Cole didn’t lose his shit. He stood at a distance, never looking away. Perhaps he was testing himself, watching her writhe with his friends. Or maybe he was teasing her, making her wait until she was so sexed-up she would explode if he touched her.
As the group slowly paired off to dance with their mates, he approached. She trembled.
He circled her, placing a hand on her waist as he moved out of sight, keeping his touch on her at all times. When he came back around, he edged closer, aligning their bodies chest to chest and rolling his hip. One hand cupped her jaw. The other hung loosely at his side and slightly behind him, making it impossible not to grope his ripped physique.
She ran her palms down his torso, tracing the indentations and ridges of muscle through the shirt, and teasing the button of his fly.
“You’re beautiful,” he mouthed.
“So are you.” She smiled, feeling warm and gooey and so undeserving.
She wasn’t worthy of this incredible man, but she’d laid her claim and wasn’t letting go.
Grabbing his face with both hands, she rose on her toes and captured his lips. He kissed her back and pulled her closer, controlling the movement of her muscles, setting the pace, and letting her feel him.
His body was made for this, hips thrusting, mouth moving against hers, and hands palming her ass. He danced like he fucked, commanding, leading, and she followed without question. She loved his touch on her skin. She adored his breath on her neck. She craved the hard heat of him, and he gave her what she craved, total permission to feel.
To feel with her hands.
To feel with her heart.
To bask in the beauty of their bond.
They danced through several songs, kissing and grinding until her legs burned and her mouth went numb. Slowly, the room emptied, each couple quietly drifting into the hall.
Danni and Trace swayed in their own world, their bodies entwined and mouths locked in passion. Then Trace lifted her, cradling her in his arms, and carried her out of the room.
Cole moved behind Lydia, rocking and molding his hands to her curves and dips. His lips caressed her neck seductively, lovingly, luring her into his hungry orbit.
“I want to strip you down and lick your body from top to bottom,” he said at her ear.
Then he led her to the bedroom and did exactly that.
The next morning, they said goodbye to Danni and Trace. It wasn’t weird or strained, and it didn’t feel final. The couple might not be part of Cole’s vigilante world, but she knew she would see them again and often. She would make sure of it.
Her chest filled with nervous excitement as the rest of them packed up and headed to the private airport where Matias’ plane waited. As she boarded the plane and flew toward her destination with her hand tucked tightly in Cole’s, she recognized that she wouldn’t be here without him.
Without him, she would still be in Ireland, financially broke and emotionally destitute. Or dead.
When she started this mission twelve years ago, she had one purpose.
Revenge.
When Cole started this mission fourteen months ago, he had a different purpose.
Rescue.
He’d claimed her in Texas, and at that moment, he’d become her champion. He’d fought against it. She’d fought it, too. But in the end, he laid down life and limb to do what heroes did.
He rescued his girl.
Bra?ov, Romania
Two weeks later
The nightclub was rainbow lights and primal beats, throbbing like a heartbeat over a loudspeaker. Lydia didn’t need the music to rev her blood. She was hyped up on adrenaline and nerves.
Tiago led her through thick swirls of dry-ice smoke and sweaty hordes of writhing bodies. This was their sixth nightclub in two weeks, and she was beginning to think their intel was wrong.
There had been no Easter egg sightings. It had nothing to do with whether she could dance. PaulVer simply wasn’t at the venues they visited.
Inauguration Day was in five days.
Five days until Vincent Barrington became the President of the United States, the most powerful man in the world, and utterly untouchable.
She tightened her grip on Tiago’s arm as he muscled his way through the throng. The entire team wore disguises—wigs, hats, fake tattoos, and flashy club attire. Her ink lay completely hidden beneath layers of makeup, her wig a vibrant shade of blue.
For the tenth time, she yanked down the hem of her silver body-con dress, but within two steps, it worked its way back up her thighs. The glittery material barely covered her ass and breasts. Cole’s expression had darkened when he saw it, but he didn’t dare say a word.
The dress did what it was designed to do. It drew attention.
She felt the gaze of every man she passed, despite the danger wafting off her intimidating escort. Tiago wore all black, save for the long, brown fur coat and matching fedora on his head. With his shirt unbuttoned to his belt and his six-pack on display beneath the fur coat, he looked like a goddamn pimp.