Chapter 26
Evelyn's POV
My heart was hammering, and not just from the sudden commotion. I could feel the solid wall of his chest against my back, the strength in the arm around my waist, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of Emily's navy suit. This close, I could smell him—something clean and masculine, mixed with the faint scent of mint that I remembered from the alley.
The crowd continued to shift and murmur around us, but Julian didn't move. Didn't let go. His arm stayed locked around my waist, keeping me safe, keeping me close.
I should have pulled away. Should have put distance between us. But I didn't.
"Shouldn't you..." I turned my head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. They were startlingly close, gray and intense and focused entirely on me. "Shouldn't you go check on the senator? Make sure he's safe?"
Julian's lips curved into a small smile. "My team is more than capable of handling the situation. I hired them for a reason." His thumb brushed against my hip, a gesture so subtle it could have been unconscious. But I knew better. "Right now, my primary concern is making sure you're not trampled by a stampede of panicking socialites."
The words were smooth, almost oily in their practiced delivery. But his eyes—his eyes held something that looked genuine. Something that made my traitorous heart beat faster even as my mind screamed warnings.
He's not protecting you. He's protecting Emily. He doesn't even know who you really are.
The thought should have made this easier. Should have let me maintain the distance I needed. But instead, it made everything more complicated, because some part of me—some stupid, desperate part—wanted him to look at Evelyn the way he was looking at Emily right now. Wanted him to see me and still choose to stay.
"I think I'm safe now," I said softly, even though I made no move to step away from him. "The crowd's settling down."
"Are you?" Julian's voice was low, almost a murmur, and there was something in it that made my skin prickle with awareness. "Safe, I mean."
The question felt loaded with meaning I didn't want to unpack. I swallowed hard, acutely aware of every point of contact between us—his arm around my waist, his chest against my back, the heat of his breath against my cheek.
This was dangerous. This was exactly the kind of complication I couldn't afford. I had a mission to complete, a target to observe. I didn't have time to stand here in Julian Russell's arms, feeling things I had no right to feel, wanting things I could never have.
But God help me, I didn't want to move.
"I should..." I forced myself to take a step forward, breaking the contact between us. Julian's arm fell away immediately, but I could still feel the ghost of his touch, warm against my skin. "I should probably find the ladies' room. Freshen up."
"Of course." Julian straightened, his expression shifting back to something more neutral, more professional. But his eyes stayed on me, intense and unwavering. "Will you be around later? I'd like to continue our conversation."
No. I shouldn't. I can't.
"Maybe," I heard myself say, Emily's shy smile on my lips even as warning bells screamed in my head. "If you're lucky."
Julian's answering smile was slow and dangerous and absolutely devastating. "I'm feeling very lucky tonight, Miss Clarke."
I turned and walked away before I could do something stupid, weaving through the crowd toward the hallway that led to the restrooms. My hands were shaking. My heart was racing. And I couldn't tell if it was adrenaline from the mission or something far more dangerous.
Focus. You're here for Caldwell. Not for Julian Russell's smile or his arms around your waist or the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
He doesn't even know who you are.
The thought steadied me, cold and sharp. I found an empty hallway and pressed my back against the wall, taking deep breaths until my pulse slowed.
I pushed away from the wall and made my way back toward the ballroom, scanning for any sign of Caldwell. The crowd had settled after whatever commotion had occurred, but the senator was nowhere to be seen. I moved through the room methodically, checking each cluster of guests, each corner, each exit.
Nothing.
A cold knot formed in my stomach as I headed toward the side entrance, the one I'd seen Caldwell's bodyguards hovering near earlier. I pushed through the door and found myself in a service corridor, empty except for a few waiters hurrying past with trays.
At the far end of the corridor, I caught a glimpse of movement—a flash of silver hair, the dark suits of bodyguards, the unmistakable posture of a man being escorted to a secure location.
I started forward, my training taking over, calculating distances and angles and whether I could get close enough to at least see where they were taking him. But by the time I reached the exit, all I saw was the tail lights of a black SUV pulling away from the hotel's rear entrance, flanked by two security vehicles.
Caldwell was gone.
I stood there in the doorway, watching the convoy disappear into the D.C. traffic, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
The mission had failed. Not catastrophically—I'd gathered some intelligence, observed the security setup, confirmed the target's identity. But I hadn't accomplished what I'd come here to do. I hadn't found a vulnerability. Hadn't identified an opportunity. Hadn't gotten close enough to matter.
And why? Because I'd been too distracted by Julian Russell's smile and the feel of his arms around me and the way he'd looked at Emily Clarke like she was someone worth protecting.
He doesn't even know who you are, I reminded myself savagely. He was flirting with a stranger. Playing a game. And you let it distract you from the one thing that actually matters.
I turned away from the exit and headed back through the corridor, my jaw tight, my mind already racing through contingencies.