Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
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’m your 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 expensive lessons 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 changes into 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.
And then, he’s going to drop dead.
I look down sharply, breaking the moment, my forehead nearly hitting his chin. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts.
“I know you want that too,” he murmurs against my hair. “I can read it on you.”
Of course he can. Enhanced senses. He can probably smell my arousal, hear the way my pulse spikes every time he touches me. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and he has no idea that what I want could destroy him.
“This isn’t a good idea.” I pull back, putting inches between us that feel like miles. “I need a drink.”
I slip from his arms and cut across the dance floor, weaving between couples until I reach a waiter with a tray of champagne. I grab a glass and down half of it in one swallow then position myself near a marble column, far enough from Vanguard that his enhanced hearing shouldn’t pick up a whisper.
I twist my earring to full receive.
“Bayo,” I breathe, barely moving my lips. Even if Vanguard can hear me, he won’t really know what I’m saying.
“Don’t go anywhere alone with him.” Bayo’s voice is tight, urgent. “Mia, whatever you’re feeling—”
I see Vanguard approaching through the crowd, that predatory focus in his eyes, and I twist the earring back before Bayo can finish, wishing my heart would stop thundering against my chest like a herd of wild horses.
Vanguard reaches me, and, without a word, he takes my champagne glass and sets it on a passing tray then captures my hand in his.
“Come with me.” His thumb traces circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. “I think we both need some fresh air.”
Don’t go anywhere alone with him.
“Vanguard—”
“Nate,” he corrects, and the sound of his real name makes my chest ache. “Tonight, I’m just Nate.”
He’s already pulling me toward the edge of the room, toward a set of French doors that lead onto a stone balcony. I should resist, should make an excuse, claim I need the loo, disappear into the crowd. Every bit of my training screams at me to break contact and run.
But I don’t. Because beneath all my layers, all the real and all the fake, I’m just a desperate, hungry, terribly lonely girl who’s been forever denied what it means to be human.