I wasn't supposed to get a bodyguard.

I wasn't rich. I wasn't famous. Just a teacher with a dangerous secret-and a target on my back.

Then he showed up.

Dante Moretti: six-foot-four, armed, silent, and terrifyingly hot. With scars on his jaw and secrets in his eyes, he didn't look like a bodyguard. He looked like the man they warned you about.

He didn't ask questions. Didn't offer comfort. Just told me to pack a bag and stay alive.

Now we're trapped in a remote cabin with no cell service, one bed, and a tension so thick it could snap.

He's made it clear-he's here to protect me.

But the way he watches me? Touches me? Owns me?

It doesn't feel like protection.

It feels like possession.

And maybe, just maybe... I don't want to be saved.

I want to be kept.