Page 129 of Only the Wicked

He runs the pad of his finger along the slope of my breasts, skimming the lace, and visibly swallows.

“Hot damn,” he says. “God you are beautiful.” Then his gaze falls to my phone. “Pick a dress. Then I have something to give to you.”

He takes a seat in an armchair. I toss the phone unceremoniously on the bed and remove the black dress from the hanger. There’s a red dress, which feels like too much, and more than that, too eye-catching. An emerald-green dress with a full-length gown that while beautiful, is really not my color; an off-white dress that feels a little too bridal for my taste; and a navy dress that is truly stunning, but black has been my go-to color for years and tonight I don’t want to be second-guessing my outfit choice.

The fitted black lace dress might be challenging to walk in if it weren’t for the high slit. The backless design dips to my lower back, and my fingers have just gripped the zipper when Rhodes’ warm touch swats my fingers away.

“I’ve got it,” he says. “You are temptation personified.” Warm breath cascades along my shoulder as his lips ghost my skin, lighting goose bumps along my arms. “But there’s something missing.”

I turn, questioning, and he holds up a velvet box.

“For me?”

“For tonight,” he says, and flips open the royal blue velvet lid to reveal a stunning diamond bracelet. The stones catch the light, scattering prismatic reflections across the walls of the circular room.

I’m momentarily speechless. It’s not just the obvious value—it’s the vintage craftsmanship, the kind of piece that has history embedded in every facet.

“There’s a tracking device embedded in this diamond here,” he says, tapping one of the larger stones. “And an emergency signal can be activated by touching the clasp three times in rapid succession. It sends an alert directly to my security team.”

“You’ve modified jewelry for covert operations before?”

His eyes meet mine, something unreadable in their depths. “First time. But not my first surveillance device.”

“You carry this around with you?” I ask, trying to understand why Rhodes would travel with what must be an extraordinarily valuable heirloom.

“No,” he says as he loops the stunning piece around my wrist. His fingers linger on my pulse point, and I wonder if he can feel my uncontrolled heartbeat. “It was my mother’s. A gift from my father. My grandmother gave it to me when I visited her just before meeting you in the Highlands.”

The timing strikes me—he had this before he knew me, before he had any reason to trust or distrust me. Yet now it’s on my wrist, equipped with technology to keep me safe. The contradiction is dizzying: a tool of surveillance that’s also an unexpected gesture of trust.

“She said it was time I had it,” he continues, voice softening. “For when I find someone special.” His smile turns wistful. “She says I’ve been alone too long.”

The weight of the bracelet feels suddenly significant in ways that have nothing to do with diamonds or tracking devices.

“When you agreed to the plan for this evening, I had a resource pick it up and outfit it. When you were getting your hair done, they returned it. By the way, I love your hair up.” I slowly turn. “I also love it down.”

The energy radiating between us intensifies.

He lightly caresses my cheek. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You do listen to your security detail,” I say, attempting lightness despite the gravity I feel.

“So it seems.” His eyes hold mine, and for a moment, I see something vulnerable there—a man worried about a woman walking into danger.

The bracelet catches the light as I move my wrist, sending diamond reflections dancing across his face. It’s the most beautiful piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen. It’s on loan but knowing it was his mother’s touches me in an unexpected way. While it’s temporary, it feels deeply personal.

Of course, that might be his intent—to create intimacy, to establish trust. The professional in me notes these possibilities dispassionately. But as his hand gently cups my cheek, I find myself hoping it’s genuine. No, not hoping–believing. And that’s more terrifying than any threat.

“Ready?” he asks softly.

I nod, though neither of us moves. We stand suspended in this moment, both knowing that when we step out that door, everything changes. Tonight we walk into the lion’s den together—Rhodes facing those who would blackmail him, me potentially crossing a line from which there’s no return.

The diamonds at my wrist wink in the light—beautiful, valuable, and now, weaponized. Much like the truth between us.

Chapter

Thirty-Five

Rhodes