Page 54 of Silence and Surrender

“Clear,” a heavily accented voice said. “Check the terminals.”

Isabella’s hands fisted in my shirt as heavy boots approached our hiding spot. Her heart hammered against my chest, matching my own racing pulse. One of her legs had slipped between mine, and the slippery silk of her dress was maddening against my palms.

Get it together, I told myself firmly. Focus on the threat, not on how she felt in my arms. Not on how her breath whispered across my throat. Not on the memory of her taste.

The guards moved deeper into the room, checking computers. Isabella shifted slightly, trying to make herself smaller, and the movement drew a muscle-deep ache of want. Her fingers found bare skin above my collar, and electricity shot through me at the touch.

“All clear,” the second guard reported.

They finally left, the door closing with a decisive click. But neither of us moved. Couldn’t move, caught in the gravity of memory and adrenaline.

“Colton.” My name was barely a breath against my skin as she moaned it.

I knew I should step back. Should remember what happened the last time I let someone past my walls.

Instead, I kissed her.

Her lips parted as she gasped and I took full advantage, one hand tangling in her hair while the other pulled her impossibly closer. She tasted like forbidden fruit, and I was already addicted.

She kissed me back with equal fervor, arms sliding around my neck as she moved into me. Her dress was silk under my fingers as I mapped her curves, memorizing every inch I could reach. When my thumb brushed the bare skin of her back, she made a sound that nearly shattered my control.

“We can’t,” I managed, though I couldn’t make myself stop touching her. “Not here. Not now.”

“I know.” But she pressed closer, letting me feel every soft curve against my harder planes. “Just...don’t let go yet.”

A sudden commotion in the main chamber broke through our lustful haze. Raised voices, the sound of breaking glass.

“That’s the signal,” I said against her throat. “Time’s up. Steele’s team is creating a diversion.”

Isabella straightened her dress while I checked the corridor. We emerged to find choreographed chaos. A bidding war had apparently evolved into a fistfight, drawing security’s attention. Classic misdirection, just as Steele had promised.

“This way,” I murmured, guiding Isabella toward one of the maintenance tunnels with my hand on her lower back. The touch felt different now, charged with desire that had my head muddled.

We were halfway to the tunnel when I saw Rodger. He stood with his two guard dogs, examining something on a tablet. His head snapped up just as we passed, eyes narrowing.

“Problem,” I said quietly. “Don’t look back.”

Isabella’s step never faltered, but I felt her tense under my hand. “How many?”

“Three. No, five.” More guards materializing from the crowd. “Eight.”

“The tunnel’s blocked,” she noted calmly, but her shoulders were shaking slightly. “They’re herding us.”

She was right. They were choreographing our movements, directing us toward the service corridor. Towards a trap.

“Options?” She kept her voice low and casual, though her fingers dug into my arm.

I scanned the room, mentally overlaying Steele’s earlier assessment. Three exits still viable, but all watched. Two possible hiding spots, but temporary at best. And Isabella’s dress, while stunning, wasn’t made for climbing through ventilation shafts.

I spotted the fire alarm on the wall near the east exit, partly hidden behind an ornate tapestry. It was old, the kind with a glass panel you had to break.

“The fire alarm,” I uttered, guiding her in that direction with gentle pressure on her lower back. “When I give the signal, head for the service corridor to our right. Not the one they’re herding us toward.”

“Everyone will be evacuated,” she said, understanding immediately. “The guards will lose us in the chaos.”

“Exactly.”

We moved with deliberate casualness, stopping to admire a particularly expensive painting. Ten feet from the alarm now. The guards were still watching, but maintaining distance, not wanting to cause a scene in front of their wealthy clientele.

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