Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(52)

She trembled, a pulse leaping at the base of her throat. “Are you flirting with me?”

The hint of disbelief in her voice hit him like a body blow.

Shit.

His self-righteous attempts at nobility had done even more damage than he’d ever allow himself to acknowledge.

To both of them.

“Better late than never,” he said gruffly.

Her eyes darkened, before she was hastily turning to scan the crowd. “Where’d that waiter go with the champagne?”

Sensing her walls coming up, Fane slid an arm around her waist and hauled her against his chest.

He had ten minutes.

He wasn’t going to waste them.

“Do you want to dance?”

She blinked in shock, but she didn’t try to pull away.

Or punch him in the face.

He’d take that as a win.

“You dance?”

“Is that surprising?”

“I suppose it shouldn’t be,” she said, smiling as she delivered her insult. “After all, bears can dance.”

“I think I can do better than a bear.”

With a tug, he had her in his arms and was swirling around the dance floor with a confidence that managed to catch her off guard.

Her eyes widened, her steps easily following his fluid movements and Fane hid a smile. He wasn’t about to confess that all Sentinels were forced to take dance lessons to help with their balance and flexibility. Let her wonder how many other secrets he was hiding.

Twirling her in a complicated pattern, Fane watched the flush of pleasure touch her cheek. Not that she was about to admit she might enjoy being in his arms, he wryly conceded. She was determined to pretend that they could be lovers while she kept her emotions locked safely away.

Silly female.

She belonged to him.

Including her messy, unpredictable, glorious emotions.

Soon the crowd on the dance floor began to thin as the humans stopped to gape at their elegant movements, the women’s faces tight with envy while the men were all but panting with lust.

“Fane,” she whispered into his ear. “People are staring.”

He pressed a fleeting kiss to her temple. “Of course they’re staring. You’re stunning.”

“Oh . . .” She hissed in exasperation, pulling back to meet his steady gaze. “Dammit. You’re the most aggravating male to ever walk the face of the earth.”

He allowed a rare smile to curve his lips, his hand splayed on her lower back urging her closer.

“I always try to be the best at everything.”

“You succeeded,” she muttered, even as she allowed herself to melt against him.

He pressed his cheek to the top of her head, savoring the rich scent of chamomile and warm, wicked woman.

God. She fit perfectly against him. Her head snuggled into the hollow of his shoulder, her arm wrapped around his waist, and her fingers warm in his hands.

He craved her with the force of an addiction. To hold her, to please her. To know she was safe and that he could whisk her back to Valhalla and spend the rest of his very long life adoring her.

Instead he led her off the dance floor as the music came to a flourishing end, holding her tight against his side as he halted in the shadows at the back of the room.

Lowering his head, he whispered directly into her ear. “Ready to disappear?”

“Yes.”

“Stay close.”

She nodded, understanding he intended to use his powers to allow them to slip away unnoticed.

A Sentinel couldn’t make himself invisible, but he could encourage people to look the other way.

Waiting until the music started up and the crowd was rushing to fill the dance floor, Fane urged Serra out the side door and into the narrow hallway that led toward the back of the house. He halted once, searching the shadows for unseen enemies before continuing in the direction of Bas’s scent.

They entered a long, informal living room that was shrouded in shadows, discovering the assassin waiting for them next to the French windows that overlooked a sunken rose garden.

Fane released Serra, wanting his hands free as Bas turned to glare at them. “Took you long enough.”

Serra shrugged. “Where’s the blonde?”

Bas allowed his gaze to sweep down her slender body. “Jealous?”

Serra made a sound of disgust. “Making sure her body isn’t stuffed behind the curtains.”

The assassin chuckled. “She’s eagerly waiting for me in the library.”

Serra shuddered. “Bleck.”

Bas’s amusement was abruptly wiped away as he turned to point through the French doors.

“The estate I want you to search is just beyond the hedge.”

Fane stepped forward, judging the distance. “Who lives there?”

Bas made a sound of impatience. “Does it matter?”

Fane shot him a warning glare. “It does if you expect me to allow Serra anywhere close to the place.”

The assassin shrugged. “A harmless businessman who asked me to search for his missing wife.”

“That sounds like a job for the police or a private detective,” Serra said, pointing out the obvious.

“Not when she took off with $6 million in cash and the secret recipe for his barbecue sauce,” Bas said.

Serra frowned. “Barbecue sauce?”