Vivian blinked at Noah, brow arched skeptically, expecting another one of his inappropriate jokes. “What?”

  He leaned closer, closing the gap until their noses touched. Vivian stared at him flatly but didn’t move.

  “Well,” Noah murmured softly, “it’s clear whoever organized all those murders now wants you dead too if he’s handed you over to Sammy.”

  Vivian forced herself to breathe evenly, keenly aware of the heat radiating from Noah’s body, of the quiet intensity of his gaze holding her in place.

  “And now that they’ve found you,” Noah continued, his voice dropping to a low murmur, his breath ghosting warmly across her cheek, “it’ll only be a matter of time till they trace you back to me—your doting,” he paused deliberately, placing one hand firmly on the small of her back, pulling her incrementally closer, “loving”—his other hand reached up, gently gripping her chin—“boyfriend.”

  Vivian rolled her eyes and moved to push him away, but Noah swiftly pulled her off balance, causing her to land abruptly on him. Suddenly, she found herself straddling him, her thighs braced firmly against his hips, her hands splayed instinctively against his chest to steady herself. She instantly felt the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. Color rushed uncontrollably to her cheeks as her body registered how warm and solid Noah felt beneath her, her heart slamming erratically in her chest.

  “So,” Noah continued smoothly, utterly unaffected, the faintest hint of amusement playing across his features as he moved both his hands to her hips, holding her firmly in place. His eyes were playful and intense as he gently squeezed her hips, prompting a quiet gasp from Vivian before she could stop herself. A slow, satisfied smile curled at the edge of his lips, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur, a teasing edge beneath his words, “we need to disappear.”

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  Vivian’s pulse pounded loudly in her ears, undermining her attempt to appear calm. Her breathing grew shallow, skin flushed, acutely aware of every point of contact between them—the firmness of his thighs beneath hers, his hands gripping her hips firmly, the warm, even rhythm of his breath against her face. She felt a sudden, unsettling vulnerability, tinged with a slightly frightening curiosity—wondering, despite herself, what might happen if she allowed herself to surrender to this moment, to him.

  “What do you say, Viv?” Noah pressed gently, the amusement in his voice palpable. “Fake die with me?”

  Vivian hurriedly clambered off him, her face burning. She quickly turned and strode into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water with shaking hands, drinking deeply in an effort to quell the chaotic rush of emotions coursing through her.

  Sardonically, she realized how absurd it was, being more flustered by Noah’s proximity than by being attacked earlier. The thought surfaced sharply that maybe Noah was infinitely more terrifying than any danger she’d faced so far.

  She set the glass down carefully, thoughts shifting to Serena, Vince, and the men who had pursued her. Lucas’s words echoed clearly in her mind: this world wasn’t meant for her. Yet, despite her attempts to pull away, it kept dragging her back. She took a slow breath, gathering her thoughts and turning to face Noah, who still sat almost boyishly on the floor, smiling expectantly.

  “I assume you have a plan,” Vivian said slowly, her voice steadier now, her expression carefully controlled.

  Noah grinned, eyes bright with quiet triumph. “Of course I do.”