Matteo blinks. “I—sorry?”
“I said we’re done.” Mack’s voice is flat steel. “Thanks for coming. I’ll walk you out.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence. Matteo glances at me, then back at Mack. He’s not stupid. He reads the room in about two seconds flat.
“Right,” he says carefully. “I’ll just… grab my table.”
“Leave it,” Mack states.
Matteo blinks again. “Uh… okay.”
Then Mack escorts him to the suite door like he’s escorting a suspect. The lock clicks behind them.
When Mack comes back, the air feels thicker. Charged.
I’m still sitting on the table, towel barely clinging, legs dangling over the edge. “That was rude.”
“He was done,” Mack says. He’s closer now, close enough that I can see the muscle jumping in his jaw. “You needed more work on your shoulders anyway.”
“Oh?” I tilt my head. “You offering?”
He doesn’t answer with words. He steps between my knees, hands finding my waist—warm, rough, possessive. “Lie back down.”
My pulse kicks hard. I do what he says, slowly, towel sliding away completely as I settle face-down again. Naked. Exposed. Trusting him with every inch.
His hands are different from Matteo’s. Bigger. Calloused from years of whatever life he lived before Heartline Security. He starts at my neck, thumbs pressing deep, working out the same knots Matteo found but with twice the intensity. Like he’s claiming territory.
I moan—quiet, involuntary.
He freezes for a second. Then his hands slide lower, palms flat against my spine, gliding down in long, slow strokes. Oil slicks the way. Heat follows.
“You’re tense,” he mutters, voice gravel.
“Wonder why.”
His thumbs dig into the dimples above my ass. “Because you like pushing me.”
“Maybe.” I arch just enough to press back into his touch. “Maybe I like seeing how far I can push before you snap.”
He leans over me, chest brushing my back, mouth close to my ear. “Careful, Indigo.”
“Or what?”
His hand slides up my side, skimming the curve of my breast, thumb grazing the underside. Not quite touching where I want him most. Teasing. Torturing.
“Or I stop being polite,” he says.
I turn my head, catching his eyes. They’re dark, stormy, pupils blown. “Who said I want polite?”
His eyes blaze like pure fire igniting deep within. The tension builds as he stares at me. He steps closer, and my breath hitches.Before he can act on anything his phone buzzes with a text. He slides his finger over the screen, looking at it. "Derek's on the move. Toward Gilded Hart." He pulls back. Again. "Duty calls."
Dammit.
SIX
MACK
I stare at the latest update from Cass on my phone: Derek Voss spotted lurking near the showcase venue earlier today, but slipped the tail. Lila's still MIA on socials. The net's tightening, but not fast enough. Tomorrow's the big show, and Indigo's fittings wrapped without incident—small mercy. She's in the bathroom now, "freshening up" after her massage, while I pace the living area like a caged wolf. The almost-kiss earlier lingers, my hands on her silkyfuckingskin. Too close. Distractions like that could get us both killed.
