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)
I shake my head, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “You realize now we’re gonna have to pretend to be married, right? If Rolfe or Devereaux contacts us, that’s the backstory.”
She bites her lower lip. “You mind? I mean, if you’d rather pretend we’re siblings or cousins or something, I’m open to ideas.” Her mischievous grin tells me she’s well aware how ridiculous that would be.
I let out a short laugh. “Yeah, because cousins definitely dance like we did tonight.” The words come out laced with more longing than I intend. A flush creeps up my neck as her expression flickers. “No, using my name was smart,” I add, clearing my throat. “It cements the idea that we’re a couple. A serious couple.”
She nods, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. The air feels thick, laden with unspoken tension. Finally, she tips her head toward the hallway. “I’m gonna go change. These heels are killing me, and I need to get out of this dress.”
My stomach clenches at the mental image of her slipping out of that black number in her room. “Right,” I say, turning away to place my glass in the sink. “I’ll, uh… I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
“Sounds good,” she murmurs. I watch from the corner of my eye as she disappears down the hall, hips swaying just enough to remind me how worked up I still am.
Once she’s gone, I exhale hard, bracing my palms on the edge of the sink. The memory of her body pressed against mine on the dance floor is burned into my brain—her soft sigh against my ear, the brush of her fingers at the back of my neck. I need to cool off, both mentally and physically.
For a few seconds, I just stand there, letting the quiet of the house wash over me. No thrumming bass or neon lights. It’s almost surreal that less than an hour ago, we were in the depths of that club, forging a path into a dangerous world. Now, it’s just me, alone in the glow of the kitchen light, grappling with feelings I never asked for.
I shake my head. “Pull yourself together, Zane,” I mutter under my breath, then make my way to my room.
Inside the bedroom—if you can call the small space a bedroom—I flick on the lamp. The walls are painted a neutral gray, and the bed is nothing fancy: just a queen-sized mattress with standard white sheets. Everything about this place is meant to blend in, unremarkable for a reason. Normally, that would calm me, but tonight, all I can think about is how this is the first time I’ve done a job with such… personal stakes.
I tug off my tie, throwing it over the back of a chair in the corner. Then I ease the suit jacket from my shoulders, draping it carefully. A pang of guilt hits me—this thing cost more than I’d usually spend in a year on clothing, but it was necessary to look the part tonight. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, lighting up the dark surface with a harsh hue. I tense, half-expecting it might be Devereaux or one of his goons. But the screen shows Dean’s name. Of course. Right on time. My stomach lurches at the thought of telling him the truth: that his sister and I just infiltrated a secret sex club to track down a black-market criminal who’s probably behind the threats aimed at her. Yeah, that’ll go over well.
Gritting my teeth, I pick up. “Dean.”
“Hey, Lincoln,” comes his familiar voice, tinged with relief. “How’s it going?”
I steady my tone, forcing what I hope sounds like casual calm. “Not bad. Just finished for the day. Isabel’s here, safe and sound.”
Dean exhales, like he’s been holding his breath. “Good. I was worried. You guys okay out there?”
My gaze flicks to the closed bedroom door. I can’t hear Isabel, but I’m sure she’s in her own room, peeling off that dress. My mind stubbornly conjures an image of her unzipping it, letting it pool around her feet… I close my eyes, trying to banish the thought. “Yeah. Everything’s fine,” I say, forcing a light tone.
“Hmm,” Dean replies, not entirely convinced. “Well, you’d tell me if something was going on, right? If those threats got worse?”
I swallow, rubbing my temple. Every word out of my mouth right now is a lie or half-truth. “Of course. But there’s no new info. She’s just been… restless, you know. She hates being cooped up.”
Dean snorts, a wry laugh. “That sounds like my sister. Listen, man, if you need backup—”
“I’ve got this,” I interject firmly, hoping to end this conversation before I slip up. “We’ll call you if anything changes. Promise.”
There’s a pause, and I picture Dean’s furrowed brow. “All right. Just keep her safe, yeah?”