Page 124

That’s all.

But I see it.

The quick sweep of her eyes over Sloane’s dress. The tiny pause at her trim waist. The almost imperceptible tightening around her mouth before the smile resets into something polished.

Sloane's attention lands on Vivienne, who reaches for my arm again.

"Oh, hello there." Her voice is honey-sweet as she takes Vivienne's hand in a handshake that's both perfect etiquette and unmistakable territory-marking. "I don't believe we've been introduced."

Her grip applies just enough pressure to make Vivienne's ruby ring press into her skin before she releases it and curls her own hand possessively around my bicep.

“Sloane Harper,” she says. “And you are?”

“Vivienne Devereaux.” The name comes out smooth; her glare does not.

“Lovely,” Sloane says with an edge of sarcasm before putting back on that professional smile. “Well, thank you for keeping Elias company.”

“Oh, no thanks needed,” Vivienne croons, flashing her teeth. “Elias and I have such an interesting history,” she continues, her voice dripping with sweetness that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I was just telling him how much I’ve missed our... conversations.”

I feel Sloane’s fingers tighten slightly on my arm, a possessive pressure that sends heat straight to my chest.

“Really? Elias never mentioned you.” Her tone is light, curious, each syllable wrapped in that honeyed Southern drawl that makes even an insult sound like a compliment. “But then again, we don’t spend much time talking about such irrelevant things when we’re alone.”

Vivienne’s expression fractures at the edges and I fight the urge to smile as Sloane’s hand slides down my arm until her fingers lace through mine.

“Well,” Sloane says, her hand steering me with unmistakable ownership. “It was so lovely to meet you, Vivienne, but we must be off. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

She doesn’t wait for me to answer.

Her fingers curl tighter around mine as she drags me through the maze of silk gowns and tuxedos. Every man’s gaze catching on her, but she doesn’t notice, too busy muttering under her breath.

“These women,” Her accent thickens with irritation. “Circling like vultures, trying to sink their grubby little hands into what’s mine. I swear, Elias, if I catch Nate or Jace entertaining so much as a giggle from…”

I stop walking.

One hand at her waist, I tug her sideways into a dim hallway just off the ballroom. The gilded chatter fades the moment I press her against the wall, my chest against hers, the air here cooler around us.

Her eyes blaze up at me, ready to spit fire. “What the hell, Elias? You can’t just—”

“Doe.” My voice is rougher than I mean it to be.

She stops talking as she looks at me, and the fight leaves her face. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

Instead, I kiss her hard, drinking in her softness as she melts beneath me. My hand slides up to grip her jaw, tilting her head back so I can deepen the kiss.

Her fingers curl into my lapels as she meets me with the same hunger, and for the first time tonight, hell, maybe the first time ever in a room like this, I can breathe.

When I finally break the kiss, I stay close, my forehead resting against hers. I'm not ready to face that room again. Not when she's the only thing that's made tonight bearable.

She studies me, her amber-brown eyes shimmering with that molten mix of fire and comfort only she carries. “Elias,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over my jaw, “you hate it here.”

Bitterness twists through me. “Hate’s a compliment.”

“Then why come?” she asks, steady and direct. “Why do this to yourself?”

“Because Nate was born for rooms like this, and Jace can charm a fucking firing squad. But someone has to guard them from these fucking sharks.”