HANS: Alliance Series Book Four(22)

CHAPTER 26





Hans





Her breathing shifts and I know she’s awake.

I keep my body relaxed against hers. I don’t want to make her feel weird by giving away that I’ve been lying here, watching her sleep, for the last thirty minutes.

She nuzzles her face against the pillow, and I wonder if she might just fall right back asleep.

But then her whole body does some sort of shimmy. And her ass wiggles against the hard-on I’ve had since waking.

I look over the top of her head, focusing on the wall and forcing myself to stay relaxed.

When she finally notices my cock pressed into her, Cassandra stiffens.

Slowly, she starts to climb out of bed, like she’s trying to be sneaky or not wake me, but she accidentally pulls the blanket off my shoulders. Then she bumps the bed frame, shaking it.

She hunches her shoulders as she tiptoes out of the room.

My eyes are open, my head is turned toward her, but she doesn’t look back.

She must step on every squeaky floorboard in the house on her way to the front door, only to make more noise gathering her picnic basket.

Shaking my head, I wait until I hear the front door open and close before I climb out of bed and follow her steps.

I don’t know why she snuck out.

And I don’t know how she could possibly think she was being quiet. Her exit could’ve woken me from a coma.

But whatever her reasons, I need to let her leave.

It’s for the best.





CHAPTER 27





Cassie





Blowing out a breath, I eye the front of Hans’s house.

I’m pretty sure he’s home since I haven’t seen him leave since I snuck out of his bed this morning. And I know I shouldn’t bother him. I’ve done enough of that already. But…

I glance back at my car and bite my lip.





CHAPTER 28





Hans





My knife slows to a stop against the sharpening block as I watch Cassandra climb out of her car, even though she just climbed into it a moment ago.

What’s wrong, Butterfly?

She puts her hands on her hips, indecision evident in her body language. She looks at my house, back at her car, then back to my house.

Her teeth press into that plump lower lip, and I feel it in my balls.

It’s worse now. Now that I know what it’s like to touch her. To feel her against me. Because now, when I see her on the screen like this, it feels even more distant. Even further from reality.

But then she takes one step down her driveway. Then another, and another, until she’s crossing the street.

I let my knife drop to the workbench and stand.

I’ve always ignored her knocking at my door. Always.

Until last night.

And since she hasn’t left the house today, she probably knows I haven’t either.

And since I carried her to my bed last night rather than wake her up to send her home, I can’t really ignore her. That would be rude.

Excuses.

With long strides, I exit my safe room, leaving my surveillance and voice of reason behind as I secure the door.

I’m through the false wall and up the stairs before Cassandra knocks the first time.

And I’m pulling the door open when she knocks the second time.

In a bright yellow sun dress, she looks like some kind of summer fairy. And even more beautiful in person.

“Can I borrow your car?” Cassandra leans forward a little as she asks, like the question tumbled out of her unexpectedly.

I blink at her.

Borrow my truck?

I think of my truck. The fake registry in the glove box. The hidden compartment under the rear bench seat. The dozens of weapons and explosives hidden in the bed.

“No.” My voice is stronger than it was yesterday, the injury already healing.

“Um.” She blinks back at me. “Please?”

“What’s wrong with yours?” I counter.

“Won’t start.” She lifts a shoulder. “I tried ordering a ride from the different apps, but no one is out this way.” She grimaces. “And if I don’t leave in the next few minutes, I’ll be late.”

The town we live in isn’t tiny, but it’s small enough and just far away enough from the bigger suburbs that the different taxi services rarely run here, and there is no public transportation.

Which is good, because if I witnessed her getting into the back of a stranger’s car, I’d have my sniper rifle out and aimed at the back of the driver’s head before you could say psychotic.

She shifts her weight in her little white tennis shoes.

I take her in again. Casual shoes, pretty dress that stops a couple of inches above her knees, big leather purse slung over her shoulder, hair pulled up into a curly ponytail, glossy lips…

“I’ll drive you.”

Her face brightens. “You will?”

I nod. Because apparently, I will.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She hops twice, and I want to shove my face in her tits.

But I don’t. I just nod my acceptance of her thanks, then gesture for her to back up. “Let’s go.”