Page 60 of Over the Edge

I muttered a curse, but released her, hating every step she took toward that damn phone.

She snatched it up, and she was suddenly Elisa again. It was unsettling how quickly she could transform—her posture straightening, her expression cooling into elegant disdain. The vulnerability vanished like it had never existed.

“It’s Moreau telling me about the auction being moved up. He’s sending a car to collect me in an hour.” She made a disgusted face. “Ew. He just suggested I pack my smallest bikini.”

“So we were right. The auction’s on his yacht.” My gut twisted at the thought of Moreau seeing Lyric in a bikini. “The man’s predictable, I’ll give him that.”

Lyric’s face tightened as she typed a response. “I’m telling him I’ll be ready, but Colt Mercer will be accompanying me as my security.”

“And will he agree to that?”

“He’ll have to.” Her fingers flew across the screen. “Elisa Deveraux doesn’t go anywhere without protection. It’s part of her brand.”

I watched her slide back into character, her posture straightening, her expression shifting, becoming more aloof, more calculating. It was fascinating to witness—like watching someone put on an invisible mask.

“We need to tell Ethan.”

“I’ll do that,” I said. “You go pack.”

She set her phone down and moved toward the bedroom.

I waited until she was at the doorway before calling after her. “Lyric.”

She paused, her hand on the doorframe, but didn’t turn.

“You’re right—I do want someone to watch my six, and I want that someone to be you.” I held her gaze, making sure she understood. “I’m tired of being alone, so I’m not walking away from this. From us. Get used to it.”

She glanced back at me, and a whole lot of emotion flickered across her face—fear, hope, longing. She locked it down fast, but I saw the woman from last night, the one who’d wrapped herself around me like she never wanted to let go.

The woman I was falling in love with.

Or, hell. Maybe I’d already nosedived off that cliff and was just in free fall. It was hard to tell when I couldn’t think straight around her.

Lyric’s lips parted like she wanted to say something, but then she shut them tight and turned away. And, like that, she was Siren again. “We’ll talk later.”

CHAPTER19

LYRIC

I’ve spentmy entire career building walls between who I am and who I pretend to be, but those walls were crumbling like sand castles against the tide of Flynn Shepherd.

The first rule of undercover work: never let yourself believe the lies you’re telling. You’re always acting, always wearing a mask.

That’s what made Flynn so dangerous. He made me want to slip off all the disguises and just be... me. Whoever that was.

I hadn’t been “just Lyric” in so long I wasn’t sure I remembered how.

But I couldn’t be Lyric now. I had to be Elisa. And tonight, she had to be perfect.

I walked across the deck of Moreau’s yacht, champagne glass in hand, the salty Mediterranean breeze flaring my gauzy swimsuit cover-up behind me like a cape. The sun was setting, splashing the horizon with flaming oranges and pinks.

I could feel both Moreau’s and Flynn’s gazes on me. Moreau’s was lecherous. Flynn’s was like a caress I felt through every nerve ending in my body. He stayed at a respectable distance, tracking my every move from where he stood at the railing, playing the part of the vigilant bodyguard.

And yet he might as well be touching me for all the heat his gaze sent radiating through my body.

I shifted my weight, feeling the slide of silk against my skin, and took a slow sip of champagne. The bubbles sparkled on my tongue as I let my gaze wander over the assembled crowd. A dozen of the world’s most dangerous people mingled on the deck, all dressed in resort wear that probably cost more than most people’s cars. Moreau was holding court in the middle of the crowd, but his eyes kept finding me across the deck, his smile predatory.

“You’re drawing his attention,” Flynn murmured as I passed him, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

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