Page 16

sixteen

Rowan had survived gunfights, explosions, and more assassination attempts than she cared to count. But nothing—absolutely nothing —had prepared her for Vivianna Cavalier sweeping into the hotel suite like a goddamn fashion hurricane.

Of course, she knew the Cavaliers. She had grown up with both Sabin and Vivi. Their dad had been one of her father’s men until he retired and was, honestly, one of her favorite honorary uncles. But she hadn’t seen Vivi since they were teenagers and hadn’t known what to expect.

“Where is she?” Vivi’s accent reminded Rowan of sweet tea and slow Southern summers. It had the same lyrical lilt as Sabin’s, but where his accent danced on the sharper edges of their Cajun roots, Vivi’s was smoother, softer—refined by years of high society, but still carrying the unmistakable rhythm of the bayou.

Sabin, leaning lazily against the kitchen counter, barely glanced up from his coffee. “Now, ma petite , you wound me. Not even a hello first for your big brother?”

Vivi shot him an unimpressed look as she breezed inside, a stack of garment bags slung over one arm, a pile of boxes balanced effortlessly in the other. Her golden hair was styled in a sleek twist, her makeup flawless, her entire aura screaming high fashion.

“Oh, please,” she drawled. “You don’t need a hello. You need a swift kick in the ass.” Her eyes narrowed. “And a haircut. You’re looking a bit scruffy, mon frère .”

“You ever gonna admit I’m the better-looking sibling?”

“Oh, sweetie. Confidence is adorable on you. Delusion, less so.”

Sabin smirked. “Love you, too.”

Vivi’s gaze swung to Rowan, and she unleashed a noise high enough to make a dog wince. “Ro! Oh my God, look at you! You’re even more gorgeous than I remember.” She dropped everything unceremoniously on the nearest surface and pulled Rowan into a tight hug. “It’s been way too long.”

Rowan tensed, instincts flaring at the sudden contact. But then Vivi’s familiar scent wrapped around her—warm vanilla and jasmine, the same kind of perfume Vivi loved as a teenager—and the tension melted away. Memories rushed in, unbidden. Long summer days on horseback, racing each other through the fields. Climbing the rocky trails around the HORNET compound, their laughter echoing off the mountains. Sneaking out for midnight swims in freezing alpine lakes. Whispered conversations and giggles as they drooled over the elite warriors training around them. Two girls finding solidarity in a world dominated by testosterone.

They had been inseparable once.

Rowan hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this— missed Vivi —until now.

Why the hell had she let that slip away?

She relaxed, allowing herself a brief moment of genuine warmth as she returned the embrace.

“Jesus, Vivi,” she said as they pulled apart. She eyed the garment bags and boxes. “Did you rob a boutique on your way here?”

Vivi’s laugh was musical and carefree. “Please, darling. Like my brother, my thieving days are long behind me. These looks are one hundred percent Vivianna Cavalier originals. Now, let me look at you.” She circled Rowan like a predator, then tsked. “You look like you’re going to a funeral, not a gala.”

Rowan glanced down at her all-black ensemble and shrugged. “What? It’s practical.”

“Practical isn’t going to cut it tonight, honey. We’re going for drop-dead gorgeous.”

“I prefer my targets drop-dead, period,” Rowan muttered, eyeing the dresses warily.

Vivi laughed, a rich, warm sound that filled the room. “Oh, I’ve missed your dark humor.” She circled again, then tilted her head, tapping a manicured nail against her chin. “Strong build. Good posture. Great shoulders.” She gave a smile so much like her brother’s Rowan blinked in surprise and clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is going to be fun!”

Rowan glanced at the mountain of silk, lace, and beaded fabric Vivi had brought. “That’s debatable. You sure you packed for the right person?”

“Oh, yes. You have power, cherie. And you’re sexy as hell. We need to lean into that.”

She glanced down at herself. Sexy. Right. She’d always looked at her body as a weapon and had never felt particularly sexy. Well, except in Davey’s arms.

She shifted uncomfortably, fighting the urge to cross her arms over her chest. If Vivi noticed her unease, she didn’t comment.

“Okay, let’s get you out of those combat boots and into something that’ll make Davey’s jaw hit the floor.”

Rowan snorted. “I’m not trying to impress Davey.”

“Sure, sugar.” Vivi turned to her brother, motioning to all the dresses she’d dropped. “Sabin, be a sweetheart and help me get all this into the bedroom?”

Sabin opened his mouth to say something no doubt sarcastic, but there was a knock on the door, stopping him. He set down his coffee and moved fast, casually drawing his gun as he checked the camera. For never having been a soldier, he sure moved like one.

Or, no. An assassin. Quick, quiet, deadly.

“It’s Dom.” His posture relaxed and he re-holstered the weapon, then pulled open the door. “We all good, yeah?”

“Yeah, Davey just sent me to—” Dominic froze for a second when he spotted Vivi. Then he exhaled through his nose, his mouth pulling into something that was almost a smirk as he stepped into the room. “Vivianna. Didn’t know you’d be here already.”

Vivi lifted her chin, her expression unreadable. “Surprise.”

Sabin made a low, long-suffering noise and shut the door, leaning against it. He dragged a hand over his face. “ Mais , really? We gotta do this again?”

Rowan glanced back and forth from Dom to Vivi and could all but see the tension like lightning crackling in the air between them. Oh, yeah, there was a story there, and it didn’t seem to have ended happily. Dom’s jaw was tight, teeth grinding like he was chewing glass, while Vivi’s eyes burned with the kind of heat that could set the whole room on fire.

Finally, Rowan took pity and stepped between them. She waved a hand in front of Dom’s face, breaking their staring contest. “Davey sent you to…?”

He blinked, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. “Right. Uh, he sent me to make sure everything’s set for tonight. Security details, comms, all that Elliot-type stuff since Elliot’s still at the safe house guarding your friend.”

“Benji's not really a friend. More like a necessary but annoying pest.”

His grin appeared briefly, and he pulled out his tablet, tapping the screen. “We’ve got a three-hour window to?—”

“Excuse me,” Vivi said sweetly, flipping her hair over one shoulder and plastering on a too-bright smile. “Rowan is busy right now.”

Dom’s grin evaporated, leaving behind an expression of frustration and a hint of fatigue. “We have to go over this stuff, Viv.”

“Then you’re welcome to wait. She’s mine for at least the next hour.” With that, she turned her back on him and ushered Rowan toward the bedroom. “All right, darling, let’s get to work.”

“Wait, hour ?” If she weren’t so horrified, she’d be embarrassed by the squeak of panic in her voice.

“Oh, at least.”

Rowan eyed the array of dresses with a mix of trepidation and curiosity as Sabin brought them into the bedroom and Vivi hung them up, creating a colorful parade of fabric along the closet rod.

She sighed, accepting her fate. “Fine. Do your worst.”

“Oh, honey, I plan to do my best.” Vivi worked fast, throwing gowns at her with the expertise of someone who had dressed models, celebrities, and royalty. Rowan found herself stepping into silk, lace, satin—turning, assessing, rejecting.

The first dress was too stiff, too glittering. The second clung in all the wrong places. The third was too revealing; the fourth made her feel like a Victorian ghost.

Vivi was ruthless in her assessments, tossing rejected dresses aside as Rowan tried them on.

And then, as Rowan zipped up the fifth dress, Vivi’s voice turned sly.

“So, chérie, Sabin told me you and Davey…”

Rowan stilled. She turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “Sabin told you what exactly?”

“Oh, just that you two have been dancing around each other for months. That there’s enough sexual tension between you to power a small city. And that you finally gave in to it.”

Rowan shot a glare toward the closed bedroom door and called, “My love life is not your personal soap opera, Sabin!”

“Ah, cher , but it’s so much fun!” he called back.

“Stop gossiping about me, or the next time you wake up, it’ll be to the sound of me sharpening my knives very close to a body part you value.”

He poked his head into the room and grinned, unfazed by her threat. “Sounds kinky. I’ll try anything once, but does Davey know you’re into that?”

“Want me to demonstrate my considerable knife skills now? I can take one ball, two, or the whole package. Your choice.”

He winced. “You’d really deprive womankind of my talents? That would be a crime against humanity, cher .”

Vivi rolled her eyes and pointed. “Out.”

He studied the midnight-blue dress. “That’s not the one.”

“I know. Now, shoo, you menace, so she can change.”

He retreated, chuckling, and Vivi turned back to Rowan with a gleam in her eye. “So, it’s true then? You and Davey?”

“Keep poking and I’ll start asking about you and Dom.”

Vivi’s eyes flashed, but she quickly masked it with a breezy laugh. “Touché. Let’s focus on dressing you to kill instead, shall we?” She unzipped another garment bag, revealing a deep red gown. “Try this one. I have a feeling.”

Rowan slipped into the dress, the silk sliding against her skin. As Vivi zipped it up, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and froze.

She barely recognized herself.

The deep, blood-red silk was smooth and liquid-like against her skin. It clung just enough to be dangerous, the fabric pooling elegantly at her feet. The neckline dipped, but not too much, the cut sleek and devastating in its simplicity. A daring slit ran up her right thigh, revealing just enough leg to be tantalizing without compromising her ability to move—or fight, if necessary.

Vivi’s smile was knowing. “ There she is.”

“Holy shit.” Rowan exhaled, smoothing her hands over the fabric. “Not bad.”

Vivi laughed and once again walked a circle around her. “ Not bad? Darling, Davey’s tongue is going to roll straight out of his mouth.”

Rowan scoffed, but heat crept up her neck. “I highly doubt that.”

Vivi smirked and motioned to the bedroom door. “Go show Sabin. See what he thinks.”

Rowan hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. She wasn’t used to being on display like this. Give her a sniper rifle and a target any day over parading around in a fancy dress.

But Vivi was already opening the bedroom door, calling out, “Gentlemen, prepare yourselves!”

Okay, she could do this. She squared her shoulders and strode out of the bedroom, chin held high. She refused to let a dress intimidate her.

The conversation in the living room cut off abruptly as she entered. Sabin’s eyebrows shot up, a low whistle escaping his lips. Even Dom looked impressed, his usual smirk softening into something more genuine.

“Well, well,” Sabin drawled. “Look who clean up real nice.”

Rowan rolled her eyes but couldn’t entirely hide her pleased smile. “You sound surprised.”

“ Non , not surprised,” he corrected. “Just... damn, cher . Davey’s not gonna know what hit him.”

From the couch, Dominic nodded in agreement. “That dress is a weapon .”

Vivi, hovering by the bedroom doorway and admiring her handiwork, turned toward him sharply. Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Like you would know?”

Dominic’s gaze flicked to her, and his smile returned, but it wasn’t a nice one. “You used to wear weapons just like it, baby. I peeled you out of enough of them to know.”

Sabin buried his face in his hands. “ Mon Dieu. ”

Rowan watched, slightly horrified, slightly intrigued, as Vivi’s entire demeanor shifted again. Something icy and dangerous slid into place behind her eyes. And, holy shit, speaking of weapons, the smile she aimed in his direction was sharp enough to draw blood.

“You lost the right to call me ‘baby’ a long time ago, Dominic.” Compared to all of Vivi’s sugary darlings and honeys , the way she said his name was downright glacial.

Rowan shifted on her feet. Was this how others felt when she and Davey fought? Uncomfortably and slightly voyeuristically dirty?

Dom’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking. “Viv?—”

“Don’t,” Vivi cut him off. “Just don’t.”

Sabin cleared his throat loudly. “Okay, let’s take it down a notch, yeah?”

Rowan turned toward him and swung her arm toward the pair, who were still glaring daggers at each other. “Do I even want to know the history here?”

Sabin groaned. “Absolutely not.”

Vivi sniffed. “It’s ancient history.”

Dominic let out a quiet chuckle. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

Yeah, Rowan did not have the bandwidth to deal with whatever the hell this was. She turned back toward the bedroom and caught a glimpse of herself in the floor-length mirror through the open door. She paused, studying her reflection. She did look damn good. “So, we’re settled, then. This is the dress.”

Vivi gave a self-satisfied smile. “Oh, for sure, it’s the dress. ”

Davey had spent the entire day knee-deep in WSW business, running logistics for an upcoming high-profile client while also juggling the fallout from an op overseas that went sideways. It had been one thing after another—securing intel, double-checking security protocols, putting out fires before they could spark into infernos. By the time he made it back to the hotel suite to pick up Rowan, his patience was wearing thin.

At least, that was until he opened the door and saw her.

The room barely registered. He didn’t notice Sabin and Vivi bantering, didn’t clock Dominic’s sour mood. His world had shrunk down to one thing.

Rowan.

And fuck , he wasn’t ready for this.

He had seen Rowan Bristow in a hundred different ways.

He’d seen her in the field, dirt-streaked and bloodied, moving like a predator through enemy lines with lethal precision. He’d seen her bare and breathless beneath him, her body slick with sweat, her nails carving into his skin as she came apart in his arms. He’d seen her stripped down to her rawest edges, on the nights when the weight of their lives pressed too damn hard, when she let him close enough to see the fractures beneath the steel.

But he had never— never —seen her like this.

And it hit him like a fucking freight train.

He stepped into the suite, fully prepared to bark out orders about the night ahead, but the words died in his throat. His mind short-circuited.

Rowan stood across the room, wrapped in a dress the color of blood and sin, her body encased in silk that clung to every lethal inch of her like it had been painted on . The slit rode high, giving him a glimpse of toned, battle-hardened thighs that he’d watched snap men’s necks. The neckline skimmed the dangerous edge of indecent, dipping just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy, and fuck , wasn’t that just the cruelest part?

She was temptation wrapped in a goddamn weapon, and for the first time in his life, Davey Wilde forgot how to breathe.

Rowan caught his stare, arching a brow. “Jesus, Wilde. Say something before I start thinking you had a stroke.”

His voice was rough when he found it. “ What the fuck are you wearing? ”

Vivi made a dramatic sound of exasperation. “Oh, don’t be a caveman, Davey.” She flicked a hand toward Rowan like she was presenting a masterpiece. “This is pure art , mon cher. I told you she had it in her.”

“ Jesus Christ ,” Davey muttered, dragging a hand down his face, because this was not the time for his brain to be short-circuiting.

Vivi smirked. “I take it that means the dress is a success?”

Rowan rolled her eyes. “He looks like he’s about to combust. So, yeah, let’s call that a win.”

Davey forced himself to move, stepping closer before he could think better of it. His gaze swept over her again, tracking every criminally perfect detail.

“This was a bad idea,” he said, voice low.

Rowan scoffed. “Oh, come on, Wilde, it’s just a dress.”

“No,” he murmured, his fingers twitching at his sides. “No, it’s not .”

He’d seen her naked. He knew every inch of the body beneath that silk—knew how she tasted, how she moaned, how she unraveled when he pushed her past her limits. But this was different .

This wasn’t Rowan Bristow, the soldier, the mercenary, the deadly thing with a gun in her hands and a sharp tongue that cut just as deep.

This was Rowan Bristow as a weapon of another kind. One built to destroy him.

And fuck , she knew it.

Her lips curled at the corner, wicked and knowing, as she tilted her head. “You gonna survive the night, boss ?”

His jaw flexed. His restraint was hanging by a thread . “You planning on making that difficult?”

Her grin widened. “Depends. Do you plan on being difficult?”

“Always.”

Her eyes flickered with something dark and electric, something he felt in his goddamn spine.

He needed distance. Space. Something to get his head on straight before he forgot how to not touch her.

Instead, he stepped in closer, crowding into her space. His fingers ghosted along the fabric at her waist, and his pulse hammered at how fucking soft it was.

How soft she was.

He lowered his head just enough that his breath brushed the shell of her ear. “You do this on purpose?”

Her own breath hitched—so quick, so subtle , but he caught it.

“Do what?”

His lips nearly grazed her skin. “Make it impossible to think about anything but peeling this off you?”

She swallowed, her pulse jumping against his jaw. “ I don’t know, Davey. ” Her voice was light, teasing, but threaded with something unsteady. “Sounds like a you problem.”

His grip flexed on her waist before he wrenched himself back.

Because if he didn’t, there wouldn’t be a gala to get to.

His eyes dragged over her one more time, like he was committing her to memory.

Then he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Get your clutch, Bristow.”

She smirked, a slow, taunting thing as she turned toward the counter. The slit in her dress parted, offering one last devastating glimpse of thigh.

Davey ground his teeth.

It was going to be a long fucking night.