Page 44 of Silence and Surrender

“Your incompetence cost us three shipments,” Reznikov replied coldly. “And now you tell me there may be problems with the London route?”

“The alternative channels are secure. The delays are from having to rework the entire operation after the raid—”

“I don’t want excuses. I want results.” Reznikov’s voice hardened. “We’re losing money every day they sit in temporary storage.”

My mind raced, pieces falling into place. Everything was confirmed. And now this—some kind of failed operation in Dubai that had Rodger scrambling.

A particularly violent shiver ran through me. Colton’s arms tightened automatically, one hand sliding up to rub warmth into my arm. The touch, though innocent, felt electric. Every stroke of his fingers sent sparks dancing across my skin.

“Cold?”

“Not just that.” I turned my face into his neck, seeking warmth and something else. The steady beat of his pulse against my cheek was reassuring. Grounding. The scent of his skin made me want to taste it.

In the cold blue darkness of the vault, everything felt heightened. The brush of his fingers against my skin. The solid warmth of his chest against mine. His cologne mixed with the musty scent of the vault, creating an intoxicating mixture of suspense. Every point of contact between us seemed to burn despite the frigid air. Every slight movement sent awareness shivering through me.

His thumb brushed my cheekbone, and I couldn’t stop the small sound that escaped me. The touch was achingly tender. His eyes darkened at my response, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of brown remained. I’d seen that look before, across conference tables and in cramped elevators, always quickly hidden. But here in the dark, he didn’t look away.

“Bella...” He used my nickname, one that people rarely used. It sounded like a warning, a plea, a prayer. His voice had dropped to that rough timbre that made heat pool low in my abdomen. That made me imagine how he’d sound moaning my name in other circumstances.

Maybe it was the cold making everything feel more real. Maybe it was the adrenaline of danger and discovery coursing through our veins. Maybe it was how safe I felt in his arms despite the terror lurking outside. Or maybe it was simply that I’d been fighting this attraction for longer than I cared to admit, denying the way my body responded to his presence, the way my skin tingled whenever he was near.

I shifted in his lap, turning to face him fully. His hands tightened on my hips, not restraining, just steadying. Always so careful with me, even now. The emergency lights cast shadows across his face, emphasizing his strong cheekbones, the chiseled line of his jaw. This close, I could see a faint scar above his eyebrow that I’d never noticed before. Could count his eyelashes. Could feel the rapid beat of his heart matching my own.

“My beautiful Bella.” The endearment slipped out from his throat on a shaky exhale. One hand came up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. The calluses on his fingers caught slightly on my skin, sending shivers spiraling down my arms. Fire followed in the wake of his touch. “We should...”

But he didn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t seem to find the words as I leaned into his touch. His other hand slid up my back, pulling me impossibly close. The position brought our faces mere inches apart, close enough to share breath. Close enough to feel the tension thrumming between us like a downed wire.

This time, I wasn’t going to let him pull away.

When I kissed him, it felt like the pieces of a puzzle flying together.

For a heartbeat, he went completely still. Every muscle rigid with shock or resistance, I couldn’t tell which. My mind instantly recalled the gossip from the break room—the carefully orchestrated encounters with visiting executives, the controlled distance he maintained with women, the way he never allowed real intimacy. Never stayed the night. Never kissed. I started to pull back, embarrassment flooding through me, but then his hand slid into my hair and everything changed.

He kissed me like a man starving. Like he’d been holding himself back for as long as I had. His mouth was demanding yet achingly gentle, taking control with a thoroughness that made me melt against him. I gasped at the first touch of his tongue, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss until I could barely remember my own name or where we were.

His hands weren’t gentle anymore. They roamed my back, my sides, learning every curve while holding me firmly against him. When my fingers found the bare skin of his throat above his collar, he made a sound that was pure erotic need. The kiss turned harder, deeper, with weeks of denied fulfillment fueling every molten touch.

I shifted restlessly in his lap, needing to be closer, and his hands clenched at my hips. The strength in them, carefully restrained even now, made me burn. When his mouth left mine to trail fire down my throat, I had to bite back a moan. His teeth scraped my pulse point and my hands fisted in his shirt, wrinkling the expensive fabric.

“Christ,” he breathed against my skin. His voice was shattered, his tone more guttural than I’d ever heard it. One hand slid up to cup my breast through my blouse, thumb brushing across the peak. Even through layers of fabric, the touch sent desire coursing through me. I arched into his hand, abandoning any pretense of control. Our relationship had started off on a bid for power over the other, but now…he could take it. Could take whatever he wanted from me. And I’d thank him for it, and beg him to do it again.

He groaned, deep and masculine, before claiming my mouth a second time. This kiss was different—slower, deeper, like he was trying to possess me from the inside out. His hands tangled in my hair, angling my head just so, and pleasure spiraled through me at his quiet dominance. Colton Moreau, taking what he wanted.

From me.

When we finally broke apart, we were both shaking. His forehead rested against mine, hands still framing my face like I was the only woman he’d ever desired. Like he’d kill for me.

“Isabella.” My name had never sounded like that before, both raw and reverent at once. “We should stop.”

“Because of the bank?”

“Because I need to focus. And I can’t when you’re...” His thumb traced my swollen lips and I gulped suddenly. “When you affect me like this.”

Footsteps in the corridor silenced us both. His arms tightened instinctively, drawing me deeper into the protective shelter of his body.

The footsteps paused outside the vault. The security panel beeped again.

“The new route through Morocco is set,” Ross said. “We can move half the merchandise through there while we secure the London channel.”

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