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But mean and cold.

If she hadn’t felt Saint’s hand on her waist, steadying her, she would have run from this man.

His eyes cut over her head. “This her?” he asked, voice low and smooth.

Terrifying and alluring in equal parts.

Aaron watched her reaction, while Wheeler watched Saint.

She shifted back and pressed into Saint without meaning to. Saint gave the man a sharp nod, and his fingers pulsed on her hip.

A thought popped into her mind, half formed, and she glanced to the bookshelf in the living room, by the door.

“Are you the fourth guy in the photo? Part of the unit?” She’d turned to Saint, and he gave another curt nod, not taking his eyes from the stranger over her head. Riley was still too aware of how thin her t-shirt was and of Kristi sleeping soundly in the other room.

Wheeler cracked a smile. “Told you he wasn’t dead, doll.”

She forced herself to grin back at him. “Someone just wished he—never mind.” Wheeler snorted, and Saint sighed quietly behind her.

She turned back to the stranger, pushing her shoulders back. “I’m Riley.”

She approached the table and leaned past Aaron, offering her hand to shake.

The man leaned forward, his eyes dark and intense, and gripped her hand. A steel trap snapped shut, and Riley jerked her hand back. He held it tightly for a millisecond before letting her go.

A cold chill slid down her neck.

“Dante King,” he said, quiet and intimate with a faint British accent. His entire presence confused her, attractive and repulsive at the same time. But the name was familiar.

For some reason she thought Nico had mentioned it. But that couldn’t be right.

Better not be.

“Well,” Riley said, too cheerfully, “I’ll leave you to it. Good night!”

Dante leaned back in his chair and cut Saint a look.

A muscle feathered in Saint’s jaw, but he remained quiet.

Riley brushed Aaron’s shoulder, smiled at Wheeler, and then retreated without a second look at Dante.

Turning her back on him felt wrong.

A dark chuckle hurried her steps, and Saint shadowed her to the bedroom door. She paused at the threshold. Cookie’d followed them and now slumped against her legs.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Saint raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure I like him.”

His serious expression broke with a laugh, and he leaned closer, voice hushed. “You have excellent instincts. He’s not a likeable person.”

Her brows knit together. “Why is he here, in the middle of the night?”

Darkness passed over Saint’s face, and she slid closer.

“I called him. I needed help with something.”

Her mind was too tired to understand the hidden meaning there. She yawned and covered her mouth.