“That piece was stolen out of a private collection in Paris last year.”
With her mouth that close, her breath brushing my jaw, even the hush of her voice tugs on my self-control. My head goes fuzzy, along with my judgment, my focus, the reason we’re even here. I tilt closer, an exhale catching between us, my pulse hammering in my throat.
“It scares me that you know that.” I drag in a breath, my lips brushing so close to hers it’s almost a kiss.
Her mouth parts, tongue gliding slow along her lower lip, wetting it like she knows damn well I’m watching. Heat spikes low and immediate. My body leans in on instinct, ready to close that last inch but her hand slides up between us, catching my tie.
The silk pulls tight at my throat as she tugs me closer, slow, and deliberate. Just enough to remind me who’s holding the reins. My pulse kicks, hammering against her knuckles where they rest at my collar. She presses closer, her breasts nearlygrazing my chest as she locks her eyes on mine, daring me to react.
Her pupils darken, widening with the heat simmering between us. A small hitch catches in her breath before she controls it, her grip on the tie tightening a fraction harder than it needs to be. I see the flicker, the heat, the same hunger I’m feeling flash in her eyes.
All I can think about is how easy it would be to close my mouth over hers, bite down on that lip she just teased, taste her heat for real. My cock swells from the way her hips press closer. I know she feels it. She doesn’t flinch. If anything, her lips curve into the barest flicker of a smirk, as if she’s satisfied with just how far she’s pushed me.
“It concerns me you don’t.”
I drop my voice, just for her. “As fascinating as art theft is, that’s not what we came for.”
She gives the tie one last tug, proving she can. Then she lets go, fingers sliding down my chest slow, leaving fire in their wake, before she finally steps past me, hips swaying just enough to make sure I’m watching.
And I am. Every muscle in me pulled tight, my cock straining against the fabric, my pulse running hot. For a second I’m knocked off balance. I don’t know what it is about this woman that has me so twisted up that I’m losing all focus on what we came here to do.
I inhale a deep breath, her perfume replaced with tobacco, alcohol and sweat. It instantly strikes me as odd. My eyes scan the room and notice a man stepping into the room from a door partially hidden by a curtain. I get a good glimpse at the darkness behind it and the distant sound of voices and know immediately that’s where we need to be.
I stalk across the room to where she’s standing, closing my hand around Katana’s wrist, and dragging her back to me.
“Miss me already?” She coos. The playful tone goes straight to my cock.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Hellcat. Look over there.”
Her eyes cut to the curtain just as an attendant steps toward it. He brushes a slim token strapped to his wrist over a recessed plate by the frame. A soft chime sounds, the lock disengages, and he disappears inside. The door seals again like it was never there.
Katana’s lips part in a quiet draw of air, her breath catching when another attendant emerges carrying a tray. Her gaze swings back to me, her eyes wide and challenging. She doesn’t say a word, she just moves.
She glides through the crowd with a sway that looks casual but isn’t. My blood spikes hotter watching her hone in on her mark. She drifts into his path, lace sleeve brushing his arm, her palm sliding down to his wrist like she’s steadying herself. He startles hard, the tray in his hands wobbling, glasses clinking like they might spill. His eyes go wide behind the mask, his chest hitching, breath stuttering. He almost loses it completely when she leans in, her lips close to his ear.
I hear the low purr of her voice from here, followed by a laugh soft enough to sound private, but sharp enough to gut me. It slides over the hum of the room and lodges under my skin, meant for him but landing square in me.
The bastard’s hands tremble, a splash of champagne slopping over the rim of a flute. He steadies the tray clumsily, flustered, his shoulders rigid under the weight of her touch.
Jealousy claws at me. My jaw locks, fists curling tight and my cock only gets harder. She's letting that bastard think he matters. No one gets under my skin like this. Yet here I am, hers for the taking.
And the worst part? Her eyes aren’t even on him. They’re on me. Watching me burn. Teasing while she leans closer, whispering something I can’t hear.
She lingers just long enough to make me want to rip him apart. Her eyes lock on mine, her lips curving into a crooked smirk.
She breaks off, peeling away from him without so much as a backward glance. He’s left flustered, tray still trembling in his grip like he doesn’t know what just hit him.
Her walk back is deliberate torture. Hips swaying in a rhythm that drags my eyes whether I want it to or not. Every step is measured to keep me hooked. She doesn’t hurry, she doesn’t need to. The crowd parts around her like they know she doesn’t belong to them.
When she reaches me, her body grazes mine just enough to make my cock throb again, and slides something small and cold into my palm.
I catch her wrist, pressing my thumb against the quick beat of her pulse. The wedding band on my finger bites into my skin, fake or not, it feels too damn real.
My voice comes out low, and guttural. “You enjoyed that a little too much.”
A slow smirk curves her lips, her hip brushing mine as she leans in.
“Are you jealous?” The space between us charges, her nearness fogging my head until I can’t think straight.
