Another woman, also in pasties, followed and poured champagne into their glasses before moving through the crowd. Trentington lifted his glass. “To all of our friends. May our nights be filled with fun, pleasure, and consensual kinkiness. To Captive.”

“To Captive,” the crowd said, turning and clinking glasses.

Wolfe clinked her glass and then Trentington did the same. Dana took a drink. Whoa. Delicious and definitely the good stuff. She took another drink as Wolfe did the same, sipping and looking around the gathering for any sort of clue for who’d shot Albert Nelson. Another woman in bright pink pasties collected glasses on a tray that looked like a shield.

Then the crowd started to chant Trentington’s name.

He rolled his eyes, grinned, and headed for a grand piano in the far corner. “It’s good luck to dance to our song,” he tossed over his shoulder, his eyes still unpleased.

“Then we’ll dance.” Wolfe grasped her hip and swung her around. He leaned down, his mouth near her ear. “Dance with me, and I’ll maneuver us toward the doorway.”

She nodded and leaned into him, reminding herself this was a job. Her body didn’t care. Her bare thighs brushed his, and her nearly bare chest rubbed against his rock hard one. Maybe they should try to burn the edge off the attraction with just one more night. Why not? She closed her eyes and gave in to the feeling, trusting him to get them across the room.

The bodies were packed close together as Trentington started to play and sing with a surprisingly good baritone. The song was a melody with heart and humor, and she let it take her away for a brief time.

That song turned into a wilder one, and then another, and they were almost at the door. It had taken nearly half an hour, but she didn’t care. Life was good.

She leaned back and focused, surprised at the clarity of colors all around her. “Oh, Wolfe. It’s all so beautiful.”

“Yeah.” His knuckles rubbed across her cheekbone. “You’re beautiful. You glow.”

The words touched her as deeply as his gentle movements. In the back of her mind, way back, an alarm clanged. But the splendor of the newest song dug deep inside her, making her one with music and with Wolfe and with the world at large.

Life was perfect. She wanted him again. Now.

He took her hand. “Let’s get out of here. Life is beautiful.”

Yeah, it was. The warning alarm disappeared, chased away by a feeling of perfection. “I want you,” she whispered, needing him, almost frantic but not understanding why.

“You’ve got me.” He led the way through the door into the stunningly magical darkness of the night.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen