Page 25 of Hunted Hearts
He’d take it as a win.
When he returned to the corner to speak with Denver, his brother wore that same pinch of confusion on his face as several others in the room did after he asked about the flowers.
Denver leaned in close, pitching his voice low. “Okay, what the hell is happening here? The paint’s peeling off the walls with all this tension. How do you not see it?”
Theo kept his expression blank. The only tension he felt was the spot between his shoulder blades from sleeping on the couch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He cocked a brow. “Then you’re blind. She wants you to do more than guard her body.”
His fist curled at his side. Then from the corner of his eye, he caught Juliette staring at him.
Was it his imagination or did she just bite down on her bottom lip?
At his notice, she darted her stare away. But from this angle, he saw her reflection in the mirror, and she was definitely watching him.
Once Denver said it, he couldn’t unsee it. Every subtle glance Juliette threw his way, every small shift of her weight when his eyes met hers, it was there—a live wire stretched taut between them. And it had no place tonight.
The gala began without a hitch. The ballroom glowed under the chandeliers, the tables draped in white and gold, conversation rising in a low hum over the quartet’s music. Juliette moved through the crowd with ease, smiling, shaking hands, laughing softly at the right moments as donors murmured praise and promised pledges.
Theo lingered at the edge of the room, watching every door, every server, every twitch of the crowd. Denver stood like a shadow along the opposite wall. They spoke in clipped murmurs through their earpieces every few minutes, but nothing felt off—yet.
Juliette ate little, sipping champagne and letting a hovering server take her plate once she pushed it away. Theo watched her more closely than he’d ever watched a woman in his life.
She looked up again, head turning gracefully as if she was seeking out someone.
Then her stare landed on him.
He felt it strike. Hard.
In his ear came Denver’s laugh.
“The paint’s peeling again.”
“Don’t make me rethink joining Blackout,” he muttered to his brother, which only brought on another chuckle.
He had to stay focused. Not on the artful wave of hair over Juliette’s shoulder. On her safety.
She’d be performing soon, and then giving a speech, which made her the brightest target in the room.
Exactly twenty minutes before her performance, he stepped up behind her seat. Without a word, she rose, her gown whispering against the floor as he guided her toward the hushed back hallway where she planned to warm up and tune her violin.
As they walked, the memory of her last performance edged into his mind—the way she’d swayed with the music, her movements fluid and precise, like her body was a conduit for every note she drew from the strings.
Watching her then had been…unsettling. Not just because of the power in her playing, but because of the way it hit him—unexpected, crawling under his skin like the music itself was testing his control.
She walked in measured steps, her pace unhurried. The air practically flickered with an invisible electrical charge.
Tonight, with the faint click of her heels and the pressure building between them, he felt the same pull starting again, whether he wanted it or not.
At the practice room door, she stopped, craning her neck to look up at him. A moment passed where he was far too aware of how plush her lips looked and the light throb of her pulse in the elegant sweep of her throat.
He already guessed she wanted to warm up alone. With a nod, he stepped back to allow her inside.
Then posted himself just outside the door, one shoulder to the wall, listening as she opened her case. The faint rasp of the latches snapping free carried into the hall, followed by the whisper as she drew the instrument out. Even before the first note, the air shifted—like the violin brought its own gravity with it.
Then she began.
The first sounds were low and deliberate, a soft hum of strings as she checked the tuning. A moment later, she slid into a run of scales—light, quick bursts that bounced like fragments of glass catching light. The notes shifted higher, sharper, a sweep of sound that tightened something deep in his chest.
