Stolen Love (Beauty in the Stolen 3)

Putting the gun down on the table, I take a seat. “I’m fine.”

His brow furrows. “You’re pale.”

“I just haven’t exercised for a while.” I walked around in Damian’s office block and climbed the stairs to practice, but my heart isn’t playing along.

Ian hooks a finger into the neck of my T-shirt and pulls it away. “How’s the wound?”

“I don’t even feel it.” The stitches aren’t pulling as much as in the beginning. They should dissolve in a few days.

He drops my backpack next to the chair, takes out my phone, and puts it on the table. “Call me if you hear or see anything. I won’t be long.”

“Where are you going?” I ask with alarm.

“To pull a few branches over the helicopter. We don’t want anyone flying over to spot it.”

“What about setting the perimeter alarms? Shouldn’t we do that first?”

“Later. I’ll do it before getting wheels and supplies.”

Ian’s plan of getting wheels is hitchhiking to town and buying a car with cash. We could’ve easily stolen one from the parking lot near the main building—the ground keepers park their cars there—but we want to attract as little attention as possible. We don’t want the authorities to know we’re here until we’re ready.

Ian gives me another concerned look and a peck on the forehead before leaving. The peck on the forehead, just like the squeeze he’s given my fingers in the helicopter, has become his new way of touching me. It’s platonic enough not to make me nervous, yet he keeps a foot in the door. It’s not much, but it’s not nothing.

While Ian is away, I stew over this new vague definition of us, worried it may develop into something again if I’m not careful. There isn’t much else to do but worry.

After I’ve caught my breath, I pace the floor and go over our plan in my head, but my thoughts always return to one subject—Ian. More specifically, Ian and me. When this is over, I’ll go my own way. I’ll lie low for a while and then keep moving, staying under the radar. Maybe I’ll become a bounty hunter. I have the skills. Sure, my heart gives me trouble from time to time, but not so much when I’m healthy and well-rested.

A noise outside, whistling, pulls my attention. Rushing to the window, I flatten my body against the wall and peer through the crack between the curtain and the window frame. The guard is doing his rounds, making his way along the path. It’s late morning. I make a mental note of the time. When he’s gone, I dare to breathe again.

Ian returns shortly, dark patches staining the armpits of his T-shirt. He climbed up and down the gorge twice, and he’s not even out of breath.

He plants another one of those charged kisses disguised with nonchalance on the crown of my head. “Did anything happen while I was gone?”

“The guard came around. It was just after eleven. It looks like he does a round in the morning too.”

His smile is friendly, but the heat in his eyes goes beyond platonic. “That’s good to know.”

I turn away quickly, busying myself with cleaning my gun.

Ian spends the rest of the morning sneaking around the site to set alarms. At lunchtime, we eat the sandwiches Lina has packed. He spreads out his jacket on the bare mattress and convinces me to take a nap while he showers. I lie down on his jacket and fold the ends over me. A faint smell of tobacco clings to the leather, not that I’ve seen him chewing on cigars lately. He’s given up the habit.

Before long, my eyes drift closed, and when I open them again, he’s hovering over me with wet hair, dressed in a clean T-shirt and jeans and smelling of hotel soap.

“I’m going to get us some wheels.” He studies me with a worried expression. “Stay inside and don’t make noise. You should be safe here.”

I stare up at him, at how the longer side of his hair falls over his face. I remember how he looked when he leaned in this very doorframe and watched me undress. I was a different woman then, and maybe he was a different man. Much has changed. What hasn’t changed is my body’s reaction to him. Back then, I feared him, but it didn’t stop me from wanting him. I don’t fear him any longer, and I want him as much as ever.

“Okay,” I say quickly, lest he sees my thoughts in my eyes.

His smile is soft. He lingers another second, and then he’s gone.

Despite my resolution to keep watch, I must be more tired than what I’d like to admit, because I fall back into a deep sleep.

It’s dusk when he returns. The bed dents where he sits on the edge.

“What time is it?” I ask.