“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Her smile was slow and wicked. “You might like my bad side.”
Heat flashed through him.
They fell silent again as Elliot turned onto the street where Rue’s hotel stood, its elegant facade lit against the night sky. The car’s interior felt suddenly smaller, more intimate in the shadow of the tall buildings.
“I think they’re both right,” Rue said after a moment, “Davey made the safest call for the company, and I can’t fault him for it because he saved my sister. But Cade has every right to feel betrayed.” She paused, her eyes reflecting the passing streetlights. “But family should come first. Always.”
Elliot glanced at her, struck by the quiet conviction in her voice. For all her wild energy and reckless adventures, Rue Bristow understood loyalty in a way few people did.
“I’m sorry your birthday ended like that,” she added softly.
“It didn’t end badly,” he found himself saying as he pulled under the hotel’s elegant awning. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
He watched the slow bloom of her smile in the dim light, the way it softened her features and made her eyes sparkle.
“Careful, Wilde,” she teased, but there was something warm and hopeful beneath the playfulness. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”
He shifted the car into park, turning toward her fully for the first time since they’d left the brownstone. “It was.”
The air between them changed, charged with something neither of them had acknowledged directly despite months of dancing around it. Rue’s smile faded, replaced by something more serious, more questioning.
“Elliot,” she said, his name somehow different in her mouth than it had ever been before. Not the casual “El” she usually threw at him, but his full name, weighted with meaning.
He should pull back. Set boundaries. Remember the mission, the professional lines they shouldn’t cross. Remember that in two days, they’d be heading to one of the most dangerous places on Earth, where distractions could be fatal.
But with her looking at him like that, with the memory of his fractured family fresh in his mind, all he wanted was the simple comfort of connection. Of her.
Rue’s hand moved from his arm to his face, her fingers light against his jaw. The touch sent electricity skittering down his spine, warming him from the inside out. He leaned into it slightly, watched her eyes widen in response.
“We probably shouldn’t,” he murmured, even as he shifted closer, drawn to her warmth like a moth to flame.
“Probably not,” she agreed, but she was leaning in too, her gaze dropping to his mouth.
The space between them narrowed, the car suddenly too warm despite the winter chill outside. Her breath ghosted across his lips, and he could smell her perfume—something tropical and wild that suited her perfectly. His hand found the curve of her waist, steadying himself or her, he wasn’t sure which.
Another inch, and the line would be crossed. Another heartbeat, and there would be no going back.
A car horn blared behind them, long and impatient, shattering the moment like glass. Elliot jerked back, reality rushing in with the harsh sound. They were under a hotel awning, blocking the entrance for other guests. The valet was gesturing apologetically from his stand.
“Shit,” he muttered, then glanced at Rue, expecting embarrassment or frustration.
Instead, she was smiling—that knowing, mischievous smile that never failed to both irritate and captivate him. She gathered her purse, sliding her feet back into her shoes with unhurried grace.
“You know what they say about anticipation, El,” she said, her voice husky with promise as she reached for the door handle. “Makes the eventual payoff that much sweeter.”
Before he could respond, she was out of the car, leaning back in just long enough to add, “Sweet dreams, birthday boy,” before shutting the door with a decisive click.
Elliot watched her saunter into the hotel, turning once to wave at him with a wiggle of her fingers that somehow managed to be both innocent and provocative. The valet approached, asking if he needed assistance, but Elliot waved him off, putting the car in drive.
As he pulled away from the hotel, the ghost of her almost-touch lingered on his skin. Antarctica loomed ahead of them—three weeks of pretending to be engaged, of professional boundaries and deadly stakes. Three weeks of Rue Bristow at close quarters, with the memory of tonight between them.
He was so utterly, completely screwed.
eight
The howlingwind hit Rue like a physical blow the moment she stepped off the transport plane, but she tilted her face toward it and grinned.
