Her gaze moved over his face and the tension in her dissipated. She sent him a slow smile. “We’ve got this, Trap. I’m not saying it will be easy or that there won’t be danger, but we’ve got this. You. Me. Together.” She leaned into him. “Do you get what I’m saying now?”

She took his breath away. Her exquisite loveliness. Her delicate vulnerability. Her absolute confidence. The fact that beneath the beauty was a weapon so lethal, her creators were terrified of her. She was fucking perfect, and she was his.

“I get you, baby. Let’s do this and go home so I can spend hours making love to you.” He meant that. He liked fucking her. Rough. Hard. Tied down. On her knees. Any way. But he loved making love to her. Taking his time. Letting his body show her how he felt inside. How she could turn him inside out. How he worshipped the ground she walked on. How he worshipped her.

Like I needed to hear that.

Trap ignored the amusement in Wyatt’s voice and took Cayenne’s mouth one more time, watched her repair the gloss as if she’d been doing it her entire life and hadn’t just learned a few short weeks earlier. He buzzed their driver and the man came around to open the door for them.

Wyatt stepped out first. Paused there. Scouting. He stepped aside for Trap. Trap emerged next, allowing his gaze to sweep the crowd of spectators and reporters just as Wyatt had done, his body blocking Cayenne’s while he did so. He took his time, waiting until Draden and Gino moved into position to guard her. Guard them.

He stepped back and extended his hand to her. Cayenne took it as if she’d been born royalty. She’d been devouring every video clip of galas she could find, studying the women and how they acted. She observed how they dined formally or informally over and over. How they moved, talked, danced. Everything she could find that would help her. She learned fast, and now, as she took his hand and gracefully exited the limousine, he couldn’t help but be proud of her.

She didn’t look scared or shy. She looked serene. She even tilted her face up and smiled at him as dozens of flashes went off. Only he saw how her gaze clung to his, drawing on his strength. He loved that. His little lethal warrior needed him. Not for saving her life, or kicking a man’s butt, but just to get her through being in a very public situation. Again, no one else would know, only him. It was something she shared with him alone, that reluctance to be in a crowd.

Every protective instinct he had came surging to the forefront. He tugged her to his side, watching the way her body moved beneath the dress. The designer was brilliant. He knew women and how material best draped on their bodies, how it came alive, moving with them, heightening their beauty. Her dress was a miracle of silken fabric, shimmering with every step she took, emphasizing her curves and the grace of her body as she moved in close and took his arm.

Wyatt closed in on her other side. Gino stepped in front of them, leading the way toward the doors of the hotel where the fund-raiser was being held. Draden prowled behind them. Trap spotted Ryland at the double glass doors, just inside, looking handsome and casual in his tuxedo. Ryland brought five of his team members, including Gator, Wyatt’s brother, to help with security. Nearly all of Trap’s team was present. They’d left Diego and Rubin Campo, two members of their team, with the rest of Ryland’s team to guard Pepper, the triplets and Nonny. None of them were taking chances.

Wyatt and Trap, with Cayenne in between them, stopped at the VIP security line, the one set up for the scientists, to present their engraved invitation to the guard. He immediately allowed them through, nodding his head in deference to them.

Ryland wandered through the large lobby parallel to them, his wife, Lily, on his arm. At the double doors to the ballroom, Trap spotted Gator and Flame talking together. Although he appeared completely involved in the conversation, Gator’s gaze continually swept the entire area, noting everything and everyone in it. As Trap, Wyatt and Cayenne went through the elaborately carved doors into the ballroom, Gator and Flame fell in behind them.

The moment Trap entered, he felt the tension, stretched like a thin wire in the room. One glance told him there were several supersoldiers inside, most covering the various exits. How many? He didn’t care if they knew he spoke telepathically. They wouldn’t hear what he was saying unless he wanted them to.

Malichai answered. My count is seven inside the ballroom. He was positioned up above, on the long sweeping balcony overlooking the room.

Nine, Ezekiel answered. I’ve got two more on the roof with rifles. He was outside the building, across the street. His job was to keep them alive while they moved in and out of the building.

I’ve got one just inside the kitchen, Mordichai reported. He’s trying to blend in with the catering staff. He’s smaller than most of the soldiers but still stands out like a sore thumb. I also saw two setting up with the band earlier. They’re roaming the halls.

Trap put his hand over Cayenne’s as they moved through the crowd, Wyatt sticking to her other side, Gino clearing a path for them.

So we know they’ve got twelve supersoldiers to supplement their regular security staff. That’s interesting. Is Whitney here? Are you running facial recognition, Ryland? Joe Spagnola, Team Four leader, asked from his position on the balcony.

Jeff is in the security room. He’s doing that now, Ryland answered.

Senator Smythe at six o’clock, Wyatt reported.

You heading that way? Joe asked.

She wants to talk to me, Trap said, she can come to me. I’m not her fucking servant.

You’re such a hard-ass, Joe murmured, amusement edging his tone.

Cayenne’s fingers curled on his arm. “She’s using her voice.” She nodded to where Violet was holding court, looking spectacular in her low-cut gown, her laughter tinkling like sweet-sounding bells. “Do you hear those notes? She’s embedding a compulsion. You’ll have to be careful, Trap.”

“Don’t worry, baby, the only woman capable of ensnaring me is you. I’ve got something going on in my brain that prevents voice compulsion from working.”

“My voice. I don’t try that hard with you,” Cayenne corrected. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she shook her head. “I don’t. Not even that first meeting. I was terrified and I wanted out of the cell, but you opened that cell of your own volition. No one had ever done anything for me before, not without wanting something huge in return. You didn’t ask for anything.”