“I don’t hide.”
“No?” His hand finds my waist, fingers curling around the curve of my hip. “Then dance with me.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Please, darlin’, may I have this dance?”
I grin and nod. Honestly, I’m just relieved he’s not suspicious.
The string quartet has changed into something slower—a waltz that drifts through the room like smoke. Other couples are moving onto the dance floor, swaying together in that performative way rich people do at events like this. But when Vanguard pulls me against him, there’s nothing performative about it.
His hand slides up my back, palm flat against bare skin, leaving trails of fire in its wake. His other hand catches mine and lifts it to his shoulder, positioning me like he’s done this a thousand times. Then, we’re moving—one-two-three, one-two-three—and I forget how to breathe.
He’s warm everywhere we touch. No,hot. Chest against my breasts, thigh brushing mine through the silk, his hand spanning the small of my back like he’s claiming me. I can feel the strength coiled in him, barely restrained, and I’m pretty sure he’s at least a little hard, because I can feel the outline of his cock against my thigh.
It makes my mouth water.
Jesus, Mia, you need to be bonked on the head by the horny police.
“You’ve been distracted all night,” he says quietly, his breath warm against my temple. So close, too close. “Looking at everyone except me.”
“That’s my job.”
“No.I’myour job. Your job is to interview me. To write about me.” He pulls me closer, our bodies flush now, and I feel his heartbeat against my chest—steady and slow, so different from my own racing pulse. “So why do I feel like you’re investigating something else entirely?”
Panic spikes through me, but I keep my voice level. “And what do you think I am?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. He just holds me, guiding me through the dance with an ease that suggests expensivelessons or natural grace or both. Perhaps when his body was genetically modified, they threaded rhythm right into his bones. The music swells around us, violins climbing toward something aching and beautiful, and I’m suddenly aware of how many people are watching, how many cameras might be capturing this moment.
How completely I’ve lost control of this situation.
Thank God Kat is here to pick up where I’m slacking.
“I think,” he says finally, his lips brushing my ear softly, “that you’re the most dangerous woman in this room.”
I should laugh it off, make a joke, deflect, do any of the hundred things my training demands.
Instead, I tilt my head back to look at him—my target.
“Maybe I am.”
His eyes darken. His hand tightens on my waist, pulling me impossibly closer, and there’s no mistaking now how damn hard he is, so hard, it takes my breath away.
And somewhere across the room, Viktor Kozlov raises a glass to Conrad Marsh while Kat’s camera clicks in the shadows.
CHAPTER 14
MIA
The music changesinto something slower, more intimate, and Vanguard pulls me closer still. I can feel every inch of him against me—chest, thighs, the unmistakable hardness pressing against my hip. My heart is hammering so loud, I know he can hear it with those enhanced senses of his.
“What do you want from me?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He doesn’t hesitate. “You.” His voice is low, rough, meant only for me. “I want you, darlin’. With every fiber of my being.”
Something rattles in my chest, something I’ve kept locked away for fifteen years, maybe my whole life.
His head dips toward mine, those blue eyes darkening, and I realize with sudden, crystalline terror that he’s going to kiss me. Right here. In front of everyone. In front of the photographers and politicians and monsters.
