Page 2 of Beyond Enemy Vows

Keira raises an eyebrow. "You know him?"

I nod slowly. "That's Niko. Niko Petrou," I say, watching as he offers me a smile. "Our dads are, were, shaky friends. We spent summers together in Greece when I was younger. He's ten years older than me, so he didn't really pay me much attention. I'm surprised he's here, actually. My brothers aren't fond of him."

"Well, he sure as hell is paying attention to you now," she says and sips her champagne. "He's practically eye-fucking you at a funeral."

"It's not a funeral, Keira," I say, turning to her.

"You're wearing black. I'm wearing black. He's wearing black," she says. "It counts."

I roll my eyes, but my pulse is misbehaving. I can feel it. He's still watching me. Not blinking. Like he's memorizing me.

"Anyway, what you're basically saying is," Keira's voice drops as she leans into me, "he's doable but regrettable. My favorite."

"Jesus, Keira," I say, looking at her.

"What? It's been forever since I've seen you actually look at someone. Your brothers scare away most men before they get within ten feet of you. And," she says, taking another sip of her champagne, "don't even get me started on that kickboxing trainer of yours you're flirting with three times a week for an hour. He's got a good body, sure, but," she stops and looks back in Niko's direction, "he sure as hell doesn't have a face like that."

I glance around the room, locating each of my brothers by instinct. Ares and Katerina are deep in conversation with city officials. Theo is working the mayor, and Dimitri is surrounded by three guys, no doubt telling an inappropriate joke.

Just when I'm unsure what to do, someone comes and interrupts us, wanting to introduce me to someone. I give Keira a sarcastic smile and walk away.

For the next hour or so, I do my duty. I greet guests, accept condolences camouflaged as birthday wishes, and tell stories about my father. Through it all, I feel Niko's gaze like a physicaltouch. We never approach each other directly, but we orbit in the same space. When I laugh at something an old family friend says, I catch him watching. When he speaks with someone nearby, I find myself straining to hear his voice.

The fifth time our eyes meet across the room, I'm tempted to approach him, ask him why he doesn't come say hi, but I don't.

Then I'm talking to a man in his forties about a charity my father once supported. Nothing flirtatious. But I feel it again, that shift. That presence.

I glance over my shoulder.

He's closer now, standing not more than ten feet away. Silent. Still. His gaze locked on the man I'm talking to.

The man stiffens, gives me a smile, and quickly excuses himself.

I turn to him.

"You always clear others away without trying?" I ask.

His eyes never leave mine. "Only when I want to."

"I see," I say and sip my champagne.

"Besides," he continues, "I could tell he wasn't any fun. Boring." He stops and leans down. "I know what danger looks like. And he wasn't it."

"I already have three bodyguards who make sure danger never finds me."

He smiles. "A little danger can be a good thing. Either way, someone should always be watching you."

"Not someone like you."

"Especially someone like me."

I feel an electric tingle run through me.

"Is that what you've been doing then? Watching me?"

He smiles and takes a sip of his drink. "Haven’t seen you in years. You've grown up. I noticed."

"Yes," I say, turning to look out at the crowd. "I didn't see you at Katerina and Ares's wedding."