But she was making progress. Huge progress.
Watching herself in the mirror, she focused on transforming her feelings into movements. Music had the power to connect the soul with the senses, and for the past five days, Danni had been teaching her how to achieve that.
“Let your body loose. Like this.” Danni gripped her hips from behind, moving her, demonstrating for the thousandth time how to catch the rhythm. “A stiff frame can’t move. Surrender your joints, your muscles, your breaths. Allow the music to control your movements all the way to the floor. See?”
Despite Danni’s pregnancy, she had no trouble sweating it out on the dance floor for twelve hours every day. Lydia studied Danni’s reflection in the mirror, mimicking the descending, rippling silhouette of Danni’s cute body as they undulated together, down, down, down to the ground and back up.
Techno music thumped from the speakers. Just one of the many dance genres she’d learned how to groove to. Different nightclubs offered different kinds of music, and she needed to adapt to each style as the music changed.
And so it went. Hour after hour, day after day, Lydia practiced no less than fifty dance moves and transition techniques.
At her request, Cole stayed away during the lessons. He was too distracting, his gaze too invasive and penetrating. She couldn’t work with him stalking the perimeter of the room, consuming her senses, demanding her attention.
But they always reconnected at night amid tangled sheets. With each possessive thrust, it was no longer enough just to hear him roaring her name as they finished together.
She wanted more.
Lovers had come and gone throughout her life. She remembered none of them, never pursued anything more than a five-second fling.
Cole wasn’t a lover. He was an unprecedented, decadent experience. His perseverance, dedication, and loyalty was unlike any man she’d ever been with. And let’s be honest. There was no one as insanely, unreasonably gorgeous as Cole Hartman.
Whether they were sharing conversation, food, or body fluids, she didn’t want it to end. She often caught herself thinking about her life after this mission, and she always circled back to one undeniable truth. She wanted a future with Cole.
Mike would’ve wanted that for her. On Christmas Eve, he let Cole into their home, into their life, because he knew.
Cole belonged to her. He was the one. If she didn’t believe Cole’s words, she only had to look into his unyielding brown eyes. She would have to cut off his legs if she ever tried to run from him. Until his last breath, he would chase her to the ends of the earth.
He wouldn’t need to, for he already caught her, heart and soul.
“Wow. Look at you.” Danni danced around her, smiling and snapping her fingers to the music. “You got your groove, girl. Damn, you’re on fire!”
She observed her form in the mirror, letting the repetitive electronic beat lift and drop her hips as she slid through the box step.
With each booty shake, she felt less restrained. More confident. With the subtle kicks of her pelvis, her movements glided like oil, more relaxed, freer, sexier. If her feet still ached in the heels, she didn’t notice. She only felt the tune, the percussion, and the music.
She was so lost in the zone she didn’t notice Danni had drifted away until the song ended.
“You’re almost ready.” Danni leaned a shoulder against the wall of windows, her attention fixed on something outside.
“What’s left? I swear I’ve learned every dance move in existence.”
“You’ve mastered all the techniques and steps you’ll need.” Danni touched her throat, her cheeks flushing as her gaze remained glued on the window. “What’s left is the fun part. I’ll teach you how to flirt and…fuck.”
“Sorry?” She wiped the perspiration from her forehead and treaded toward the window. “Are you blushing? What are you looking at out…? Oh, shit.”
Outside, dormant grass stretched from the rear terrace to the surrounding tree line. At the center of the lawn, Cole and Trace rolled across the ground, grappling, sparring, shirtless and sweaty. So goddamn sexy.
Her mouth watered. Her skin caught fire. Her stupid knees went weak.
“Oh, shit,” she repeated, entranced by the display of muscle and ferocious power.
They weren’t alone. Cole’s friends stood on the sidelines, bent forward, shouting, laughing, and cheering on the sparring match. Tiago, Matias, and Tate were shirtless, their workout pants clinging to their muscled physiques.
Lucia and Camila wore exercise clothes, too, with their black hair pulled into ponytails. The sisters looked so similar it was hard to tell them apart.
Kate sat off to the side with a textbook on her lap, cramming for an upcoming exam.
“Trace missed his sparring partner.” Danni touched the glass, her expression somber. “I ruined a beautiful friendship.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. Their relationship took a beating and evolved through the hardship. They’re still friends. I mean, they still call each other when they’re in trouble.”
“You’re right.” Danni nodded. Then she grinned, her eyes glowing with sudden mischief. “Let’s take a break.”
They shared a smile and slipped off their heels. Then they raced out of the dance room, through the house, grabbing coats and sneakers before heading outside into the chill of January.
The overcast sky draped the yard in a wintry gray. The shirtless guys seemed unaffected by the cold, their grunts and shouts bursting in clouds of steam. Those who stood on the sideline looked just as tousled and sweaty as Cole and Trace. They must’ve been taking turns sparring.
As she and Danni joined the group, the atmosphere buzzed with energy. Over the past five days, she’d spent more time with Danni than anyone else. But during meals and evening lulls, she got to know the entire group.
Hearing their histories firsthand had given her a whole new respect for this vigilante family. Their experiences in Van Quiso’s attic hadn’t destroyed them. It made them stronger, closer, and those unbreakable bonds had formed a team of survivors willing to take the law into their own hands to decimate the most depraved criminals in the world.
They were the personification of justice.
She never had a plan beyond Vincent Barrington’s arrest and incarceration. Never let herself imagine what she would do next.
Until now.
The sounds of seething breaths charged the air. A few feet away, Cole held the dominant position over Trace, where they lay on the grass, chest to chest, wrestling for a chokehold.
With Cole on top, he had the advantage, throwing his body weight behind the forearm that pressed against Trace’s throat.
Then he looked up, his molten brown eyes homing in on her, softening, heating, then widening as a fist skidded across his jaw and slammed his head backward.
Oops. She winced.
Trace laughed in triumph. Cole scrambled back, flinging a sloppy kick to ward off Trace. They staggered to their feet and circled each other, catching their breaths. Then, with their glares narrowed in determination, they dove back together in a blur of limbs.
“I’ve never seen that guy get distracted.” Tate stood beside her, his crystal blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s nice to see him with a distraction. Especially one that puts a goofy smile on his face.”