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“I do not like surprises, Liam,” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “From now on, any changes in my staff will go through me first. I’ll not have you undermining my authority in my own home. My house. My rules. Understood?”

Yeah, actually, he did understand. All too well. If their roles were reversed, and she was throwing her weight around at his bar, he wouldn’t be whispering. “Sure. Next time I fire some slack-jawed doofus you’ve hired, I’ll consult you first.”

She fell quiet, the air in the sedan supercharged with feminine pique. The more she controlled her anger, hiding behind that stoic mask of hers, the more he wanted to see her crack.

He tugged the collar of his shirt.

“Where is your tie?” she asked in that same authoritative voice that had his pecker standing up and taking notice. At this rate, his lucky charms would be dangling from her earlobes by the end of the week.

“I lost it.”

“Seems you misplaced your razor as well. Perhaps I’ll have Armond help you dress next time.”

He scratched the stubble on his chin. “Do that, and there’s a good chance I’ll break Rule One.”

“Remember, there are consequences for disobedience, Liam.”

He was counting on it.

Six

Vivian strolledalong the torch-lit pathway of the contemporary mansion, hand tucked into Liam’s elbow. While he didn’t complement her ensemble nearly as well as Armond, he did look handsome and more than intimidating in his new suit—minus the tie. In her mind, Liam resembled a mafia hitman. Bulging muscles, Viking mohawk slicked back, scruff on his cheeks—mean cast to his eyes. Exactly what she needed as she waded into this cesspool of intrigue and politics.

Their host’s cantilevered mansion was an architectural masterpiece. Nestled into the side of a lofty cliff, the building overlooked a vast chasm of rock. It seemed some great feat of engineering and maybe a bit of the supernatural kept it from sliding into the canyon.

It may have been an enchanting setting if not for the men with machine guns who guarded the gates. Two more stood beside the door. One touched his hand to his ear, muttering under his breath, communicating with some unseen contact. Vivian frowned. She’d never seen this many armed guards at previous gatherings.

“Feeling a little outgunned, Viv. Whose house is this anyway?”

She ignored Liam’s disregard of Rule Number Three, taking great delight in her answer. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I could have sworn I told you.” She patted his arm. “No matter. Our host is none other than the Council Magister, Tiberius Steele.”

Under her hand, Liam’s thick bicep flexed. “You didn’t think this important enough to share with me?”

“Well, you were otherwise occupied. What with all the hiring and firing of my staff.”

His low growl curled her lips. Served him right for that stunt he’d pulled earlier.

“Mistress Vivian,” stated the guard at the front entrance, his eyes hardening as they leveled on her bodyguard.

Before he could question Liam’s presence, Vivian squared her shoulders, saying in her most imperious tone, “I believe Master Tiberius is expecting me. I’d hate to keep him waiting.”

With great reluctance, the guard opened the door, and Vivian sauntered into the room, hand firm on Liam’s arm.

Once they were inside, the melodic strains of a soulful voice hit her ears. In the corner of the room, an intimate ensemble and their vocalist performed one of her favorite songs. An Etta James classic about her love coming along, “At Last.”

When Vivian was a young dancer full of romantic notions, she would play this exact scenario in her mind. She’d walk into a room on Liam’s arm, surrounded by soft lights and crystal. In the background, a curvy singer would croon a soulful tune. Then she’d turn to Liam, stare into his love-drunk eyes and—

“What kind of stick-up-his-ass prick lives in a glass house?” He sneered, eyeing the mansion’s sprawling interior. Walls of curved glass surrounded them, framing the breathtaking view. Several of the doors were open, allowing partygoers to filter out onto the balcony. Scattered throughout the room was sleek white furniture.

On the heels of Liam’s overly loud opinion, her debonair escort wiggled his finger in his ear. “Swear that woman’s voice reminds me of a howling alley cat. No darts, not a pool table in sight. What the hell are we supposed to do here all night?”

With every word that fell from his lips, her enjoyment dimmed. “Perhaps engage in stimulating conversation. Dance under the stars. Listen to the soulful voice of an undiscovered artist, nibble on caviar, and sip expensive champagne.”

“Why would anyone want to do that?” he asked, sounding genuinely perplexed.

She clenched her jaw. “Why indeed.” It was yet another reminder of just how foolish she’d been in her younger years. Of how wrong they were for each other.

She sensed several heads swivel their way as they entered the room. Liam seemed to pick up on the attention they were drawing as well. “What exactly is my role here tonight? ’Cause you walked me in here on your arm like I’m the flavor of the month.”