But he wouldn’t find me. I became more confident of that each day that passed. Became more confident in myself with each day of training Zodiac provided.
I would never be under Nikolai’s control again.
Granted, I had spent the first few months in Paris looking over my shoulder every second, even knowing that Nikolai and Gregory didn’t have ties here.
If the job with Zodiac hadn’t existed, if Sarge had been tricking me, I wouldn’t have made it. I knew that without a doubt. I owed Sarge everything I had become in the past year.
This life where I lived with the freedom to answer only to myself, never forced to do things I didn’t want to do? I owed that to him.
And I guess I could start my repayment with this rescue.
From two beautiful women.
The woman on the left side of him touched his wrist, and I narrowed my eyes as I picked up speed, crossing toward them from my table near the door.
I didn’t like to see any other woman touching Sarge, which was ridiculous, of course. Our relationship wasn’t like that. Our relationship didn’t exist at all.
He’d always been handsome to me. Even when I was eighteen and terrified, I’d been able to recognize the good looks of his dark hair, strong jaw, and deep eyes. Meeting him again at twenty-one, I’d been even more aware of his appeal. And now, at almost twenty-three and no longer living in constant survival mode, I could see what was obvious to the two American women flanking him.
Even with his back turned to me, I knew his eyes were the shade of melted honey, clear with intelligence. His big body was formidable—long legs, broad shoulders—but not something he used to make others feel smaller unless he deliberately decided to. The stubble on his jaw did nothing to hide his handsome features. If anything, it accentuated them.
But that handsomeness was rugged, honed, like the man himself. There was nothing pretty about him.
Given that he had paid for two full nights with me in a hotel, Sarge had never shown any sort of physical interest in me whatsoever. But I still didn’t like that woman’s fingers on his arm.
My training at Zodiac Tactical had taught me multiple ways I could break her hand, multiple ways that I could do much worse than merely break a bone. I’d actually excelled at it over the past few months. It ended up that my dexterity when it came to picking pockets also translated into close-quarter fighting. I now knew multiple ways to take down men twice my size.
Too bad I couldn’t use it to take out these women.
I walked up behind Sarge and placed a possessive hand on his shoulder. I had to remind myself that this was an act as I felt the firm muscles under my fingers. “Sweetheart, I leave you alone for a few minutes and you make all sorts of… friends.”
Insecurity hit me as he spun in my direction. Did he want to be rescued? Worse, did he remember me? So much about me had changed since he’d seen me eighteen months ago, including my name.
But all that melted away when he gave me a smile. A real smile.
“Hey, Pony Girl.”
That nickname combined with his deep voice did something to my insides that I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel. The women on either side of him who’d also turned around, scoffed.
“Pony Girl? What kind of nickname is that?” the laughing one asked.
“Must be because she looks like a horse,” the one now closer to receiving a broken hand replied. They both giggled.
I looked them over. They were everything I was never going to be. Feminine with ample breasts almost falling out of their tops, makeup skillfully applied to draw attention to their best features.
I’d lived my entire life trying to ensure I didn’t draw the attention of others. I wouldn’t know how to draw attention if I tried. And no amount of makeup was going to give me their figures.
But Sarge wasn’t responding to them at all. He was only looking at me. Waiting to see what I would do.
So I said the first thing that came to mind. “Do you want to dance?”
“With you? Absolutely.”
The women sulked as he set his beer down and didn’t say another word to them, taking my hand and leading me out to the dance floor.
The area wasn’t very big, and a number of couples were already on it. The song playing was an upbeat pop song that I’d heard before but had no idea how to dance to.
What had I been thinking? I could feel the women staring at us as I glanced over at the dancing couples, hoping I could copy some of their moves. That’s what I had done my whole life—mimic others.
But I had no experience dancing whatsoever. Sarge might decide he was better off with the bimbos at the bar when he saw me try. They’d know how to dance.
I’d only made one small awkward swing of my hips when his arm came around my waist, and he pulled me up against his body, his other hand reaching out and grabbing mine.
“Slow is the only way I know how to dance, so it’ll have to do.” We began an unhurried sway that somehow worked with the song’s upbeat tempo.
One of his hands cupped mine, and my other landed on his shoulder. My nose barely came up to the middle of his chest, and I found myself wanting to burrow in against him.
But, of course, that would make things a lot more awkward.
“Yeah, this is good,” I said. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Thanks for the assist with the double trouble over there. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to pick one or if they were going to double-team me.”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I think most guys would consider both acceptable alternatives.”
“Maybe. But those women aren’t my type. I don’t do casual sex.”
Neither did I, although probably for very different reasons.
He swayed us back and forth. I could feel his big hand on my waist. “I didn’t know you were in Paris until I saw you as everyone was leaving the Zodiac facility this afternoon.”
“I came in yesterday. I watched you doing some training, but I wasn’t sure if you would want to talk to me. Bronwyn.”
I grimaced. “Yeah. I changed my name when I first got here. Thought it might be a little bit more common than Bronya. And Roch got changed to Rourke.”
To my surprise, he nodded. “Those are both good choices. With your lack of an accent, the name won’t label you as Eastern European.”
I looked up at him. “You’re not mad at me for lying to the place where you got me the job?”
We kept swaying. “All I did was approve the employment code that got you in the door. You making your way up the chain and proving your skills are valuable and that you could handle it? That was all on you.”
I forced myself not to focus on his fingers making small circles on my waist. “I never really understood how that code worked. I wasn’t sure that the job was real until I got to the Paris office.”
He shrugged. “All the core team members of Zodiac Tactical have a code that we can give contacts, people who might be useful to the company on a contractor or employment basis. So we’re all able to connect people to the business if we feel it’s appropriate.”
After a year with Zodiac, understanding how the company worked, the business they did, I could understand the policy. More than one person I worked with here in Paris had been recruited by a core member.
On paper, Zodiac Tactical was labeled security contractors, a private military company. It had been started by billionaire Ian DeRose three years ago, and thanks to his own military background and the team he’d surrounded himself with—people like Sarge—it had grown into one of the largest and most respected security organizations.