Code Name: Solace

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sierra

I only meant to ask the cook about making Winona's favorite dessert, a favor for Warren.

That was it. A simple question. A tiny gesture, because I needed to do something. I couldn't keep sitting still while everything around me twisted and broke and mended in ways I didn't understand.

But of course, he was there.

Andre.

Leaning against the stone corridor like he had every right to haunt it. Dark eyes following me with the kind of focus that made my skin prickle. I knew that look. The kind of look that pinned butterflies mid-flight.

I didn't slow. I wouldn't.

But when I reached him, he didn't move.

I glared up at him, pulse thudding. "Move."

His mouth curled, slow and irritating. "No."

My fingers clenched at my sides. "I have somewhere to be."

He shifted just enough to block me completely, his chest inches from mine. "So do I."

My breath caught. It wasn't the closeness. Not really.

It was the heat.

That same stupid heat that licked at my spine whenever he was near. His presence was a stormcloud, heavy and loud and full of threat. He didn't even touch me, but my skin sang with warning.

Then—softness.

His hand lifted, thumb brushing beneath my jaw, fingers trailing until they found one of the curls beside my face. He tucked it behind my ear like he knew what that would do to me.

I hated that he knew.

"Go," he said, voice low, rough. "Before I do something you'd regret."

I didn't reply.

I didn't breathe.

I spun and fled—hot and flustered and furious that my thighs clenched with every step.
——
Andre

I shouldn't have touched her.

Shouldn't have let my hand trace her skin like that. But the girl made me reckless. Every time she looked at me like she hated me, I wanted to prove her wrong with my mouth.

Now, hours later, I stood half-dressed in my bathroom, towel slung over my shoulder, steam rising from the tiles. The moon cast a silver sliver through the high window, my gun on the sink beside me.

The door clicked.

Not knocked. Clicked. Soft. Deliberate.

I reached for the weapon instantly—but froze when I saw her.

Sierra.

Tank top. Lace panties. Bare legs. Nothing else.

She didn't flinch at the sight of the gun in my hand. She only stared at my chest like it owed her answers.

"What are you doing?" I asked, voice sharp.

She crossed her arms, eyes darting over my torso like she hated every inch and wanted to memorize it anyway. "Don't make me want you."

I smirked.

"Thought that ship had already sailed," I said, stepping toward her. "Considering how you begged under me like you'd fall apart if I stopped."

She flinched—but didn't move back.

"I still hear you sometimes," I murmured. "In my sleep. Soft little cries. Whimpers. My name."