NATE'S POV
The air on the balcony of the master suite was thin and tasted of ozone. Below us, the Atlantic was a churning mass of indigo, the waves crashing against the obsidian cliffs of St. Jude's Key with a rhythmic violence that matched the pulse in my own veins.
I felt Adrian before I heard him, and it was a gravitational shift, a sudden warmth that settled behind me, cutting through the spray of the midnight sea. His hands slid around my waist, his palms flat against my stomach, pulling me back until my spine was flush against the solid heat of his chest.
"You're overthinking the London entry," Adrian whispered, his voice vibrating against the shell of my ear. "I can hear the gears grinding from across the room."
