Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
My stomach clenches, but I let out a soft laugh. “Ah, well… guess we’ll just have to make do with the main floor, then.” I cast my best disappointed look, which seems to soften the guard’s expression only a hair.
Lincoln offers a polite nod, tucking the bills away. “Thanks anyway.”
We head back into the throng, neither of us speaking for a moment. My pulse is still hammering from that brush-off. Clearly, this place has strict rules about who goes where.
Before I can voice my frustration, my phone buzzes inside my clutch. I glance at the screen. It’s a short message from my contact at the police station:
“Chloe says Devereaux said Rolfe might be hosting a private event in the next few days. If you can find him, mention Angelus if you need a password.”
Angelus. That must be some kind of code word for Rolfe’s parties. I show the text to Lincoln, who reads it with a spark of interest in his eyes.
“Looks like we have a shot,” he says under his breath. “Now we just need to find someone who can actually grant us an invite.”
“Or Rolfe himself,” I add, scanning the room. I have no idea what he looks like, but I’m sure he’ll be hard to ignore. He might be hidden away upstairs or in the roped-off VIP area.
Lincoln’s hand finds my waist, guiding me toward a quieter corner near the edge of the dance floor. “We should be careful,” he says softly. “If we go around dropping that word to random people, we might draw the wrong kind of attention.”
I nod, leaning against the cool metal railing that separates the dance floor from the lounge area. “So how do we do this?”
He thinks for a moment, gaze drifting over the crowd. “We watch. Wait for someone who looks like they’re in charge, or at least connected. Then we make our move—subtly.”
“Stealth mission,” I tease. “Just like your old days in the military.”
He smirks, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes. “Exactly.”
The music shifts yet again, this time to a darker, more seductive beat. Couples gravitate to the dance floor, bodies moving in an almost hypnotic rhythm. I feel an inexplicable urge to join them—even though we’re on a mission, the atmosphere is drawing me in. The pulsing lights, the heat of so many bodies, the thrill of being here with Lincoln at my side. The tension between us is a living, breathing thing, and I can’t ignore it any longer.
I press a hand to his chest. “Dance with me,” I say, my voice barely audible over the music.
He hesitates, scanning the room as if double-checking for threats. But then his gaze settles on me, and I see the flicker of desire there. Without a word, he nods. I take his hand, pulling him onto the dance floor.
The bass reverberates through my whole body, and I let the beat guide me, swaying my hips in time. Lincoln places his hands on my waist, at first stiffly, as if unsure how to navigate this. But after a moment, he relaxes, matching my movements.
I tilt my head back, letting the music flow through me, and catch his eye. The flashes of red and violet light paint shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheeks, the tension in his jaw. He looks impossibly handsome in that tailored suit, and each time his hands tighten on my hips, a pulse of want radiates through me.
He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re enjoying this,” he murmurs, not quite a question.
I laugh softly, gliding my hands up his arms. “Maybe more than I should.”
A low growl escapes his throat, so quiet I almost miss it. “Focus, remember?”
“I am focusing,” I whisper back, arching my body closer to his. Our torsos brush, and the friction sends a jolt of pleasure through me. “On blending in.”
He exhales sharply, sliding a hand around my lower back to pull me flush against him. The beat of the music merges with the pounding of my heart. I run my fingers up the back of his neck, feeling the short hairs there as he dips his head. We’re dangerously close, our breath mingling, lips just a whisper apart.
For a moment, everything around us disappears—the club, the lights, the mission. It’s just Lincoln and me, swaying to the relentless bass, trying not to cross a line we can’t uncross. The tension is nearly suffocating, and I’m not entirely sure if I want to keep dancing or drag him into a shadowy corner and do something I’d regret in the morning.
Then I feel a hand tap my shoulder, and I blink, tearing my gaze from Lincoln’s. A tall man in a sleek charcoal suit stands nearby, a coy smile on his face. “Pardon the interruption,” he says, “but my boss would like to have a word with you two.”