Chapter 43: Inspection

NOAH

I woke up exhausted, and not in the simple, manageable way that came from a bad night’s sleep. This was the kind of fatigue that seeped into my bones, the kind that made even the smallest movements feel heavier than they should have been, like my body was carrying around a debt it hadn’t finished paying yet.

Everything hurt. My neck throbbed where Cassian had bitten down hard enough to leave marks I couldn’t hide with a collar no matter how carefully I adjusted it. The ache felt deliberate, like a reminder etched directly into my skin.

And beneath all of that, simmering uncomfortably, was frustration.

Because last night, Cassian had worked me up with methodical precision. He had touched me slowly, deliberately, whispered into my ear until my pulse had been racing and my body had been tight with need.

He had made me hard enough that it hurt, had kept me right on the edge until every nerve was screaming for release, and then… he had walked away.

Just like that.

He had left me aching, wanting, unsatisfied, as if it meant nothing. As if I meant nothing.

This is fine, I told myself. Everything is fine.

…

The construction site was a forty-minute drive from the hotel. Cassian had spent the entire ride in the back of the SUV, phone pressed to his ear, speaking to someone about permits or contracts or something equally dull and impenetrable. His tone never wavered, calm and controlled, like he hadn’t completely dismantled me the night before.

I sat beside him with the tablet balanced neatly on my lap, doing my best to look productive. Doing my best not to think about last night. Failing spectacularly.

Every bump in the road sent a sharp reminder through my body, each jolt drawing my attention straight back to how sore I was, how my muscles were still tight and tender from everything Cassian had done to me at that bar. The bite of his teeth, the possessive grip of his hands, the way he had made me ache so thoroughly I could still feel it hours later.

And then how he had stopped. Abruptly. Cleanly. Like flipping a switch.

Leaving me there, wanting.

Bastard.

I shifted in my seat, searching for a position that didn’t hurt, and immediately regretted it when a sharp flare of pain shot up my spine. I sucked in a breath and stilled, forcing my expression back into something neutral.

Cassian glanced at me.

Just once.

Brief and assessing, his eyes flicking over me like he was taking inventory.

Then he looked back at his phone, voice resuming without hesitation, as if he hadn’t spent the previous night reducing me to a shaking, desperate mess.

Of course he hadn’t.

…

The site was massive.

Beachfront property stretching along the coast, half-finished luxury buildings rising against the blue sky like skeletal giants. Construction equipment everywhere… cranes, scaffolding, trucks, workers in hard hats moving with purpose.

It was loud.

Hot.

Overwhelming.

The Spanish sun was already brutal at nine AM, beating down with the kind of aggressive heat that made my shirt stick to my back within minutes.

I climbed out of the SUV, juggling the tablet, a folder of printed documents (because Cassian insisted on having physical backups), his coffee (black, no sugar, still hot), and my own water bottle.

My hands were full.

Too full.

But I didn’t have time to put anything down because Cassian was already walking.

And everywhere was chaos.

Workers in hard hats shouting in Spanish. The metallic clang of tools. The low rumble of machinery. Dust everywhere, coating my shoes, sticking to my skin in the oppressive heat.

Cassian walked ahead of me like he owned the place.

Which, technically, he kind of did.

Tailored suit, sunglasses, not a single bead of sweat visible despite the temperature. He moved through the site with absolute confidence, inspecting beams and foundations with the same cold precision he applied to everything else.

I trailed behind, trying to take notes with one hand while balancing everything else.

My shirt was already sticking to my back.

My throat was dry.

And I was pretty sure I’d forgotten to eat breakfast.

Focus, Noah.

Just get through today.

Don’t embarrass yourself.

Cassian stopped near a half-constructed wall, gesturing to one of the architects.

“The support columns need reinforcement. This won’t pass inspection.”

The architect paled. “Yes, Mr. Wolfe. We’ll address it immediately.”

I fumbled with the tablet, trying to type notes with one hand.

Support columns. Reinforcement. Inspection.

The coffee in my other hand sloshed dangerously close to the rim.

“Bennett.”

I jerked my head up. “Yes, sir?”

Cassian didn’t look at me. “I need photos of this section. Wide angle, then close-ups of the joints.”

“Right. Photos. Got it.”

I set the coffee down on a nearby stack of lumber, tucked the papers under my arm, and raised the tablet to take a picture.

Backed up a few steps to get the full frame.

Click.

Perfect.

Now the close-up.

I took another step back, adjusting the angle…

My foot hit something.

Something that shouldn’t have been there.

I stumbled, arms windmilling, trying to catch my balance.

The tablet slipped from my hands.

I grabbed for it… missed… and my hand caught the edge of the scaffolding instead.

For one horrible, suspended moment, everything was fine.

And then the scaffolding shifted.

Not a full collapse.

But enough.

Enough that tools clattered down from the upper levels.

Enough that workers started shouting.

“¡Cuidado!”

“¡Muévete!”

Enough that my heart stopped completely.

Oh god.

Oh god, I’m going to die.

I’m going to die on a Spanish construction site because I’m a clumsy idiot.

Strong arms wrapped around my waist.

I was yanked backward… hard… and suddenly I was pressed against someone’s chest, stumbling, both of us trying to regain balance.

We staggered back several feet before finally stopping.

My heart was hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears.

The scaffolding settled with a metallic groan but didn’t fall.

Workers rushed over, stabilizing it, checking for damage.

And I was still being held.

By someone who smelled like expensive cologne and sunscreen.

Someone warm.

Someone who wasn’t Cassian.

I tilted my head back slightly, dazed, and found myself staring up at a face I’d only seen in photos.

Oh.

Oh no.

Alexander Hendrix.

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