For the first time in months, she had nothing to wake up for in the morning. Without her harness and all the gear, she felt weightless, but far from free. More wine wasn’t going to help that. A holiday probably wouldn’t, either, and she had to be honest with herself about that. She always felt better when she was working, and although her job with Roger Germain hadn’t completely taken her mind off Ewan, it had helped to be occupied.
She drained the glass and set it on the table, contemplating finishing the bottle. Instead, she corked it and put it away to save for another time. Germain had given her an entire case, but that didn’t mean she wanted to squander it.
Her apartment wasn’t dirty or even untidy, and it was still a bit too early for sleep. She tried to watch a viddy, but nothing kept her attention. Her next option was a workout. A hundred pull-ups, a hundred crunches, a hundred sit-ups. Then another set. Then three more after that. The exercise left her muscles aching, her limbs trembling. Stomach growling. She made a meal and ate it, pasta and vegetables, some more wine.
Finally, Nina admitted defeat and pinged Leona. Her boss answered with all that blond hair tied up in a high tail on top of her head. No makeup. She wore a fuzzy pink robe and had a carton of ice cream in her hand.
“This better be good, Bronson.”
“I’ll take it. The assignment.” Nina shrugged, her hands on her hips, not caring that she looked like a sweaty hot mess and Leona was clearly in the middle of some “me” time.
Leona dug her spoon into the carton and took a bite. “I knew you would. I already arranged for a transpo. Six hundred tomorrow.”
“What would you have done if I’d said no?”
“You weren’t going to. I know you, Bronson. You’re happiest when you’re on the job. And it might be good for you. Get your mind off . . . things.”
Nina snorted soft laughter. “Uh-huh. Things.”
“Transpo comes at six. Be ready. Info coming when I log off.”
“Of course.”
A few hours later she was settled in the transpo. According to the info that had pinged through a minute after Leona disconnected, the client would be providing everything she’d need, beyond her personal gear. She was going to a residential location. There’d be travel as required. Appropriate attire and all personal needs would be provided. Pretty standard stuff.
She’d grabbed her tablet, a new one to replace the one that had been destroyed during the last attack at Ewan’s main house. The new one was synced to her cloud library. When she tapped the screen, the last book she’d been reading on it came up. Wuthering Heights. She’d read it a dozen times and could imagine reading it at least a dozen more. She’d left off midway, and of course the cloud function meant that the file opened to the place where she’d stopped. She scanned the text briefly. Catherine was saying how if Heathcliff ceased to exist, she’d be unable to keep on.
Nina closed the file. For the first time, reading that scene didn’t move her to bittersweet tears. For the first time, she understood completely how Catherine felt, and it wasn’t at all romantic or beautiful or even sexy.
Loving and missing Ewan in her life was not bittersweet. It was only bitter. She’d probably be tasting it for the rest of her life.
She deleted the file before tucking the tablet into her duffle.
She spent the rest of the transpo ride bingeing on a series of retropulp novellas that entertained her without engaging her brain too much. By the time the transpo set down inside the gates of her new client’s estate, Nina had finished all of them and tucked her tablet back into her duffle. With it slung over her shoulder, she exited the transpo.
She was halfway down the transpo steps when she noticed the man waiting for her on the front steps of the house. He didn’t wear a suit and tie, but the dark hair was the same mussed cut. The glint of his grin, no different. He watched her walk toward him without taking so much as a step toward her, which was a good thing, because if he’d tried to reach for her, Nina wasn’t sure what she might have done.
Instead, she reached the bottom of the porch steps and let her duffle fall with a thud onto the driveway. She tilted her head to look him up and down. She put her hands on her hips, feet shoulder-width apart, in her fighting stance. It made her feel strong, and she would need to be.
She stared him down. “Hello, Ewan.”
“Hello, Nina,” Ewan said. “Welcome back.”
About the Author
Author photograph © Whitney Hart Photography
Megan Hart writes books. Some of them use a lot of bad words, but most of the other words are okay. She can’t live without music, the internet, or the ocean, but she and soda have achieved an amicable uncoupling. She can’t stand the feeling of corduroy or velvet, and modern art leaves her cold. She writes a little bit of everything from horror to romance, though she’s best known for writing erotic fiction that sometimes makes you cry.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
About the Author
Copyright Page
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
DANGEROUS PROMISE. Copyright © 2018 by Megan Hart. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Crystal Ben
Cover photographs: buildings © ssguy/Shutterstock.com; lights © kwest/Shutterstock.com; woman © Netfalls Remy Musser/ Shutterstock.com; man © grafxart/Shutterstock.com; city © S-F/Shutterstock.com
ISBN 978-1-250-11970-4 (ebook)
First Edition: January 2018
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Megan Hart, Dangerous Promise (The Protector)
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