He winks.
Knox notices immediately because Knox notices everything.
A low growl reverberates in his chest, so primal it vibrates through my body where we’re pressed together.
“Did Montenegro just wink at you?”
“What if he did?” I ask, and despite everything—the tension, the hurt, the arousal still humming under my skin—I find myself grinning.
There’s something deeply satisfying about watching Knox’s possessiveness flash across his face.
He glowers, his hand tightening on my waist, but before he can respond, Queenie appears with the precision of someone who’s spent years perfecting the art of extraction.
“Stop eye-f*****g each other across the ballroom and come talk to me before I die of secondhand s****l tension.” She intercepts me smoothly, her hand on my elbow. “We need to discuss
