Chapter two

The penthouse door slammed behind them with the finality of a prison cell.

Rowan stood in the center of Kael's living room, taking in the space with a journalist's eye. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the city that probably cost more than most people's lives. Leather furniture, abstract art that looked expensive and meaningless, a bar stocked with bottles that cost more than his monthly rent.

This is what power looks like.

"Make yourself at home," Kael said, shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket. "Though I suppose 'home' is relative when you're essentially a prisoner."

Rowan spun to face him. "Prisoner? You kissed me in front of two hundred people and announced our engagement. I think that makes me your accomplice."

Kael loosened his tie with deliberate slowness. "Semantics. You're safe, which is more than you were an hour ago."

"Safe?" Rowan laughed, the sound bitter. "I'm in the lion's den."

"The lion's den is better than the slaughterhouse." Kael poured two glasses of whiskey, offering one to Rowan. "Elena would have killed you tonight."

Rowan accepted the drink but didn't sip. "And you won't?"

Kael's eyes darkened. "Not unless you ask nicely."

The words hung between them, heavy with implication. Rowan felt heat pool in his stomach, and he hated himself for it. This man is dangerous. This man is the enemy. This man kissed you like he wanted to devour you.

"This arrangement," Rowan said, forcing his voice steady. "What are the terms?"

Kael settled onto the leather couch, legs spread in a way that was both casual and commanding. "You play the devoted fiancé. Attend events with me. Smile for cameras. In return, I keep you alive and help you expose Elena."

"And when this is over?"

"We go our separate ways. You get your career back. I get..." Kael's jaw tightened. "Closure."

Rowan studied him. There was something beneath the cold exterior, something raw and wounded. His father. The man everyone's saying is dead.

"What happened to him?" Rowan asked quietly.

Kael's glass paused halfway to his mouth. "You really want to know?"

"I'm a journalist."

"You're my fiancé," Kael corrected. "At least for now."

The distinction shouldn't have mattered, but something in Kael's voice made Rowan's chest tight. This is pretend. This is survival. This is not real.

"Fine," Rowan said. "Tell me."

Kael set down his glass and stood, moving to the window. His reflection stared back at them both—tall, dark, untouchable. "My father was going to sell me out. To Elena. A deal that would have destroyed everything we've built."

"So you killed him."

Kael's laugh was hollow. "If only it were that simple. No, Rowan. I let Elena think she won. Let her think she has the upper hand. And when she comes for me, I'll be ready."

"And I'm your shield."

"You're my weapon." Kael turned, and the look in his eyes made Rowan step back. "Elena won't expect me to care about anyone. The moment she thinks you're important to me, she becomes vulnerable."

Rowan swallowed hard. "You don't care about me."

"Don't I?" Kael moved closer, each step deliberate. "I kissed you in front of everyone. I brought you to my home. I told you my secrets."

"Because it's convenient."

"Because you're different." Kael stopped inches away, close enough that Rowan could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Most people would have run. You stayed."

"I had no choice."

"There's always a choice." Kael's hand came up, thumb tracing Rowan's jawline. "You chose to fight. I respect that."

Rowan's breath caught. This is dangerous. This is wrong. This is—

Kael kissed him again.

This time, Rowan kissed back.

It was angry and desperate, all teeth and tongue and the taste of whiskey. Kael's hands gripped Rowan's hips hard enough to bruise, pulling him flush against his body. Rowan could feel Kael's arousal, hard and insistent against his thigh, and the knowledge sent heat flooding through him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Kael's mouth moved to Rowan's neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin. "Tell me to stop," he growled.

Rowan should have. He knew he should have. But instead, his hands fisted in Kael's shirt, pulling him closer. "Don't you dare."

Kael made a sound that was half growl, half groan, and then they were moving. Rowan found himself pressed against the window, Kael's body pinning him in place. The city lights sparkled below them, indifferent to the storm raging above.

Kael's hands were everywhere—unbuttoning Rowan's shirt, mapping the planes of his chest, finding every sensitive spot that made Rowan gasp. When Kael's palm pressed against Rowan's cock through his pants, Rowan bucked involuntarily.

"So responsive," Kael murmured against his ear. "I wonder how you'd sound when I—"

The sound of shattering glass cut through the moment.

Both men froze. Kael's body went rigid, his hand moving to the gun hidden beneath his jacket. Rowan held his breath, heart pounding so hard he was sure Kael could hear it.

We're not alone.