Morning brought new complications.
Isla woke to shouting outside—angry voices, car doors slamming, chaos invading their quiet sanctuary. She rushed to the window, seeing Ryder on the street below, body language aggressive, blocking three photographers with cameras from approaching the brownstone.
They'd been found.
She was downstairs in seconds, still in her sleep shorts and tank top, as Ryder hauled one photographer backward by his collar. 'This is private property. Leave. Now.'
'Public has a right to know where Isla Thornton's hiding!' one of them yelled back. 'Is it true you're having an affair? That the kidnapping was staged for publicity?'
'I said leave.' Ryder's voice dropped to something deadly.
Isla stepped outside despite knowing she shouldn't, unable to watch him fight her battles alone. 'There's no affair. No story. Leave us alone.'
Cameras swiveled to her immediately, flashes erupting. 'Isla! Are you being held against your will? Is the bodyguard controlling you? What about the stalker? Are you afraid for your life?'
'Inside. Now.' Ryder's hand closed around her wrist, pulling her back.
More photographers emerged from vehicles down the street. A news van. This wasn't random paparazzi—this was orchestrated. Someone had leaked their location.
Ryder dragged her inside, slamming the door and immediately pulling shades, locking windows, transforming the safe house into a fortress. 'Pack. We're leaving in ten minutes.'
'They found us—'
'Someone gave them this address. Which means we're compromised.' He was already moving, gathering equipment with brutal efficiency. 'Your stalker either leaked it to flush us out or is watching to see how we respond. Either way, we're exposed.'
Isla ran upstairs, throwing clothes into her bag with shaking hands. Everything was falling apart. Every sanctuary violated. Every protection breached.
When she came back down, Ryder had body armor laid out. 'Put this on. We're going out the back, through the neighbor's yard. I've arranged a pickup two blocks over.'
'This is insane.'
'This is survival.' He helped her into the vest, his hands impersonal despite the intimacy of the task. 'Stay behind me. When I say move, you move. When I say stop, you freeze. Understood?'
'Yes.'
They exited through the back door into chaos. More photographers had circled the block, and someone—probably her stalker—was coordinating their movements. Ryder kept her pinned against his back as they navigated through yards, his body a shield, weapon drawn.
A figure appeared from behind a fence. Ryder moved so fast Isla barely tracked it—disarming, immobilizing, identifying threat level in seconds. Just another photographer, not a real danger. He released the man with a warning that promised violence if followed.
They reached the pickup point—a black SUV with tinted windows. Ryder pushed her inside, sliding in after and slamming the door. 'Drive.'
The vehicle lurched forward. Isla was pressed against Ryder's side, his arm around her shoulders, body armor making them bulky and awkward. She could feel his heart racing despite his controlled exterior, his muscles tense and ready.
'Where are we going?' she asked.
'Secondary location. Backup safe house. Nobody knows about this one except me.' His jaw was tight, furious. 'Someone on your father's team is compromised. Had to be. The address wasn't in any official files.'
'You think it's the stalker? Inside our organization?'
'I think we can't trust anyone except each other.' His arm tightened around her. 'Which is exactly how he wants it. Isolated. Paranoid. Dependent.'
The drive took forty minutes through confusing routes meant to lose any tails. Finally, they pulled up to a high-rise in New Jersey—anonymous, modern, completely unexpected.
The apartment was smaller than the brownstone. One bedroom, open concept, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of Manhattan's skyline. Expensive. Private. Impersonal.
'This is yours?' Isla asked as Ryder did his security sweep.
'Bought it under a shell corporation. Paid cash. Completely off-grid.' He checked sight lines from the windows, already calculating threats. 'Nobody knows about this place. We're ghosts here.'
'There's only one bedroom.'
'I'll take the couch.' He said it without looking at her, already setting up his monitoring equipment.
Isla stood in the middle of the living room, adrenaline still racing, body armor digging into her ribs, world spinning out of control. They'd been found. Chased. Forced to run. Her stalker was winning, systematically destroying every safe space, every protection, until nothing remained.
'Hey.' Ryder was suddenly there, hands on her shoulders. 'Look at me. You're spiraling.'
'He keeps winning. Every time we think we're safe, he proves we're not. How do we fight someone who's always three steps ahead?'
'We adapt. We survive. We don't give up.' His hands slid down her arms, leaving fire in their wake. 'And we sure as hell don't let him see us break.'
'I'm so tired of running.'
'Then we stop running. We make our stand here.' His eyes burned with determination. 'This is my territory. My rules. Let him come. I'll be ready.'
The confidence should have been reassuring. Instead, it terrified her because it meant confrontation, violence, an end game she might not survive.
'Help me out of this.' She gestured to the body armor, suddenly claustrophobic in the tactical vest.
Ryder's hands moved to the Velcro straps, his fingers brushing her sides as he loosened the armor. The touch was professional, necessary, but the air between them charged with yesterday's confession. With admitted want. With dangerous proximity.
He lifted the vest over her head, and Isla was suddenly aware of her thin tank top, no bra beneath after sleeping, his eyes darkening as he noticed the same thing. She should step back. Create distance. Remember that he'd been right—this was inappropriate, dangerous, complicated by trauma and forced proximity.
She stepped closer instead.
'Isla.' Warning and want war in his voice.
'You said you wanted to be honest with me. About everything.' She placed her palm against his chest, feeling his heart slam against her hand. 'So be honest now. Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you don't want this and I'll walk away. But don't lie to me, Ryder. Not about this.'
'I want—' He stopped, breathing hard. 'You have no idea what I want. What I've been imagining since the moment I saw you on that terrace.'
'Tell me.' Her voice came out husky, breathless.
'I want to kiss you until you forget every fear, every violation, every moment of the past week. I want to show you exactly how safe you are with me. How protected. How worshipped.' His hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb tracing her lower lip. 'I want to make you feel things that have nothing to do with fear and everything to do with me.'
Heat pooled low in her belly. 'Then why are you still talking?'
'Because once I start, I won't be able to stop. And you deserve better than a bodyguard taking advantage during a crisis.'
'You're not taking advantage. I'm offering.' She rose on her toes, closing the distance until their lips were a breath apart. 'I want this. I want you. Stop being noble and kiss me, Ryder.'
His control shattered. His mouth crashed down on hers, and it was everything—heat and hunger and desperate need finally unleashed. He kissed her like he'd been starving for it, like she was oxygen and he'd been drowning, like this moment had been building since that first night on the terrace.
Isla gasped against his mouth and he took advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in a rhythm that promised so much more. His hands speared into her hair, angling her head for better access, and she melted into him, pressing her body against his, feeling every hard plane and ridge through their clothes.
He walked her backward until she hit the wall, never breaking the kiss, his body caging hers completely. One hand slid down her side, over her hip, gripping her thigh and hitching it around his waist. The new angle pressed them together intimately, and Isla moaned at the contact, the evidence of exactly how much he wanted her.
'Ryder—' she gasped when he moved to her neck, teeth scraping sensitive skin.
'Say it again.' His voice was gravel and sin. 'Say my name like that again.'
'Ryder.' She arched into him, hands fisting in his shirt. 'Please—'
His phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Insistent. They both froze, breathing hard, the real world crashing back.
'Ignore it,' Isla whispered.
'I can't. It's the emergency line.' He pulled back, and they stared at each other, both disheveled, both wanting, both aware they'd crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed. He checked the phone, his expression darkening. 'It's your father. There's been another threat. He needs us at his office. Now.'
Reality crashed down. The danger. The stalker. The mission that was supposed to be his only focus. Isla straightened her clothes, trying to regain composure while her body still hummed with unfulfilled need.
'This isn't over,' Ryder said, his voice rough. 'What just happened—we need to talk about it. Set boundaries. Figure out what the hell we're doing.'
'Later.' She forced professionalism back into her voice. 'Right now, we deal with the threat.'
They gathered their things in tense silence, the kiss hanging between them like a promise and a problem. As they left for her father's office, Isla couldn't shake the feeling that everything had just changed.
And there was no going back.