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She expected him to smile, but he didn’t. Instead the fierce gleam in his gaze only seemed to burn hotter. It was familiar that look. As if he was a dragon and she was the treasure he guarded.
Not that she washistreasure. She was only a woman he’d signed a contract with to marry and whom he was currently sleeping with, so why he’d even look at her that way was anyone’s guess.
What was worse, however, was that part of her liked how fiercely he looked at her, as if there was nothing more important in his world than she was. Part of her wanted it, and because she was going to have this moment, this night, and not worry about real life, she said nothing, taking his hand when he held it out to her and letting him lead her outside.
A limo waited in the street for them and Glory was too busy looking at that to notice there were rather more men in plain dark suits standing around than there usually were.
She’d spotted them first in Italy and had asked Castor about what they were doing. He’d shrugged as if it was no big deal, telling her it was his security team, and that he always had security with him whenever he was out in public.
She’d accepted this since it made sense, given the facade he projected and the people he associated with, and since the security team was discreet, she soon forgot about it.
But as she’d finished marvelling at the limo and prepared to get in, she realised that there were twice as many security staff as there normally were.
‘There are a lot of men in suits standing around tonight,’ she said, after Castor had got into the limo beside her and they’d pulled away into the traffic. ‘Did you hire more security staff?’
‘Just a few more.’ He took her hand, warm strong fingers enfolding hers. ‘Tell me, would you object if I decided to ravish you in the back of this limo?’
That he was distracting her, she understood, but since she wasn’t sure why, she decided to let him, dismissing the issue of security for now.
The gala was being held at the Musée d’Orsay and she wasn’t surprised to find a contingent of press outside the doors.
They’d been followed around Europe by a press pack and while she hadn’t quite got used to it, she was at least less anxious about being photographed than she’d been the day they left LA.
Castor had helped, carefully orchestrating their photo opportunities so she was comfortable and so that it didn’t feel like too much of an intrusion, and he did so now, taking her hand once again, the warmth of his touch steadying her. But he didn’t speak as he drew her out of the limo. He didn’t look at her either, his attention on the gathered press, his expression oddly grim.
Drawing her close to his side, he hurried her inside despite the pleas for a photo opportunity and questions shouted at him from the waiting media.
It puzzled her, as did the hard expression on his face. Other people were arriving, dressed in beautiful gowns and suits, a crowd beginning to build, and he kept scanning them as if looking for someone.
‘Castor,’ Glory murmured, as he hurried her down an echoing, white and gilt corridor to where the gala was being held. ‘Is everything okay?’
He didn’t stop, but his expression was hard. ‘It’s fine. Why do you ask?’
‘You keep looking around like you’re trying to find someone.’
‘Just checking security.’ His fingers tightened around hers. ‘Come, the party is this way.’
Glory frowned. He was radiating tension and was clearly not fine, but there were people all around and this was not either the time or the place for that discussion, so all she did was nod and let him lead her into the gallery where the gala was being held.
It was all high, domed ceilings, gilded columns and vast chandeliers. Trees in tubs stood at intervals, the trunks and branches wound around with fairy lights, and at one end a woman in a long gown played a gilded harp, flooding the air with delicate music.
Crowds of people ebbed and flowed around the gallery, the women in beautiful gowns, the men in exquisitely tailored evening wear, while wait staff circulated with drinks.
Glory was sure she’d spotted several A-list actors in the crowds, as well as a politician or two. It felt like being in a dream.
Castor’s grip on her hand tightened and she found herself pulled very firmly up against him. His arm slid possessively around her waist, his fingers spreading out on her hip.
She liked being held against him like this, it made her feel treasured, but that strange tension that gathered around him wasn’t going away. She could feel it in the arm around her, in the hand that pressed into her hip, in the hot, hard torso she was being held against.
People were turning their heads in their direction, whispering and pointing. The tension in Castor’s arm increased. Yet when he moved it was with that natural ease and grace she’d come to associate with him, the mask he wore, his charming smile, firmly in place.
It had been so long since she’d seen it she’d almost forgotten the persona he wore around other people. She didn’t like it, she realised. She didn’t like him having to hide himself, to pretend to be this other jaded, dissolute man, and she didn’t like others thinking he was that same man too.
Because he wasn’t. He was so many other wonderful things and she hated, all of a sudden, that he hid his true self away.
He has to do that, remember? He’s playing a part.
Yes, his mission to take down those trafficking rings by infiltrating them. By turning himself into one of those men. And he’d been doing it for at least a decade...
