The car ride back from the gala should have been quiet—an escape from flashing bulbs and endless chatter—but the silence that pressed between Logan Mason and Aurora Sage was anything but calm. It was a silence sharpened by secrets, by the lingering echo of the stranger's words, and by the fact that Logan, infuriatingly, sat there looking as though he had just won another award.
Aurora pressed her palm against the cool leather seat, steadying herself. She could still see the man's face in her mind—the deliberate calm, the eyes that didn't waver even when Logan's arrogance bore down on him. Men like that weren't voyeurs. They weren't curious bystanders. They were hunters, and she had spent enough of her life evading predators to know when one had marked her.
Logan, however, leaned back with a careless grace, tugging his tie loose, the corner of his mouth lifting. "So," he drawled, "was it just me, or did our mysterious friend look like he was trying to flirt with you?"
