Chapter Twenty-Two
Colton
The cellars beneath the Mayfair Hotel hadn’t seen legitimate wine storage in decades. Now they housed a different kind of commodity exchange, one that made my skin crawl despite years of corporate law desensitizing me to human greed. The vaulted chambers had been converted into a series of elegant viewing rooms, with white-gloved waiters circulating among Europe’s upper-class as if this were just another Sotheby’s auction.
I checked my earpiece discreetly. Steele’s voice came through, clear and tense. “I’ve hacked into their surveillance system. Seven exits total. Main stairs, service corridor, three maintenance tunnels that haven’t been used since the war, and two newer escape routes installed by our gracious hosts.” He was monitoring remotely from a secure location, coordinating our extraction while I worked the inside with Isabella. “They’re organized. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”
“Your contacts got us in,” I murmured, accepting a glass of scotch from a passing waiter, using the movement to scan the room again. “Without you—”
“Without me, my family stays safe.” The mention of Ashlynn and their daughter made his voice tighten. But he didn’t abandon us. Couldn’t, when we needed his expertise. “Just...watch her. These people, they’re not like the collectors I used to steal from. They don’t just want things. They want power.”
I tracked Isabella’s movement through the crowd, her form-fitting eggplant dress made my hands itch to touch her again. She played her role perfectly—the bored art expert accompanying a potential buyer, letting the other bidders dismiss her as mere decoration while she gathered intelligence.
“Your girl’s good,” Steele said through the earpiece. “Knows exactly how to make them underestimate her.”
“She’s not my—” But the protest died as she glanced my way. Even across the room, I could feel the heat of her stare. Could still taste her on my lips from that desperate encounter in the library we hadn’t talked about yet.
“Right.” Steele’s condescending tone made me want to crush the earpiece. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Watching Isabella work the room tonight, remembering how she’d felt in my arms...my defenses were crumbling despite my best efforts.
“The next lot will be of particular interest,” the auctioneer announced. “A recently acquired collection from Eastern Europe.” The code was easy to decipher; this was merchandise that should never be sold.
Isabella drifted closer to the stage, every movement calculated to draw attention while she observed. The dress accentuated her cleavage in a way that made my mouth go dry, but it was the fierce intelligence in her eyes that truly captivated me. Even here, surrounded by monsters, she burned with purpose.
“Incoming,” Steele warned in my ear. “Your ten o’clock. Rodger brought friends.”
I turned slightly, catching Rodger Ross’s entrance in my peripheral vision. He wore his usual suit and crooked smile, but the men flanking him, their eyes sweeping the room, weren’t any that I recognized.
“Not bank security,” I noted quietly.
“Private contractors.” Steele’s voice was grim. “Probably ex-Spetsnaz.”
Perfect. Just what we needed, Russian special forces alumni providing security for our corrupt board member.
Isabella appeared at my elbow, her hand sliding up my arm in a gesture that looked intimate to observers but let her whisper: “The manifests on display, they’re not just from Devereux. I recognize documentation styles from at least three other major banks.”
Her soft perfume filled my senses, making it hard to focus. This close, I could see where the dress dipped low on her back, revealing skin I’d touched in the Ashworth library. Could feel the heat of her through my suit jacket.
“How many banks?” I asked, relaying the question from Steele through my earpiece.
“At least six.” Isabella’s fingers tightened on my arm. “All top-tier financial institutions. The shipping routes, the paperwork—they’re all using the same system. The same cover.”
The implications hit like a physical blow. This wasn’t just one bank’s corruption. This was an entire network of financial institutions, all facilitating human trafficking.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The auctioneer’s voice cut through my racing thoughts. “Our next lot requires special clearance. Please have your credentials ready.”
Isabella’s hand slid down to grip mine. “The documentation room. While everyone’s distracted.”
She was right, this was our chance to gather proof while attention was focused elsewhere. But the thought of her anywhere near those files, those records of horror…
“I’ll go,” I said quietly. “You can—”
“I’m the art expert, remember?” she finished. “I still need to access those records.”
She was right, damn her. But letting her walk into danger went against every protective instinct I’d developed.
“Five minutes,” Steele instructed through the earpiece. “My team will create a distraction if you’re not back by then. But the moment either of you senses something wrong, get out.”
“Remember our cover,” Isabella murmured as we approached the documentation room. Her fingers brushed mine deliberately, her eyes conveying a message that had nothing to do with art and everything to do with our plan.
I nodded, playing my part as she leaned closer, one hand resting on my chest. To anyone watching, we were simply a couple struggling to keep our hands off each other during an event.
And it was fucking true. If I could, I’d abandon this damn investigation in a heartbeat and take her against the wall of that closet, her legs wrapped around my waist, my name on her lips. I’d had her once, and the memory of it consumed me—I wanted her again. And again. My mind surged with all the ways I wanted to explore her body, all the positions I needed to have her in, all the places I’d make her come apart under my touch. The investigation felt like torture when all I really wanted was to be buried deep inside her, watching her face as she lost control.
I tried to focus, to remember we were playing roles. Except the heat in my voice wasn’t entirely fabricated.
“Perhaps you’d like to see some of the more...private pieces in the collection?” I suggested, loud enough for the guard to overhear as we drifted toward the hallway. My hand settled at the small of her back, proprietary and suggestive.
Isabella’s laugh was perfect, breathless and a touch embarrassed. “We really shouldn’t,” she said, even as she pressed closer to me.
The guard smirked knowingly as we slipped down the hallway, clearly assuming we were looking for somewhere private. The moment we rounded the corner, Isabella’s demeanor shifted, analytical instincts replacing her flirty performance.
“Documentation room should be the third door,” she whispered, her hand already pulling the small thumb drive from her clutch. “We have four minutes now.”
She kept watch while I worked the door lock, then followed me inside, heading straight to the computers.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, though I caught the slight tension in her shoulders.
Then I saw her freeze, just for a moment. Something was wrong.
“Colton,” she breathed, her voice carrying an edge I’d never heard before. “The routing numbers...”
I moved closer, maintaining my cover while studying the screen. The breath left my lungs. These weren’t just Devereux records. Deutsche Bank. Credit Suisse. Goldman Sachs. Every major financial institution had art authentication documents that didn’t match their holdings.
“Security protocol initiated,” a computerized voice suddenly announced from the terminal. “Verification level three required. Temporary access granted: two minutes.”
Isabella’s fingers flew across the keyboard as a countdown appeared in the corner of the screen.
“Damn it,” she hissed. “Half the files are encrypted. I can only access shipping manifests and routing codes, not the full documentation.”
“That’s enough,” I said, memorizing key details as they flashed across the screen. Account numbers. Routing codes. Names that didn’t match any legitimate art dealers I knew. “We just need enough to prove the connection.”
“Investment firms, insurance companies, private galleries...” Her voice caught, and I fought the urge to pull her close. “They’re all part of it. The entire financial system is compromised.”
I shifted closer, trying to offer what protection I could while maintaining our cover. The magnitude of what we’d discovered made my legal training scream warnings. Every bank. Every major institution. All of them using art to hide their real cargo.
Isabella’s father must have seen this. Must have started to understand the scope before they killed him. I watched the timer tick down—sixty seconds remaining—knowing this changed everything.
We weren’t just fighting one bank anymore. We were taking on the entire financial system.
And if they’d killed Antoine Delacroix for discovering just a piece of this...
I’d never let them touch Isabella. No matter what it cost.
The sound of approaching footsteps made us both freeze.
“Time to go,” I said, already reaching for her.
“Almost done.” Her hands never stopped moving across the keys, transferring what she could to a thumb drive as the timer counted down. “Thirty seconds.”
The footsteps grew closer. Twenty feet. Fifteen.
“Isabella.”
“Done.” She quickly closed the files as the timer hit zero, the system automatically logging her out just as the door handle turned.
I moved on instinct, backing her into an alcove formed by filing cabinets. My body covered hers completely as the door opened, hiding her smaller frame from view. The position pressed us together from chest to thigh, her curves fitting against me dangerously.
“Clear,” a heavily accented voice said. “Check the terminals.”
Isabella’s hands fisted in my shirt as heavy boots approached our hiding spot. Her heart hammered against my chest, matching my own racing pulse. One of her legs had slipped between mine, and the slippery silk of her dress was maddening against my palms.
Get it together , I told myself firmly. Focus on the threat, not on how she felt in my arms. Not on how her breath whispered across my throat. Not on the memory of her taste.
The guards moved deeper into the room, checking computers. Isabella shifted slightly, trying to make herself smaller, and the movement drew a muscle-deep ache of want. Her fingers found bare skin above my collar, and electricity shot through me at the touch.
“All clear,” the second guard reported.
They finally left, the door closing with a decisive click. But neither of us moved. Couldn’t move, caught in the gravity of memory and adrenaline.
“Colton.” My name was barely a breath against my skin as she moaned it.
I knew I should step back. Should remember what happened the last time I let someone past my walls.
Instead, I kissed her.
Her lips parted as she gasped and I took full advantage, one hand tangling in her hair while the other pulled her impossibly closer. She tasted like forbidden fruit, and I was already addicted.
She kissed me back with equal fervor, arms sliding around my neck as she moved into me. Her dress was silk under my fingers as I mapped her curves, memorizing every inch I could reach. When my thumb brushed the bare skin of her back, she made a sound that nearly shattered my control.
“We can’t,” I managed, though I couldn’t make myself stop touching her. “Not here. Not now.”
“I know.” But she pressed closer, letting me feel every soft curve against my harder planes. “Just...don’t let go yet.”
A sudden commotion in the main chamber broke through our lustful haze. Raised voices, the sound of breaking glass.
“That’s the signal,” I said against her throat. “Time’s up. Steele’s team is creating a diversion.”
Isabella straightened her dress while I checked the corridor. We emerged to find choreographed chaos. A bidding war had apparently evolved into a fistfight, drawing security’s attention. Classic misdirection, just as Steele had promised.
“This way,” I murmured, guiding Isabella toward one of the maintenance tunnels with my hand on her lower back. The touch felt different now, charged with desire that had my head muddled.
We were halfway to the tunnel when I saw Rodger. He stood with his two guard dogs, examining something on a tablet. His head snapped up just as we passed, eyes narrowing.
“Problem,” I said quietly. “Don’t look back.”
Isabella’s step never faltered, but I felt her tense under my hand. “How many?”
“Three. No, five.” More guards materializing from the crowd. “Eight.”
“The tunnel’s blocked,” she noted calmly, but her shoulders were shaking slightly. “They’re herding us.”
She was right. They were choreographing our movements, directing us toward the service corridor. Towards a trap.
“Options?” She kept her voice low and casual, though her fingers dug into my arm.
I scanned the room, mentally overlaying Steele’s earlier assessment. Three exits still viable, but all watched. Two possible hiding spots, but temporary at best. And Isabella’s dress, while stunning, wasn’t made for climbing through ventilation shafts.
I spotted the fire alarm on the wall near the east exit, partly hidden behind an ornate tapestry. It was old, the kind with a glass panel you had to break.
“The fire alarm,” I uttered, guiding her in that direction with gentle pressure on her lower back. “When I give the signal, head for the service corridor to our right. Not the one they’re herding us toward.”
“Everyone will be evacuated,” she said, understanding immediately. “The guards will lose us in the chaos.”
“Exactly.”
We moved with deliberate casualness, stopping to admire a particularly expensive painting. Ten feet from the alarm now. The guards were still watching, but maintaining distance, not wanting to cause a scene in front of their wealthy clientele.
“Dance with me,” I said suddenly, loud enough to be heard.
Isabella’s step hitched slightly. “What?”
“Trust me.” I turned her into my arms, one hand settling on her waist while the other caught hers. The string quartet was playing something slow and classical, and other couples still moved on the dance floor despite the earlier chaos.
“Eight armed men,” she reminded me, though she fitted herself against me perfectly. “This isn’t exactly the time—”
“We need to get closer to that alarm,” I murmured against her hair. “Dancing gives us cover to move.”
We moved across the floor, each step bringing us closer to our target while maintaining our cover. The guards couldn’t intervene without causing a scene—exactly what we needed.
“Now?” she asked as we neared the alarm.
“Not yet,” I dipped her slightly, using the movement to check our flanks. “When I step away from you, move toward the service door. Don’t run. Don’t look back.”
“And you?”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
We turned again, my hand spreading across her back as she followed my lead. Despite the danger, despite the guards watching our every move, I couldn’t help but enjoy every second I got to hold her against me.
Focus , I told myself again. Focus on the mission, not on how her breath caught when my fingers traced her spine. Not on how her pupils dilated when I pulled her closer. Not on how much I wanted to kiss her again and again until every single person in the entire fucking world knew she was mine and mine alone.
The song ended. Perfect timing. We joined the polite applause, then I stepped away from her, moving toward the champagne table near the alarm while she casually drifted toward the service corridor we’d identified.
I caught a waiter’s attention, making a show of selecting a glass. Twenty feet away, Isabella had reached the service door, her hand on the handle. The guards were still watching, but hadn’t moved in yet.
Now.
I “accidentally” bumped into another guest, sending champagne flying across his expensive suit. As he shouted in outrage, I used the distraction to smash the glass panel on the fire alarm.
The effect was instantaneous. Sirens blared throughout the building, emergency lights flashing. The sprinkler system activated, sending water cascading down on the presumed priceless artwork and designer clothing. Pandemonium erupted as wealthy patrons shrieked and scrambled for the exits.
I made my way quickly through the chaos toward Isabella, who held the service door open for me. The moment I was through, she slammed it shut, and I jammed a chair under the handle.
“This way.” I pulled her through a hidden door, into a narrow maintenance tunnel. Old pipes lined the walls, and the air was thick with decades of dust. But it would take us where we needed to go.
We moved quickly through the darkness, my hand never leaving hers. The sounds of pursuit grew fainter as we descended deeper into the hotel’s maze of service corridors. When we reached a junction of tunnels, I pulled her into a small alcove, listening for footsteps.
I knew the service corridors well, I had memorized them during my initial security sweep. This particular section connected to a locked maintenance area that required keycard access. Only hotel staff could get through, and they’d be distracted by the fire alarm and sprinklers. The heavy fire doors we’d passed through would slow any pursuit, allowing us safety.
Her breathing was quick but controlled, her body pressed against mine in the narrow space. The memory of what we’d discovered was etched in both our minds now, but all I could think about was how she’d felt during that dance, how perfectly she’d followed my lead, how right she’d felt in my arms. Her perfume filled my senses and it mixed with the heat of her skin, making my head spin. I was drunk with desire. Spinning out of control, ready to surrender to my baser needs.
“Colton—” Her voice was barely a whisper, but it held the same need I felt burning through my veins.
Our kiss was explosive. This encounter was fueled by sheer need, pure instinct driving us both. Her hands fisted in my jacket as I pressed her against the wall, lifting her slightly. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and I groaned at the feeling of her heat against me. The silk of her dress slipped against my palms, and our heartbeats collided, each pulse answering the other.
This was absolute madness. We were being hunted. Had evidence that could destroy an international trafficking ring. Every second we stayed was dangerous. But with Isabella’s breath hot against my throat, her body pressed against mine, none of that seemed to matter.
“Wait,” she gasped as my hands slid under her dress. “We should...”
“Should what?” The words came out rough against her throat. I couldn’t stop touching her, tasting her, memorizing every inch of skin I could reach. My carefully maintained control was slipping away like water through my fingers. “Wait? I can’t, Bella. I can’t wait anymore. I want you, my gorgeous masterpiece.”
“Protection,” she managed, though I could tell my lips were making it hard for her to think. Her head fell back against the wall as I found a particularly sensitive spot, and the sight of her—flushed, breathless, completely undone—nearly broke me.
“I’m clean.” I pulled back enough to meet her eyes in the dim light. Even here, in the shadows of the maintenance tunnel, I could see how her eyes had widened with desire. I could see the trust there, mixed with wanting. “And you?”
“Of course, but—”
I claimed her mouth again, swallowing her protests. “Then let me have this. Let me have you. No barriers. Nothing between us.” The raw ache in my voice surprised even myself. I never lost control like this. Never took risks. Never let instinct override careful planning. But with Isabella, all my rules seemed to crash and burn. All my carefully constructed walls came crumbling down.
“Yes,” she breathed, and that one word shattered what little remained of my control.
Her explicit permission undid me completely. When she guided me to her entrance, her panties pushed aside, all reason fled. I thrust into her hard, swallowing her cry with my mouth. The feeling of her, hot and tight around me with nothing between us, was almost too much. I moved quickly, knowing that this couldn’t last long. I wouldn’t last long.
I’d never had unprotected sex. Catherine had been paranoid about getting pregnant, always ensuring I wore a condom, even though she was on birth control. Of course, later I realized it was because she never wanted to be with me and was sleeping around with someone else.
Isabella thrashed against me, and her release ripped through her. A second later I felt myself pulse within her, hardening even more, and then I was coming, pouring everything I had into her with a shuddering groan.
I couldn’t believe what I’d just done.
I was always careful. Always controlled. Always followed every rule. The man who planned every detail, who never left anything to chance, who kept emotional distance as carefully as he maintained his precise filing system—that man would never have done this. But Isabella had changed everything. Made me want things I’d sworn never to want again after Catherine. Made me feel things I’d thought were permanently locked away.
Here I was, possibly being chased, coming inside her against a wall in a maintenance tunnel. Some distant part of my mind knew we’d have to deal with the consequences, but right now, with her wrapped around me, her heat gripping my cock, her breath ragged against my neck, I couldn’t bring myself to care. All that mattered was this moment. This woman. This complete surrender to something bigger than my careful rules and controlled desire.
It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t tender.
But it was real.
I held her there for a moment, both of us trembling slightly in the aftermath. My face buried in her neck, breathing in her scent. Her fingers gentle in my hair, soothing even as her other hand still gripped my shoulder hard enough to bruise. Everything felt raw, exposed. Like we’d crossed some line that could never be uncrossed. But damn it, I didn’t care.
For the first time in years, I felt completely, terrifyingly alive.
“We need to move,” I managed finally, though every instinct screamed to keep her here, safe in my arms. To never let her face what waited outside these shadows.
She nodded, straightening her dress while I fixed my clothing. But something had changed between us. Something fundamental and irreversible. I could see it in her eyes when she looked at me, in the slight tremor of her hands as she smoothed her hair.
I’d broken every rule I’d made after Catherine. Crossed every line I’d drawn. And somehow, none of that seemed to matter anymore.