Xavier stepped back smoothly, but not before I caught another flash of that possessive hunger in his eyes when he looked at Matt. “We should do dinner soon,” he said, as if he hadn’t just been one step away from declaring some kind of twisted devotion. “Like old times.”
The muscle in Matt’s jaw jumped. “Goodbye, Xavier.”
As Xavier melted back into the crowd, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant had just happened. The way he’d looked at Matt, like he was something to be possessed…
“Well,” Ryan said, breaking the tension, “that was dramatic. Even for Xavier.” He grinned at me. “Usually, he saves theworthy of a kingspeech for board meetings.”
The party finally wound down around midnight, the crowd thinning as Vegas’ elite returned to their respective kingdoms. Matt’s hand hadn’t left the small of my back since Xavier’s little performance, not that I was complaining.
“That was better than any drama,” Ryan declared as we made our way through the Bellagio’s marble lobby. “Though Xavier was extra intense tonight. Did you see how he?—”
“Ryan,” Matt’s warning tone could have frozen the desert.
“What? I’m just saying, the wholeworthy of a kingthing was a bit much. Even for him.”
The cool night air hit us as we stepped outside, carrying the familiar scent of desert and neon. The valets were doing their choreographed dance with a fleet of vehicles that probably cost more than small countries.
Movement caught my eye—Xavier emerging from the hotel, his perfect composure still intact despite the late hour. He paused at the bottom of the steps, and even from this distance, I could feel the weight of his gaze. The way he watched Matt…
A sleek black sedan pulled up—one of those ridiculously expensive German ones that screamedI eat small businesses for breakfast. Something about it tickled my memory, but before I could place it, Xavier was sliding into the driver’s seat with fluid grace.
“Isn’t that…” I started, remembering the black car I’d seen outside the Maxwell more than once.
“His pride and joy,” Ryan supplied. “Custom everything. He probably loves that car more than most people.”
We watched as Xavier pulled away from the Bellagio, but instead of turning toward the Strip’s main drag, he headed for the hotel directly opposite the Maxwell. The same hotel where I’d sworn I’d seen that black sedan parked on multiple occasions, always in the same spot with a perfect view of the Maxwell’s entrance.
“He stays there sometimes,” Ryan said, following my gaze. “Says it gives him a better view of his investments. Though some people think he just likes keeping an eye on his competition.”
Matt’s hand tightened on my waist. “Let’s go home.”
As our own car pulled up, I couldn’t shake the image of Xavier’s intense gaze, the way he’d watched Matt all evening like he was memorizing every movement. The possessive edge to his voice when he’d talked about kings and devotion…
“Stop thinking so loud,” Matt murmured as we slid into the back seat, Ryan already calling shotgun. “Xavier’s harmless. Just a bit…”
“Obsessed?” I supplied.
“Ambitious,” Matt corrected, but his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced.
Through the tinted windows, I caught one last glimpse of that black sedan disappearing into the hotel’s private garage. The same garage where I’d seen that same car so many times before, always watching, always waiting…
“Hey.” Matt’s fingers caught my chin, turning my face away from the window. “Forget about Xavier. I believe we have some unfinished business from earlier?”
Ryan groaned from the front seat. “Could you two at least wait until you’re in private?”
“Could you at least pretend you’re not eavesdropping?” I shot back, but I was already melting into Matt’s touch, the evening’s tensions starting to fade.
Still, as we pulled away from the Bellagio, I couldn’t quite shake the memory of Xavier’s eyes—that hungry, possessive gleam when he looked at Matt, like a man studying a prize he intended to claim.
Thirty-Four
THE WATCHER
The black sedan glided smoothly into the Cosmopolitan Hotel’s underground parking. The forty-eighth floor offered the perfect vantage point of the Maxwell, a fact he’d spent considerable time and resources securing.
As he rode the private elevator to his suite, memories of the gala swirled through his mind like expensive whiskey. Matt had been magnificent, commanding the room in his perfectly tailored suit. The Watcher’s breath caught, remembering how close they’d stood during one heated exchange about market shares, Matt’s cologne making his head spin even as they traded barbed comments about hostile takeovers.
Those MIT years had given him insight into Matt’s brilliance, watching him dominate every classroom discussion, seeing that raw potential even then. The Watcher had studied him, learned him, understood him in ways that little shit never could.
