she felt her chest tighten further. Winn turned his head toward the flashing lights, and without hesitation he stepped back outside, his broad shoulders squaring as he prepared to brief the officers..
Her eyes caught the broken picture frames scattered on the floor. Ivy dropped to her knees without realizing, fingertips trembling as she brushed shards away from pictures of her parents, nicking her skin on a sharp edge. A single tear slid down her cheek. Who could hate her enough to do this?
Her mind rifled through possibilities—Flick, her father’s old bookie. She had already sent last month’s payment. There was no reason for him to do this. No reason at all. Unless Flick wanted more.
But then her thoughts darkened, sliding toward the man whose cold smile still haunted her—Tom Kane. Would Winn’s father really stoop so low just to frighten her away? Every instinct screamed yes. He had the resources, the audacity, and the ruthlessness to do it. Should she be afraid of him?
Should she start taking his veiled threats as more than just power games? She couldn’t tell Winn. How could she accuse his father without proof?
Time passed in a haze, the minutes blending together until she couldn’t tell how long she’d been answering questions. Police officers moved in and out of rooms. They asked who she suspected, scribbled notes, and snapped photos. Their words blurred in her ears: Was anything taken? Any enemies? Did you see anyone?
Her throat was dry, her answers short, clipped. They finally advised her to stay somewhere else until her locks could be replaced and the door secured.
Outside, Winn was already a whirlwind of control. His phone was glued to his ear. A locksmith would be there by morning. A cleaning crew would follow.
When she reached him, his hand found hers. Her gaze softened as she watched him shift to his next call, this time to Sylvia. He was telling her Ivy would be staying with them for a few days. The casual ease with which he included her in his world startled Ivy.
He drove her through the quiet night toward his home, his hand gripping the wheel in one hand and hers in the other. She pressed her cheek briefly against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching the city lights flicker by, thinking of her torn-apart living room. She had never felt so rootless in her life.
When the iron gates of the Kane residence swung open at their approach, she exhaled. This was his world, and she was being folded into it under the most vulnerable circumstances.
Sylvia was waiting at the door the moment they stepped inside, wrapped in a cashmere robe, her hair tied back. She went straight to Ivy, clasping her hands gently, her eyes brimming with concern. "Oh, you poor thing," she whispered, looking Ivy over. Read full story at 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝✶𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮✶𝓷𝓮𝓽
"I’m so sorry to intrude," Ivy said softly.
Sylvia shook her head with a quick, dismissive wave of her hand. "Nonsense. If anything, I’m the one intruding. This is your home." She gave Ivy a pointed smile. "Well, it will be soon."
The corner of Ivy’s lips lifted despite herself.
"I put some stuff in Winn’s room for you to change into," Sylvia added. "We can sort the rest out tomorrow morning, maybe do a quick shopping run if you need replacements."
"Thank you," Ivy murmured.
"Do you need anything, anything at all? Tea?"
"No, thank you." Her throat was too knotted to swallow anything anyway.
"Come on. Let’s get some rest." Winn’s voice was low but firm. His hand settled on the small of her back as naturally as if it belonged there, steering her gently toward the bedroom.
Ivy leaned into him just slightly, grateful for the anchor.
Sylvia lingered in the hallway after they disappeared from view, her arms crossed. Guilt gnawed at her insides, a restless, bitter ache she couldn’t shake. She knew exactly what had happened tonight. She had known before the first call came. Ivy’s house being broken into had been a message.
Their father needed information, and brute force was his language of choice.
She hugged herself tighter, whispering under her breath, "I’m sorry, Winn."
Ivy lay awake in bed, cocooned in Winn’s strong arms. His breath was steady against the back of her neck. Every shift, every brush of his skin against hers sent sparks where sparks had no business igniting. The rational part of her whispered that she should be thinking about the wreckage of her home.
But the irrational part—the part that kept stealing tiny gulps of his scent, the part that thrummed with restless, feminine need—wanted nothing more than to melt into him completely. It was infuriating. She had no business feeling him this much, not when he was asleep and entirely innocent of her wicked thoughts.
She tried to close her eyes, tried to force her brain back to the crime scene of her shattered house. She tried counting sheep, then bricks, then even Winn’s slow heartbeats against her spine. Nothing worked. His presence was too consuming.
The warmth of his skin against hers, the weight of his arm across her waist, the faint tickle of his stubble brushing the curve of her neck—it was all maddeningly sensual. Her body ached with restless energy. Finally, after battling herself for what felt like forever, she bit down on her lip and dared.
She shifted her hips just enough that her ass pressed against him.