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I didn't expect it. The way he looked at me from across the room. All heat and lust and need. The way he cut a path through the crowd, ignoring greetings from friends and waiters offering him champagne on silver trays, his long legs closing the distance between us. And with each step he took, my heart pounded harder, my mouth growing dry with anticipation.
I’d slipped away from the buzz of the reception for a few moments of peace in the small alcove beneath the stairs. Three walls forming an indentation with a phone table and a chair.
But it didn’t feel peaceful here now. Instead, it seemed fraught with the kind of danger I craved, even if that was something I didn’t care to admit.
His gaze locked on me, and I reached back to steady myself, my knees going weak.
“Brandy,” he said, stopping only inches from me, so close I caught the scent of his cologne, woodsy and masculine. My heart pounded against the thin material of my fitted maid of honor gown. My entire body tingled, desperate for his touch, and the strength of my desire made me want to race from the room.
But I stayed. Despite my flushed cheeks, I stayed in place. More than that, I looked straight at him, then drew in a shaky breath when I found him looking right back at me, too.
I swallowed, my pulse picking up tempo as Ronan leaned forward, one hand on the wall behind me, just above my shoulder, caging me between him and the small table next to me.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“Oh? Why?”
His eyes skimmed over me, and the tingle on my skin ramped up, making me feel edgy and shy.
“Because you look stunning,” he said in that rough, sexy voice that was like music to me. “And I’ve drunk just enough that I decided to tell you so.”
My stupid cheeks went even hotter, and I bit my lip as I smiled, praying that I didn’t sink so low as to actually giggle.
I cleared my throat. “I—um, thank you.”
“You’re okay?”
“I’m doing good,” I said, hating the lie. I was about a million miles from good.
I flashed him another quick smile. I miss you.
That last part, I didn’t say. But I wanted to. Instead, I cleared my throat again. “Um, so except for Ellie’s pre-book launch party, I haven’t seen much of you.”
“Work,” he said without elaborating. “But no way could I miss today, what with being the best man.” He paused, his eyes on my face. “You made me look good, standing up there,” he added, his gravelly voice going soft.
My blush came back. “I doubt that.” I’d had an excellent view of him from where I'd stood by my best friend, Ellie. And he’d glanced at me nine times. Not that I was counting.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here now.” I sounded like an idiot. Like I didn’t even know this man who had once held me close in the protection of his arms. But that was months ago, and our lives were back to normal. Now we’re back to just being friends.
I blinked, realizing with horror that I was about to cry. That’s what I got for drinking champagne and getting sentimental. But it wasn’t just the wedding. It was the loss of something I never even had.
It was the fact that our friends’ wedding was over, and the magical lights that filled this room would be gone tomorrow. Everything would. Including the fantasy that Ronan could be something more to me than a friend. Because despite the way my heart had flipped when he’d carried me so gently to safety, I was certain that was all he’d ever be. All he wanted to be.
“I—I should go check in with Ellie,” I said. “Maid of honor duty is a heavy burden.”
His broad shoulders filled the space, blocking my exit from the tiny alcove. I moved to step around him, suddenly uncomfortable in this small, cramped space. His hand pressed to my shoulder, and I looked up, thinking he was going to move out of my way and say goodbye. Instead, I saw
a wild heat in his eyes. A fire that had the power to strip away reason and completely destroy me.
“Brandy.”
That was all he said, but I heard the question. Everything in me said I should run. Everything but my heart. Foolishly, I stayed. Even more foolishly, I whispered, “Yes.”
The sound had barely left my lips when his mouth closed over mine and his arms pulled me close. We stumbled together until my back was against the wall, our lips locked, our tongues lost in exploration. His hand cupped my head, holding me close as he kissed me wilder and deeper than I’d ever been kissed.
Time stopped. I melted.
I’d had only one real boyfriend, and God knows that didn’t end well. But even when things were good between us, I’d never once felt like this. Like my body was molten. Like I was a part of this man in my arms.
Like nothing could ever hurt me again.
I was wrong, of course.
What hurt me the most was him.
“I’m one day home from my honeymoon, about to turn right back around to go to New York, and you’re telling me this now?” Devlin said. “Christ, Ronan. This isn’t a good time for a vacation. I need you here. We talked about this a month ago. I need you on deck keeping an eye on things.”
Devlin Saint leaned back in his desk chair in his huge office at the Devlin Saint Foundation. His green eyes stayed locked on Ronan as he waited for an answer.
With his Brioni suit and regal bearing, Devlin was the epitome of power and control. A man whose public façade hid a much more lethal version of the man.
Another man might be intimidated, but not Ronan Thorne. Devlin was a dangerous man, but no more than Ronan himself. They’d been as close as brothers since their days in the military, and they knew each other’s secrets. Most of them, anyway.
“Do you honestly think I’m taking this lightly?” Ronan had been standing, but now he took a seat in one of the guest chairs that fronted Devlin’s desk. He leaned back, stretching out his legs, as casual as you please.
A muscle in Devlin’s cheek twitched, but he said nothing.
“Things are quiet right now,” Ronan continued. “Tamra’s more than capable of handling things on both the public side and behind the scenes. And there’s not a damn thing on my active docket.”
“Tamra’s a capable woman,” Devlin agreed, referring to the woman who’d been like
a mother to both of them for years, and who now ran Devlin’s businesses like a general. “But we have active teams spread out over five countries. And while I’m away, it’s your job to be on deck.”
“From which I’m taking a week of leave. Task someone else to handle it.” He noted the way his friend scowled. Not so much with irritation, but with curiosity. “I’m sorry, man. This is my line in the sand. It’s non-negotiable. Either I take temporary leave, or I leave for good.”
Devlin’s brows rose. “It’s as important as that?”
“Do you think I’d be sitting here if it wasn’t?”
His friend drew in a breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “No, of course you wouldn’t. Take as much time as you need.”
Ronan nodded, accepting the words as an apology. “Appreciate it. If all goes well, I’ll be back in just a couple of days. But this is time sensitive. I’ve got a lead. If I don’t jump now, who knows if I’ll get the chance again.”
Devlin studied him. “We can get the team on it. Whatever support you need.”
“No. This is personal.”
“Everything’s personal,” Devlin said.
“I’m handling it.” The words came out sharper than Ronan intended. “Appreciate the offer, but it’s not necessary.”
Silence hung in the air, and for a moment, Ronan feared he’d have to make good on his threat. Then his friend nodded. “Fair enough. So long as you know I’ll always have your back.”
“Same.” That was the kind of friendship they had, which was probably why guilt was stabbing away at his insides, because he’d never once told Devlin about Sheldon Cartwright or Michelle or anything about what went down all those long years ago.
He caught Devlin’s eyes, saw the question brewing on his friend’s face, and quickly schooled his expression into blank professionalism. Then he grinned. “Still happily married? Not tired of Ellie yet?”
“Ass,” his friend shot back, but the retort was without heat. They both knew that Devlin was blissfully happy. Hell, he practically glowed.
When Ellie had first returned to Devlin’s life, Ronan had feared the worst. The woman was a former cop turned reporter, after all. And that was all kinds of danger, especially since Devlin was the central figure in a web of secrets involving dozens of people. To the world, Devlin was nothing more than the multi-billionaire behind the
humanitarian Devlin Saint Foundation. The foundation was real enough, its mission important to Devlin and all the staff.
But another organization lurked in the shadows behind the foundation. Devlin had created Saint’s Angels to do good in a way that a humanitarian foundation couldn’t. The SA was Devlin’s passion and Ronan’s, too. And he’d worked as Devlin’s right hand from the beginning, taking the lead on numerous projects since Devlin had to be the front man for the legitimate foundation that worked hand-in-secret-hand with the shadowy one.
Where the Devlin Saint Foundation could finance rehabilitation programs for victims of trafficking, the ultra-secret Saint’s Angels could go after the criminals themselves. Could hunt them down. Could take them out. Could rid the world of its vermin in a way that sanctioned law enforcement could not.
Only a select few knew about the organization, or that Devlin himself was a billionaire vigilante who lived in the shadows, his gun as much of a weapon as his checkbook. Ronan was right there beside him, the Angels’ mission as important to him as it was to Devlin or anyone else on the worldwide, secret team.
Secret being the operative word.
Which was why Ronan had been less than enthusiastic when Devlin trusted Ellie and her two closest friends—Brandy and Lamar—with the secret.
Nowadays, Ronan would trust Ellie with his life. More than that, Ronan had to admit that he was a bit jealous of his friend. Not that Ronan was attracted to Ellie; he wasn’t. But he couldn’t deny the tug at his heart when he saw how happy the two of them were together.
He’d felt that kind of connection to a woman only twice in his life. The first in a past he’d worked hard to bury under a heart that had turned to stone. Or so he thought. Because recently, something dead inside him had started to bloom. Equal parts wonderful and terrifying.
But not something that he could or would cultivate.
Brandy Bradshaw might be temptation personified, but he knew better than to risk everything again. What was that saying? Once burned, twice shy.
He could rejoice in the fact that she’d become a friend. That he genuinely cared for her. That he’d always watch out for her.
But more than that?
Not now. Not ever.
And certainly not while Sheldon Cartwright was alive.
He realized he was looking at his hands, imagining Cartwright’s neck in his grip. He lowered them, then shifted his gaze up to meet Devlin’s curious eyes.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, thanks again. I know it’s inconvenient. But like I said, everything’s taken care of. We’re pretty light right now.”
“Run me through it.”
“A few things we’re monitoring, but I don’t expect them to pop for at least a month. We’re still gathering intel.” He took Devlin through most of the list, addressing the details of missions from Texas to Nigeria to Bangladesh without missing a beat.
“All sounds good. That everything?”
“Not quite,” Ronan said. “I closed the matter for Colonel Seagrave.” He hoped he
sounded casual. That mission had gone off without a hitch. But it had also changed everything.
Alexander Seagrave was the commander of the Western Division of the ultra-secret SOC, or Sensitive Operations Command, and he often used black ops money to hire Saint’s Angels for specific missions. This one had come in while Devlin was touring Europe with his bride. Identify and terminate the leader of a terrorist cell that was bankrolling their weapon purchases by kidnapping teenage girls to sell as sex slaves. Sadly, an all too familiar story.
Ronan had found him, followed him, and assassinated him. A sanctioned hit, but one that would blow back on Ronan if his finger on the trigger was ever known. The agency damn sure wouldn’t claim knowledge.
He wasn’t concerned about the risk. None of Saint’s Angels were. They’d joined the organization because they believed in its mission to make the world a better place despite going directly against the establishment’s rules.
Devlin had never shied away from telling Ronan about the horrors in his life that had led up to the decision to create the SA. His vile father and the people he’d hurt or killed. The empire in which Devlin had been raised. The lies he’d lived with.
