With Every Breath (Slow Burn 4)

A prickle irritated her nape and she frowned at the sudden, unwelcome thought that for once, just one night, she didn’t want to be one of the guys. She was a woman even if she’d refused to give in to most parts of her femininity after the disaster that was Thomas. And now, when he was about to become a free man, unleashed on hapless women he would victimize, she suddenly wanted to reclaim everything he’d stolen from her? She had to be out of her goddamn mind.

She should have gotten laid a long time ago and gotten it done with. But Thomas Harrington controlled her from behind bars every bit as much as he had when he was a free man, and that fact disgusted her most of all.

Eliza pulled up to Joie de Vivre in the “swanky” part of Westheimer, as she termed it. Everything about the businesses, and even buildings, looked so new and shiny to practically scream wealth, power, influence. In other words, swank. And it was definitely a place she didn’t belong.

Reluctantly, she got out of her car, opting to have parked a block away rather than use the valet service Sterling had installed for the occasion. When it was time for her to ditch the event and get the hell out before drawing undue notice, the last thing she wanted was to have to wait in line for her car. Kind of defeated the purpose of fleeing in the first place.

She glanced critically down her body, biting her lips in vexation. Oh the dress fit. Even her heels fit, and they were the likes of which she’d never be caught dead in, but she’d fallen in love with them the moment she’d pulled them reverently from the elegant box they’d arrived in. Apparently it was get-in-touch-with-Eliza’s-feminine-side night.

She shimmered in silver from head to toe. Even her shoes sparkled and twinkled when they caught the light just so. The dressed was extremely formfitting, and yet somehow seemed to give the illusion of flowing motion when she moved, sending a glittery flash that enchanted her.

The thin material cupped her breasts lovingly in a seeming caress. Much like a man’s palms gently cupping and molding her breasts.

Now where the hell had that thought come from? And why the fuck had the hands in question belonged to Sterling?

Her cheeks were blazing and she subconsciously ducked her head in case she ran in to anyone she knew on the walk to the studio.

The dress was modest—again, when it wasn’t on her! By most standards. Anyone looking at only the dress on a hanger would likely think the dress plain, dull even, that it covered far too much. Not sexy enough. Too simple.

Eliza had thought the same and had been oddly grateful to Sterling for not having her outfitted like a tramp. That thought quickly evaporated when she’d put on the dress to get ready tonight. On the right person, the dress turned into a study in seduction. It outlined in stunning clarity just how large her breasts were, their shape, size. She prayed it wouldn’t be cold inside the gallery because if her nipples puckered, she was walking out and when she got home she’d burn the damn dress. Hell, she was burning it after tonight anyway.

In another time, under different circumstances, if she’d had such an opportunity to wear such a beautiful, provocative dress, she would have embraced and gloried in it. She would have had fun with it and enjoyed herself. Maybe even done a little flirting. But then, she thought she would forever be free of Thomas, free of her humiliating past, and she’d been more than ready to finally embrace her present, was even looking forward to a future, something she would have never contemplated having. Firmly ensconced in her new life with a wealth of good friends and coworkers—the very best kind of people—she’d relaxed, become complacent and allowed herself the luxury of thinking that maybe, just maybe, she could leave Thomas and everything associated with him in the past, get the fuck over it, move forward and finally step into the sun.

How stupid and naïve she continued to be when those were the very things she’d sworn never to be a victim of again. What was the saying? You could never outrun your past because it inevitably caught up to you when you least expected it. And there was no such thing as absolution. Not for the wrongs she’d committed, had been complicit in. There was always a price to pay for the mistakes you made. She could delay them but never escape them.

Oh well, one more night to get through and then tomorrow . . . A wave of grief consumed her. Tomorrow was the big staff meeting at DSS. Her plans were completed. Arrangements made. Everything she needed, weapons and intel she’d meticulously gathered, careful to ensure no one, especially Dane, ever discovered all the things she’d so carefully collected starting the morning she’d received the call from the DA.

At least she’d get to see Ari, Ramie and Tori—provided Tori hadn’t opted out of the evening—say goodbye, even if she didn’t voice that farewell. She’d see them, commit their faces, their love, loyalty and friendship to memory. Pain surged as she crossed the street, drawing closer to the gallery. Except Gracie. She had to avoid Gracie at all costs. Simply seeing her from afar would have to suffice. Later. When she had made her escape, she would send Gracie a letter and say goodbye.

Then tomorrow morning, she’d see everyone she’d worked with the past several years, including being introduced to the new recruits, proof of DSS’s—and Caleb, Beau and Dane’s—commitment to hiring only the best and as many of the best as they could pull into the expanding security system.

She paused at the gallery door, noticing that it was already a packed house. Deciding to be “fashionably late” had been a good idea after all. Less chance of being cornered by too many friends all giving her the stare down she’d grown accustomed to over the past week. Her nerves were so frayed that there was no way she’d be able to withstand a full-scale assault from all the people who mattered to her. Just like she mattered to them.

She eased inside, not wanting to draw any undue attention to her entrance.

No such luck.

As she did a quick survey of the room, her gaze unerringly settled on Sterling and she froze when she saw his eyes solidly fixed on her. He’d evidently clocked her the moment she’d walked in the door as if he’d been waiting for her—had he? And he stared at her with those piercing dark eyes that never missed a damn thing and when she thought things couldn’t get worse than the fact he’d obviously been keeping an eye out for her arrival, he began shoving through the crowd not even caring that he was being rude and pushing people out of his way. And he was making a beeline for her.