Chapter 3
three
Rue Bristow had grown up in a training facility for some of the baddest badasses on the planet, surrounded by special forces operatives, mercenaries, and the kind of people who could kill you with a paperclip and a rubber band.
She’d learned to read danger signals before she could properly tie her shoes.
So when she stepped into Atlas Frost’s penthouse and every instinct she possessed started screaming, she knew this party was going to be trouble.
And not the fun kind.
The space was all glass and steel, designed to showcase the glittering Manhattan skyline stretching endlessly beyond floor-to-ceiling windows.
Beautiful people in expensive clothes clustered around cocktail tables, their laughter mixing with the soft jazz drifting from hidden speakers.
Everything looked perfect. Civilized. Harmless.
Which was exactly what made her skin crawl.
Rue adjusted her grip on the fizzy energy drink she’d sweet-talked the bartender into giving her instead of champagne.
She preferred caffeine to the fuzzy buzz of champagne.
It kept her sharp while everyone else loosened up.
Her dad had taught her long ago that people always assumed your glass matched theirs, and assumptions were useful things.
She scanned the room again. She’d been here for twenty minutes, and the conversations she’d overheard had been increasingly bizarre.
People who were supposed to be discussing climate research were fixating on specific logistical questions about the expedition.
And, okay, the questions themselves weren’t necessarily suspicious—these people were investors, after all.
But it was the way they asked that set off all her internal warning bells.
She’d called Elliot for a reason. She wasn’t stupid, no matter what her older sister thought. Rue might chase thrills, but she wasn’t suicidal.
And speaking of the most uptight of the Wildes, where the hell was he? He was late, and that wasn’t like him.
“The logistics must be fascinating,” purred a woman in emeralds whose name Rue had already forgotten. “All that equipment transport in such isolated conditions.”
“Absolutely,” Rue said, giving her best interested nod while scanning the room over the woman’s shoulder. “But that’s part of the adventure.”
The woman leaned closer, diamonds glittering at her throat like ice crystals. “And I imagine you have plans in place to secure any discoveries made while there?”
“I’m just the ride in and out,” she deflected. “For specifics about the research, you’ll have to ask the lead scientist.” She nodded toward a tall, lanky man with wire-frame glasses. “Dr. Keene.”
Before Emerald Lady could press further, the elevator doors slid open and Elliot stepped into the room, looking like he’d walked straight out of one of her more inappropriate dreams. Her stomach fluttered.
God, he was handsome.
She’d always thought so, but until recently, he’d always just been… Elliot. Their parents were friends, and they’d been around each other often enough as kids that he was practically a cousin.
So why were her hormones suddenly firing on all cylinders whenever he was near?
Duh. She knew exactly why. It had started at a family barbecue last summer when she’d caught him staring at her mouth.
At first, she wondered if she had something in her teeth and he was just too polite to say anything, but a check in the bathroom mirror had proved that wasn’t the case.
Then, when she licked barbecue sauce off her finger and his nostrils had flared before he looked away quickly, she realized he was fantasizing about her.
And that was all it took. She’d spent an embarrassing number of nights with her vibrator fantasizing about what those careful, controlled hands would feel like tangled in her hair.
Now here he was, looking like sin in a suit that had definitely been tailored to those broad shoulders. His light brown hair was slightly tousled—probably from a pass of his hand, knowing Elliot—and those sharp blue eyes were already scanning the room.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, already stepping away from Emerald Lady. “I see my fiancé has arrived.”
The word “fiancé” felt foreign on her tongue, but she didn’t hate it like she should.
She’d never pictured herself getting married.
Sure, her parents were happily married, but that was them.
They were so perfect for each other—her dad with his gruff, demanding ways, and her mom with her free-wheeling, laughing, creative ways.
They made sense together. Rue wasn’t sure she’d ever make sense with anyone.
She was too restless, too hungry for the next adventure, too unwilling to be pinned down.
But for some reason, using the word “fiancé” in reference to Elliot didn’t make her want to break out in hives.
Which was concerning, honestly.
Three days since she’d convinced him to join the expedition, and already the lines between real and pretend were blurring.
She weaved through the crowd and saw the exact moment he spotted her—his shoulders relaxed a fraction, his gaze sharpened, and that tiny furrow appeared between his brows. The one that meant he was already cataloging potential threats.
“Hey there, handsome. I was beginning to think you’d stood me up,” she said as she reached him, sliding an arm around his waist. She stood on her toes to kiss him lightly.
For show , she told herself. Not because she’d spent months wondering what his lips felt like.
To his credit, he didn’t stiffen at the surprise kiss like she half expected him to. His hand came up to rest at the small of her back, fingers spreading across the silk of her dress, and the warmth of his palm burned through the thin fabric.
For a moment, she forgot they were performing for an audience.
“Sorry I’m late,” he murmured against her ear, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “Got held up at the office. Having fun?”
The brush of his breath against her skin made her shiver, and she had to remind herself this was an act.
Just. An. Act.
Get it together, Rue.
“Oh, tons.” She pulled back to look at him, keeping her voice light despite the way her pulse had kicked into overdrive.
“Nothing quite like being interrogated by people who think Antarctica is a luxury cruise destination.” She took another sip of her energy drink, watching him process that information and the room with one sweep of his gaze.
This was why she’d called him. Elliot’s brain worked like a computer.
“Should I be concerned?”
“No.” She scoffed and handed him her champagne flute. “Relax. It’s a party.”
Elliot looked down at the glass like it might bite him. “Somehow I doubt this is actually champagne.” He sniffed the contents, then scowled at her. “You actually put this rocket fuel in your body?”
Rue rolled her eyes. “It’s not rocket fuel. It’s all natural with vitamins and caffeine.”
“Natural caffeine that could power a small aircraft.” He handed the flute back to her. “You’re going to crash later.”
“I don’t crash. I land gracefully.” She took another sip to prove a point and eyed his stiff shoulders. His gaze hadn’t stopped moving since he stepped off the elevator. She elbowed his ribs. “You’re allergic to fun, aren’t you? It’s a medical condition. We should get you checked.”
Elliot’s mouth quirked at the corner, barely visible, but she’d learned to watch for it. That tiny tell meant he was fighting a smile.
“I’m not allergic to fun, Trouble. This is just not my idea of it.”
“Oh, yeah? Then what’s your idea of fun? Color coding your sock drawer? Spreadsheets?”
His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, and the heat in his eyes told her he was definitely thinking of spreading some sheets.
Preferably with her between them.
Heat bloomed across Rue’s skin like wildfire. She’d meant to tease him, but suddenly the joke felt secondary to the way his gaze traced her features.
Elliot’s jaw tightened. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?” She blinked innocently, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
“Pushing.”
“Is it working?”
“You know it is.”
Little sparks of electricity skittered over her nerve endings. She’d been flirting with him for months, testing boundaries, seeing how far she could push before he snapped. But this felt different.
More dangerous.
More real.
“I want to see what happens when Mr. Control loses a little of his famous restraint,” she said.
“Trust me, Rue,” Elliot said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “You don’t want to see that.”
Dampness rushed between her thighs, and her breath caught.
“Maybe I do.” She stepped closer, until they were practically sharing breath, and traced a finger over that jumping muscle in his jaw.
The scent of his cologne wrapped around her, woodsy and clean.
It made her want to bury her face against his neck.
“Tell me something, El. Do you ever just... let go? Do something reckless?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he murmured. “With you.”
The way he said it—like following her was the most dangerous thing he could imagine—sent a thrill racing up her spine.
“Oh, honey.” She reached up to straighten his tie, then let her fingers trail up to linger against his throat. “This isn’t reckless. Not yet.”
“Rue.” Her name came out rough, like gravel, and she felt it vibrate through his chest where they were pressed together.
She was playing with fire. She knew it. Had known it since the moment she’d called him and asked him to come to Antarctica with her.
But knowing something and caring about it were two entirely different things, and right now, with his hand burning against her back and his scent filling her lungs and her panties wet with need, she found she didn’t care at all.
“Yes?” she whispered, tilting her face up toward his.
For a heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her. Right there in the middle of Atlas Frost’s glittering penthouse, surrounded by Manhattan’s elite and people who were asking too many questions about her expedition. The possibility sent her pulse skittering like a stone across water.
Then his expression shifted, the heat banking behind that iron control of his, and he stepped back just enough to break the spell.
“We should probably mingle.” His voice was carefully neutral now, no longer that sexy rumble. “Play the happy couple.”
The sudden distance hit her like cold water, and she had to fight not to chase after the warmth he’d just withdrawn.
Of course. The mission. The cover story. The reason he was here in the first place.
Not because he wanted to be pressed against her in a room full of strangers, but because she’d asked him to pretend.
“Right.” Rue inhaled sharply, straightening her spine. “Mingling. That’s why we’re here.”
She stepped back, putting more distance between them than Elliot had. It seemed like the safest option, considering she’d been just seconds from climbing him like a tree.
“So, update on the situation,” she said, forcing her voice into a businesslike tone. “Three different people have asked me about security protocols and storage facilities at the research station tonight. None of them are affiliated with the scientific team.”
Elliot’s expression shifted, all traces of heat replaced by the tactical focus she’d been counting on when she’d called him. “Names?”
“You think I got their names?” She snorted and sipped her energy drink, grateful for the jolt of caffeine to clear her head. “Silver Fox by the bar, Tech Bro with the wandering hands, and Emerald Lady who just walked away. They’re being subtle, but they’re definitely fishing.”
“Names would’ve been more helpful.” Elliot’s gaze swept the room, cataloging faces with that computer-like precision of his. “Any familiar faces?”
“No Praetorian operatives I recognize, but these aren’t field agents we’d be dealing with. These are the money people.” She nodded subtly toward a group near the windows. “The one in the navy suit has been watching us since you arrived.”
Elliot didn’t turn to look. Instead, he pulled her closer, his arm sliding around her waist in a move that looked possessive to anyone watching. To Rue, it lacked the heat of their earlier interaction and felt performative.
She didn’t want to explore why that put an uncomfortable knot in her throat.
It was supposed to be an act.
It wasn’t real.
It. Wasn’t. Real.