Another guy moves in. Slower song. His hands drift to her hips. Rorie doesn’t stop him. That gaze of hers darts back to me, quick, and searing, checking if I’m still paying attention.
I am.
I hate that I am.
Draining the last of my drink, ice rattles in the glass as I swirl it once, jaw set hard. I signal the waitress for another.
So, Rorie thinks I’m nothing but a snake in her grass,strategically annihilatingher client list.
Which, if we’re embracing metaphors?—
I wouldn’t mind slithering throughthatparticular terrain.
Still…
The way she looks at me—warily, boldly, like I might bite—makes me feel seen in a way that doesn’t come easy.
Yeah, I need to leave. Let her have this win. This stolen celebration.
Call it even. Walk away.
Then again, maybe she needs a reminder that the game isn’t over. Hell, it’s only getting interesting.
Rorie stumbles out of the crowd, breathless. Flushed cheeks. Kiss-damp lips. Hair a wreck, but gorgeous in its ruin.
Strands cling to her neck. She swipes them aside, scanning the patio.
Eyes lock on the drink in my hand.Not a word spoken. Justthatlook.
I offer it out.
She eyes the glass with suspicion, but there’s heat behind it.
“What’s that supposed to be?” She eyes me. “A peace offering?”
I shrug, gaze dragging over her. “More of a challenge.”
Her brow arches. And then, before I can blink, she plucks the glass from my fingers and tips it back. One smooth, unapologetic swallow.
Her throat works. Her spine stays straight. She doesn’t flinch.
Then—because she’s a vixen with a vendetta—her tongue darts out, deliberate and slow, catching the stray drop on her bottom lip like it’s her job to wreck me in high definition. She doesn’t rush it. No. She drags it out, gaze flickering up just enough to confirm what I already know.
She’s doing it on purpose.
And it’s working.
That’s it. That’s the moment everything in me locks up. Spine, breath, thoughts. She flipped some internal kill switch.
My dick hardens instantly, aching with so much pressure, it’s hard to breathe.
One lick. One look.Jesus.She’s not even touching me, and I’m already gone for this girl.
“You’re going to feel that tomorrow,” I warn.
She scoffs. “Please. I’ve had worse nights and still made it to a breakfast meeting looking like a damn vision.”
But I catch the micro-pause, the slight flutter in her lashes. Her hand clamps over her mouth. She’s about to lose it.
