Page 43 of The Vow

In the other corner, a towering Christmas tree draped in gold ornaments that had to stretch at least eighteen feet high yet still seemed miles from the ceiling.

“Our tree looked better,” he murmured in my ear.

My shoulders drew back, and I was hit with the unexpected memory of our one Christmas together. The one where he’d insisted we put up a tree even though I hadn’t celebrated the holiday in years. I hadn’t celebrated much of anything for years; it was hard to move on from loss when so much felt unfinished.

It was a sad-looking tree to start, but by the time we were done—by the time he had me tangled in the lights, laughing, and kissing him, it was perfect. Somehow, we’d created orfound something magical outside of our mission. Something unintentional. Unexpected. Undeniably real.

Neither of us had had anything like that until we’d found each other. Or so I’d thought.

“Ours was a dressed-up disaster,” I replied.Just like our relationship.

There was a whirring over my head, and I looked up, startled by the small drone that whizzed above the crowd, a camera and a piece of holly suspended from its base. I fought not to roll my eyes.

Of course, Belmont wanted photographs and video. He wanted to be a celebrity; he wanted his holiday party to be the exclusive event of the season to draw more billionaire moths to his flame.

I lowered my head back to the milling crowd, a collection of the city’s finest and most famous who glittered in rich colors and blinding jewels. All I could think of was Sandrine and how, even though she loved the appearance of it all, the wealth was a weight she couldn’t shake. And then I shoved her from my mind. My friend. A woman I’d pitied at first. And one more person to betray me.

A web of servers in black and gold vests keeping a full glass in everyone’s hand at all times, the scent of cinnamon seeming to trail along behind them. I was familiar with the facade of finery. The net of diamonds and silk wrapping people like this in its trappings.

But to Belmont, there was no gleaming jewel or glittering gold or expensive attire nearly as prestigious as the guest list. Congressmen, the mayor, and several prominent CEOs all studded the large room like moving masterpieces to Belmont’s power and influence. A veritable who’s who of corrupt men in power.

There was a time I would’ve taken notes—added them allto my list of targets to take down. And while it was satisfying in the moment to rip another of Belmont’s associates from his grasp, it was only for a moment. Because another one just popped up in his place. But no more. Tonight marked the beginning of the end for Belmont.

And hopefully not for me.The thought came unbidden as the tower of heat rippled beside me, and I felt Damon dip closer.

Sometimes, I pictured my husband like that cartoon of Hades, the one with the blue flames rising from his head. Of course, I believed him to be the devil who’d broken my heart, but it would also explain the heat emanating from him whenever I was close.

“I love this color on you.”

The compliment caressed my ear, and I turned my head away to swallow the rush of bitterness I felt for agreeing to this—for agreeing to wear something he got me.And for enjoying the heart-tripping alchemy his lust wielded over me.

“Do you know what color I love on you?”

“You’ve never seen me wear orange, Robber,” he murmured, taking all the wind out of my acerbic retort.

Lifting my glass of champagne, I angled toward him and lifted my ring finger just a little, enough to make the diamond shielding all his secrets wink back in his face.

“Well, I already know I’ll love it,” I said and sipped my champagne.

Orange accessorized with handcuffs was going to be my favorite look on him.

A low, melodious chuckle dripped from his chest. The husky one that suggested seductively that he was turned on by how insistent I was on seeing him behind bars. Like it only made the challenge more enjoyable.

Damn him.

Gulping down a mouthful of bubbles, I turned to walk away and almost ran right into another couple—clearly several glasses of champagne deep—twirling and singing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,”so off-key, it alone would’ve stopped me in my tracks.

Of course, my handsome Hades took the opportunity to get closer to me. His presence fell over me like a shadow—a musky, sinful-scented shadow.

“You’re beautiful, Robber,” he said so only I could hear, his head angled in a way where I could pretend to ignore him because it didn’t even look like he was talking to me. “Always the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Goose bumps lifted like an army of sleeper agents, planted underneath my skin over a decade ago, just waiting for their Lothario leader to call them to action.

The tips of his fingers—no, his knuckles—landed at the top of my spine and began a slow descent over the bare ridges of my back. My shoulders rolled backward, trying to pull myself away from his touch, but short of shoving my way through the crowd, there was no escape.

His fingers on my bare skin were the most lethal kind of assault. Lower and lower, the light touch ignited every vertebrae like a spark to a firework, a cascade of heat sparkling through my body. My nipples pebbled hard against the fabric, the low cut of the back of the dress making it impossible to wear a bra.

I wanted to run away—as far away as I could even though he’d know then the effect he still had on me. I also wanted to sink back. To settle into the heat of his embrace and let those sinful hands claim every inch of me that longed for his touch for a decade. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of either. So, I waited for the torture to end and, in the interim, catalogedthe feel of his fingers so I could recall it later from the safety of my fantasies.

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