Page 9 of Freeing Denver

His jaw tightens, but he nods. Vince gives a similar instruction to his own security, and we begin. The furniture is older than both of us. Antique vases are filled with lively bouquets, and painted art is mixed with family portraits. Vince tells me there are fifty rooms, almost thirty bathrooms, six living rooms, and an attic he used to play in when he was younger.

“It spans the entire length of the building,” he says, pointing at the ceiling as we walk down a hallway, the rich red carpet soft beneath my heels. “I got lost up there once. My mom nearly killed me for being missing for so long.”

“So, you’ve always been a troublemaker?” I tease, finishing my drink.

“An innocent victim,” he insists, and I grin. He stops us at the end of the hall, a large window looking out into darkness beside us. “I like it when you smile.”

My heart picks up. “You do?”

He nods, searching my face for a moment before taking my glass and his and placing them on a side table. “Alistair warned me away from you today.”

Of course he fucking did. “Alistair is on a power trip. What did he say?”

“That he’d cut my eyelids off, then tell on me to Ranger.” He smirks and brushes my hair back. “How many men are fawning over you?”

I snort. “Alistair would sooner bury me in the garden.”

“I meant me.”

My lips part, and I play with my necklace. “You?”

He nods slowly, stepping closer. The urge to create distance is there, but I don’t do it. Even when he tucks his hand against the side of my neck, even when we’re dangerously close. “Me. Ranger.” He runs his thumb across my jaw. “Colt.” I open my mouth to disagree, to insist there’s nothing between Colt and me, but he silences me with his lips.

All the air leaves me, and my brain is flooded with panic.

Vince is kissing me.

Not Colt.

Vince.

I pull back slightly, running my tongue across my lower lip, wondering if the whiskey I taste is from my mouth or his. “Vince, I’m married.”

“We both know you’re not with Ranger.” He runs his nose across mine, pulling me against him again. “And Colt can’t offer you a damn thing.”

I place my hands against his chest as if to push him away. “Colt is?—”

“Useless,” he says, searching my face. “You wanted him for power. He no longer has it, so let me give it to you. Let me give you everything.”

“I—”

His lips are against mine again, and the hands I’ve placed on his chest stop pushing. My fingers curl into his shirt.

And I kiss him back.

I part my lips and let his tongue massage mine, the kiss overwhelming, close to suffocating. The hallway feels quiet, too quiet, like the house is judging us. It sits on my skin, a deep, heavy shame.

I hate it.

Hate what I’m doing.

But the reasons outweigh the guilt.

Vince breaks the kiss, takes my hand, and leads me away. I don’t need to ask where we’re going. When he unlocks his bedroom door, I glance at the end of the hall to where Lewis is standing.

He gives me a small nod.

I return it.