“I’ve got you to protect me, baby. We’ll head away from her and see just how anxious she is to talk to me.”

Wyatt nodded his approval, and they moved away from Violet, who was surrounded by a group of about eight men. They headed toward the long tables of hors d’oeuvres. “Might as well eat while we got the chance,” he added.

Cayenne laughed. The moment she did, heads turned toward the sound. Trap noted that included the men circling Violet. Violet’s eyes darkened, but she kept her smile, ever the consummate professional.

Cayenne didn’t seem to notice the attention. Trap didn’t like the way the men were looking at her, already captivated by her.

It’s her voice, Wyatt said thoughtfully. It’s overriding the senator’s voice and Smythe is aware of it. She doesn’t like being upstaged.

She needs money for the campaign. Money and allies. I see why she’s so popular now. She doesn’t have to work that hard, just send out the right notes and supporters flock to her. What the hell does she need us for? Trap said, drawing Cayenne closer.

She put one hand on her belly. He felt the heat instantly. When he looked down at her, she had a question in her eyes.

“Nothing, baby,” he assured. “You’re just getting a lot of attention. I’m going to have the boys move in a little for protection.”

“I don’t need protection,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “I thought we had this discussion and you understood.”

He grinned at her. “Not for your protection, babe. These men keep leering at you and then heading for the bathroom to jack off, I’m going to have to kill a few of them just to keep from having nightmares.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “The senator has her sights set on you, Trap. Stop distracting me. I’m the only one capable of protecting you from her. Look at her fingernails. Bloodred. Sharp. She could kill with those daggers.”

Cayenne was serious. Trap flicked a glance toward Violet. She was making her way across the room toward them.

“Let’s dance, Cayenne,” Trap said, sweeping his arm around her and moving her away from the tables toward the dance floor, his back to Violet.

What the hell are you doing, Trap? Joe demanded. Isn’t the point to talk to the woman and figure out what the hell she wants?

I can’t make it easy, Trap said. I have a certain reputation. If I make it easy, she’ll be suspicious. I can’t go to her. She has to come to me.

And what if she decides you aren’t worth it? Joe asked, sarcasm dripping.

I am worth it, Trap said matter-of-factly. He knew he sounded arrogant, but the fact was, he was one of the most intelligent human beings in the world. There was no disputing that fact. If Violet meant what she said about bringing all the top minds together for one goal, he was the top mind. She needed him. She’s in league with Whitney. We know that. He has been working on cancer research for a while now. She knows I have. My guess is, she’ll give us access to Whitney’s research without the references to the experiments using children.

Trap pulled Cayenne into his arms, held her body close to his. He loved the feel of her against him. Her arms slid up his chest to his neck. He leaned down. It was well worth the backache to hold her so close and move their bodies to the music. He could shut out the reason for being there. Shut out the scent of men’s arousals as they danced close to be near Cayenne’s swaying body. He let her scent drown out the testosterone in the air. That exotic, potent fragrance unique to her.

His team would watch his back. He had gone into battle with them countless times. They wouldn’t let him down any more than he would them. For just those few minutes, he let himself drift on a tide of need, of hunger, of heat and sin. Holding her close. She moved like an angel or a temptress, her body, in that silken gown, sliding over his senses like the finest of wines.

The song ended, and Trap transferred his hold to Cayenne’s hand to lead her off the dance floor. Violet wasn’t taking any chances. She was right there on the edge, smiling directly at him. Making it clear she was waiting for him. He was known for his rudeness, but it was her invitation and he’d accepted it. He sauntered over to her, keeping Cayenne in close.

“Thank you for coming, Dr. Dawkins,” Violet said. “Or do you prefer to go by Johansson?”

Her little warning didn’t throw him. He felt Cayenne press her hand deeper into his side, but she kept her smile.

“I haven’t used Johansson since my father murdered my family,” Trap said easily. “I adopted the name Dawkins.”

“Of course. So much paperwork to get through on everyone. Forgive me.” Violet used her voice. It was subtle. Very subtle, but he felt the stream of compulsion on the edges of his mind. “And this is your wife? Cayenne, isn’t it? An unusual name.”

“As you know, like you, I’m one of Whitney’s orphans,” Cayenne said. “Perhaps, Violet, we can dispense with the games.”

She used her own voice, and Trap had to admit the compulsion was stronger. He felt the energy crackling between the two women. Violet shook her head several times to rid herself of the suggestion Cayenne had planted.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere private,” Trap suggested. “You bring a couple of your security people if you need to feel safe.”

“Why wouldn’t I be safe?” Violet asked. “You’re hardly going to assassinate a U.S. senator and running mate for the presidency.”

“You haven’t actually gotten that yet,” Trap pointed out. “Isn’t all of this to raise money?” He leaned close, his gaze sweeping with contempt down her body and then back up to stare straight into her eyes. “Isn’t Whitney backing you?” His voice implied all sorts of things, mostly that she was sleeping with a monster for his money.

Her lashes swept down and then back up. “Follow me. You and Dr. Fontenot.”

“Cayenne comes with me.”

It was her turn to give him a contemptuous look. “You have to have a security blanket?”

“I have to make certain you aren’t making another attempt to kill her.” It was a shot in the dark, but he took it.

Violet stepped back, one hand moving defensively to her throat. “Why in the world would I do that?”

What are you doing, Trap? Joe demanded. Whitney ordered the hit, not Violet.

Violet? Trap echoed. Not Violet? None of them called her that. Not when discussing her. Not ever, unless they were addressing her and thought it would irritate her not to be called Senator Smythe.