The CEO Above My Desk (Mckenzie Shinabery) novel Chapter 92

Chapter 92

Rowan

I don’t let go of her.

Not when the car slows.

Not when Theo clears his throat.

Not when Devin deliberately stares straight ahead like he didn’t just witness something that shifted the axis of my entire

life.

Violet is still in my lap.

Still pressed against my chest.

Still gripping my shirt in her small fists like I’m the only solid thing in a world that keeps cracking open beneath her.

And Christ.

I cannot believe I kissed her.

I lost control.

I never lose control.

Not in negotiations. Not in threats. Not in boardrooms. Not in bed.

But she looked up at me like that, broken and furious and desperate to hold onto something, and something inside me

snapped.

I had to taste her.

Had to know.

Had to mark the line between us.

Even now, I can still feel her mouth against mine. The way she didn’t hesitate. The way she clutched at me like she’d been

waiting for it too..

She’s a mess right now. An emotional landslide of grief and anger and exhaustion.

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And she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Her eyes are brighter when she cries. Fierce. Alive. That flush in her cheeks makes something animal curl low in my stomach. It makes me want to pull her closer. Keep her there. Shield her from everything, including herself.

I tighten my arms around her.

Careful.

Controlled.

She was right about one thing.

With me, protection and control blur together.

But this is how I function.

This is how I help.

I secure. I contain. I eliminate threats.

And right now, she is the only thing that matters.

The car pulls into the driveway.

I don’t move immediately.

She’s stopped crying, but she hasn’t let go of my shirt.

Her fingers are still twisted in the fabric like she’s afraid if she releases me,

I brush my thumb lightly over her knuckles.

“You’re home,” I murmur.

Her breath stutters.

She doesn’t answer.

Theo gets out first. Devin follows. I hear the doors close.

I don’t wait for anyone to open mine.

open it myself.

I’ll disappear.

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Chapter 92

Then I slide one arm beneath her knees and stand.

She makes a small sound of surprise but doesn’t protest.

She just wraps her arms around my neck instead.

Good.

If she thinks I’m putting her down right now, she’s mistaken.

I carry her up the walkway.

Through the front door.

Past Theo’s raised brows.

Past Camille’s wide eyes.

Devin watches quietly, but he doesn’t interfere.

They all understand one thing.

She is mine to handle right now.

I take the stairs two at a time.

She buries her face into my shoulder.

And something dark inside me settles.

This.

This is where she belongs.

In my arms.

Safe.

Contained.

The bedroom door swings open with the push of my foot.

I step inside and shut it hard behind us.

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Then I lock it.

Not for control.

For privacy.

For distance.

I don’t want interruptions.

Not right now.

I walk her straight to the bed and sit, still holding her.

She doesn’t try to get down.

She doesn’t tell me to stop.

Her hands are still fisted in my shirt.

I slide one hand up her back, steady and slow.

“You scared me,” I say quietly.

She pulls back just enough to look at me.

“I’m the one who got cornered,” she says hoarsely.

“And I’m the one who would’ve burned the building down if he’d taken you out of it,” I reply.

Her eyes flicker.

She studies me like she’s trying to see how serious I am.

I don’t look away.

Let her see it.

Let her understand.

I lean forward slightly, pressing my forehead to hers.

“You think I don’t know the difference between control and protection?” I ask.

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She hesitates.

M

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“You protect by taking choices away,” she says softly.

“Sometimes,” I agree. “When the person making the choices is too exhausted to survive them.”

Her breath catches.

“I don’t want to cage you,” I continue. “But I will not lose you because you’re too proud to let me carry something.”

Her fingers tighten again.

“I’m not something you get to own,” she whispers.

A dangerous smile tugs at my mouth.

“No,” I say evenly. “You’re something I choose.”

That hits.

I see it.

She swallows.

The room is quiet except for our breathing.

I should put space between us.

Should step back.

Should give her time.

Instead, I slide my hand up to her jaw again.

Not rough.

But firm.

“You don’t get to run,” I say softly. “Not from me.”

Her lips part.

“And if I try?” she asks.

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My thumb brushes her lower lip again.

“Then I chase.”

There it is again, that flicker in her eyes.

Not fear.

Recognition.

She’s beginning to understand that I’m not a storm passing through her life.

I’m infrastructure.

Permanent.

Unmovable.

And God help anyone who tries to dismantle me.

I finally shift, lowering her gently onto the bed.

Not releasing her completely.

Just enough to look at her.

She looks small against the dark sheets.

Vulnerable.

But not weak.

Never weak.

“You need to rest,” I say.

She rolls her eyes faintly. “You always say that.”

“And you always need it.”

She exhales.

Then something unexpected happens.

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Her hand moves from my shirt to my wrist.

Light.

Tentative.

She doesn’t let go.

“Don’t leave,” she says quietly.

The words hit deeper than any kiss.

I swallow once.

“I’m not,” I reply.

Instead of retreating to my post like some self–appointed guard dog, I crawl onto the bed beside her.

She watches me the whole time.

There’s no fear in her eyes.

No hesitation.

Just awareness.

I stretch out on my side facing her, close but not crushing, my hand settling lightly at her waist. Not possessive. Not trapping. Just there.

Grounding.

Her breath catches once, then steadies.

She doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she shifts closer.

Her hand slides from my wrist up to my jaw.

Warm fingers brushing the side of my face.

The touch is careful at first, like she’s testing whether I’m real.

Like I might disappear if she presses too hard.

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We stare at each other in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

No arguments.

No sarcasm.

No power plays.

Just two people who are exhausted and standing in the wreckage of everything they’ve lost.

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