Page 20 of Freedom’s Inferno

“I do,” he said, low enough that only I could hear. His breath brushed my temple. “But, I hate giving them something to talk about even more.”

The dance carried us into the circle of glittering gowns and tuxedos. I was acutely aware of the press of his chest against mine, of the steady strength in his arm. He moved like a man who knew control, and it set my teeth on edge that part of me wanted to lean into it.

“I’m sure they’ll find something to gossip about, either way, seeing you and I together. Richard’s widow, fucking his business partner before the ground settles.”

His fingers tensed at my back. “Is that what we’re doing?” he asked, voice thick.

My pulse stumbled against my throat, and I swallowed hard. The question stirred my stomach. I tilted my chin, forcing my voice to stay level. “I’m sorry, Charlie, but you’re not my type.”

His eyes met mine, dark and searching, his grip guiding me through an effortless turn that carried a command I couldn’t ignore. “If you call me Charlie one more time, I’m going to make you walk home.”

“We took my car.”

“I have the valet ticket.” He smiled, sharp and tight.

Heat flared in my cheeks, and I laughed. A brittle sound meant to slice through the tension. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re dangerous.”

We moved in perfect step, two predators in borrowed roles, giving the room their show. On the surface we looked composed, elegant. But underneath, a current was building. Something inevitable, something neither of us wanted to name.

“Do I scare you?” I asked, keeping my tone light.

He snorted. “Hardly.”

“Funny,” I said. “You’ve been acting like you’re allergic to me since Richard first introduced us.”

His lips curved. “I could say the same about you. You made it pretty clear you thought I wasn’t worth noticing.”

I followed his lead through the turn, my hand still warm in his. “Who broke your heart badly enough that you stopped giving anyone the benefit of the doubt?”

His jaw flexed, something pained crossing his expression before the wall slammed back into place. “Bold of you to assume a heart was involved.”

Tension stiffened his arm as he guided me through the next step.

“No women in your life?” I said. “What about men?” I gave a mock gasp. “Don’t tell me you were in love with Richard.”

He barked out a laugh, sharp and surprised. “Jesus. No. I date women. I just don’t do anything that lasts long enough to get complicated.”

The music faded, applause swelling, and Charlie’s face hardened.

I followed the direction of his gaze; a short man with a bald head and thick black beard leaned against the far wall, and beside him, a man built like a side of beef stood with his arms crossed, beady eyes trained on us.

“What?” I asked, feeling his grip on me tighten.

“Costa’s men.” His voice was low, the corded muscle in his neck flexing. “I recognize both of them. Looks like we’ve got babysitters.”

My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression neutral. “How flattering. He must not trust us very much.” I fought the urge to look back again, my stomach plummeting.

Charlie pressed his palm firmer against the small of my back as he guided me deeper into the throng of guests. He moved with an urgency that sent me tripping over my own feet.

The high-pitched chime of a spoon clinking against glass echoed, and Gary Byres’s cheerful baritone cut through the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, voice carrying with ease. “Thank you for being here tonight. Your generosity keeps the doors of our local shelter open, and tonight, I’d like to introduce you to a few of the faces you’ll be helping.”

A ripple of polite applause spread through the room as the doors at the far end opened. Men and women in matching polo shirts emerged, each holding a leash. Dogs of every shape and size trotted at their sides: shaggy mutts with hopeful eyes, sleek hounds with glossy coats, and one pudgy bulldog waddling like a drunken sailor. The crowd melted at once. Gowns and tuxedos bent low, jeweled hands reaching to stroke ears and scratch chins. Laughter rang out as one of the dogs rolled onto its back mid-aisle, begging for belly rubs. The gala erupted into chaos—warm, joyful chaos. The perfect smokescreen.

I leaned toward Charlie, my lips barely moving. “Now’s our chance.”