they went, a man—the very epitome of tall, dark and handsome—caught Keira’s attention from across the room, over near the terrace doors. He was studying her in a way that made her insides begin a slow burn. Keira knew he was an Omega agent, had seen him around at a couple events in the last few months, but didn’t know his name. Had been afraid to ask in case she couldn’t stop herself from pouncing on him.
Her attention was yanked back by Andrea. “Come join us!” the bride said over her shoulder, a new sister attached to each arm as they crossed to the dance floor.
“In a few.” Keira laughed and waved. She looked over again, but tall, dark and handsome seemed to have moved back into the shadows.
She shrugged, surprised by how disappointed she was to lose that moment with him. She didn’t tend to be so romantic as allowing herself to feel heat from just a glance.
Didn’t tend to be romantic at all.
But Keira didn’t head to the dance floor. Most people had brought a date to dance with. Keira deliberately had not because, as one of the bridesmaids, she wanted to be able to concentrate on Andrea and anything she needed. But mostly because she just didn’t date much.
Keira looked around at the large crowd. There seemed to be two types of people populating the wedding. Omega Sector agents, all half mingling, half watching the door for any sign of that maniac who had almost killed both Andrea and Brandon last year. They were intelligent, they were armed and they were ready.
And they weren’t even the most dangerous people in the room. That was the other part of the crowd.
The wealthy. The privileged. The elite.
Those people scared Keira much more than someone with a gun did.
They shook hands and slapped backs, then stuck proverbial knives in those very same backs as soon as it served their best interests. The room was filled with men and women who aspired to be congressmen, governors, maybe even more. Those who desired to start, run and sell multimillion dollar corporations.
And they had the power—or the family with power—to back up those goals.
She knew these types of people, knew what they could do to someone. Had been married to a member of a family like the ones here. One who had powerful political aspirations.
Six years ago, she had fled this state a broken person. Not much more than a child. She had bought her freedom from the upper echelon with her own blood, always afraid the man who’d broken her would wield his wealth and power to find her again.
His family wasn’t here tonight; Keira had made sure that would be the case long before this day came. She’d asked Brandon, not Andrea, if the Cunningham family of Denver would be attending the wedding. Brandon hadn’t thought so and had double-checked, since his parents—who were paying for the wedding—were inviting some business and political associates he didn’t know well. He was soon able to assure her there would be no Cunninghams in attendance.
Keira had expected Brandon to press for details, but he hadn’t. Just gave her that look that said he’d probably already figured out 90 percent of the situation in that huge brain of his, and moved on to other questions, about wedding bands and cake flavors.
Keira had been relieved she wouldn’t have to miss one of her closest friends’ weddings. But she would have to avoid Jonathan Cunningham and his family.
There weren’t many things Keira was afraid of in this world. But a family willing to use its wealth and power to hide the hideous sins of its son?
Let’s just say she was never getting involved with anyone from a wealthy and powerful family again.
Not that she had much interest in attaching herself to anyone on a permanent basis. When the bouquet was tossed in a little bit, Keira would definitely not be part of the group trying to catch it. She’d already lived through her own hell of a marriage once. That was plenty for one lifetime.
Andrea waved to her from the dance floor and Keira made her way out there. No more boo-hooing over the past. Keira had survived. She would always survive.
Breathe in, breathe out, move on.
Keira joined the group out on the floor, jumping and waving their hands over their heads to an upbeat song. Andrea was positively glowing. Keira was so glad her friend had found her knight in shining armor.
Keira didn’t need one. She preferred to fight her own battles and had now finally gotten herself situated to help others who needed assistance.
Help people like the scared, broken girl she’d once been.
After a few more dances, things began to wind down. The speeches were given, the cake cut, the music became slower. She noticed some women sliding their high heels off to give their feet a rest. Keira didn’t need to, one of the perks of her ex-occupation.
She grinned to herself from the edge of the ballroom, where she stood in the shadows. Her three-inch heels were nothing compared to most of the shoes she’d danced in at the club. Plus they made her seem not quite so pitifully short.
“I have to admit, you look like someone very pleased with herself.”
The deep voice startled her and she glanced to her side.
Wow. Tall, dark and handsome had decided to join her in the shadows.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.” His smile was so charming she couldn’t help but smile back.
“I just didn’t think anyone was hiding here but me. At least on this side of the room.”
“Are you hiding?”
Keira shrugged a shoulder exposed by her strapless dress. “Only because I’m afraid Andrea’s going to throw the bouquet in a minute.”
He chuckled. “You gathering your strength to wipe out the competition?”
Keira raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? Look at them.” She waved her arm toward some of the single women at the tables in the middle of the room. “I don’t need to gather my strength to take them out.”
“I stand corrected.” He laughed softly again, the sound doing things to Keira’s insides she hadn’t felt in a long while.
“But no, I’m over here because I don’t want anyone to notice when I don’t join in the tradition of tackling poor, defenseless flowers.”
“I thought all single women wanted to catch the bouquet.”
She turned completely toward him so she could give him the full weight of her opinion of that asinine statement.
But instead just got caught up in the ridiculous blue of his eyes, coupled with his brown hair. She literally felt her breath catch at the spark between them.
So much for not being romantic.
He felt it, too. She could tell by the way he eased closer. “I stand corrected again. Not every woman wants to make a flying tackle for the bouquet. I’m Roman Weber. I work with Brandon and Andrea at Omega.”
“Nice
