She felt on display for him, entirely exposed and frozen beneath the weight of his gaze. Heat seeped across her cheeks and down her chest. She couldn’t help the way her body betrayed her. Her heart beat wildly, the pulse settling between her legs.
I’m a good girl, she reminded herself.
But good girls didn’t get themselves off to the mug shot of adangerous man. They didn’t fantasize about how he fucked or the damage his lips could do. They didn’t crave someone like him who’d wreck her for sport and leave her in ruins.
Emory was a killer. Her fear of him should have eclipsed his allure. Itshouldhave. And yet, something compelled Amelia to keep his stare as she brushed her fingertips along the tops of her breasts in an exploratory touch. It was sensual for having been subtle, a moment everyone else in the room might’ve missed.
But not Emory.
No, he noticed, so the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. Fiendish delight resided mostly in his eyes, though, as if he alone held audience to her most salacious thoughts.
And he wanted more.
With a slight tip of his head, he urged her to go on. In the middle of the party, he wanted a show. Amelia didn’t know him and owed him nothing. And yet, she obeyed. She bit her bottom lip as her fingertips skimmed her thighs. Was it an invitation or just a ploy for his attention? Amelia couldn’t quite say.
A man like Emory could have any woman he wanted, but he wasn’t looking at other women. He was looking at her. Emory kept her eyes and nodded slowly. He wanted more, demanded it with the heat of his gaze and his jaw set firm.
Amelia’s heart slammed in her chest. How far was she supposed to take this? As far as he wanted, it seemed. Her fingers crept up the inside of her thigh, just beneath her dress, and her lashes fluttered with a quiet sigh.
No longer smiling, Emory licked his lips and his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. He narrowed his eyes with a look that said, “I will eat you alive then fuck what’s left.”
And what if she let him? She could chalk it up to all the anger, fear, and confusion coiling inside her. The truth would claw its way out eventually, though. She wanted it, wantedhim.
“Go on. Go talk to him,” Brian said and scrolled through his phone’s notifications. “Dude’s eye-fucking you. He clearly wants you over there.”
What the fuck am I doing?Amelia shook her head andcollected her composure, though her cheeks burned and hands trembled. Yes, Emory fascinated her, but some things were better left alone, and she was heading in the wrong direction. She needed out of this mess, not dragged farther in.
“No. Ihaveto go,” she insisted. “What did my mom say?”
“She’s upstairs. Said she’ll be down in ten. That’s plenty of time to go talk to him.” Brian grinned as he shoved his phone in his pocket. “Who the hell is he?”
“No one.”
“No one, but not a nobody. Rich seems to know him. Look.”
Amelia glanced over her shoulder. With one arm slung along the back of the sofa, Emory glared at Rich Dauer.
In years past, Rich planted himself at the party’s epicenter to soak up the attention. His roaring laughter would echo through the mansion, a reliable indicator of both his whereabouts and drunkenness.
Tonight was different.
He rushed through the horde with his eyes downturned and lips contorted in a grimace. Rich had always been a handsome man with sandy hair and a syrupy Georgian accent, thick despite his years in Oregon.
Ashen-faced, quiet horror unseated his sly charm as he gaped at Emory, whose attention turned to two men across the great room. The men looked the part in black suits fit for the occasion, but the façade ended there.
They didn’t drink or smile or speak. There were more men; two near the piano, a few more by the bar. All around the room, they stalked the sidelines like wolves encircling oblivious prey.
A black figure shifted in Amelia’s periphery. She peered out the window beside her, across low-grown hedges, and into the kitchen. Like death in the mausoleum, a man stood at the window in a black coat with the hood obscuring his face. He turned his head and stared at Amelia with one coal black eye. The other was missing. A heinous smile festered on his lips.
Icy dread spilled down her spine. Amelia spun from the window as thunder exploded through the mansion. The lights cutout, plunging the party into darkness, and shrieks replaced the extinguished music.
Amelia dashed forward, ready to flee just as the lights and music returned. The crowd cheered. Her pulse flooded her ears. It was wrong. Something was wrong.
On high alert, Emory was on his feet and stared down the others invading the room. He issued what looked like an urgent command to his companions. The four of them rushed from the sunroom and followed Richard, who scurried up the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Brian asked, his face a mask of concern.
Amelia didn’t know how to quantify. The night, the pit in her stomach, the strangers who shouldn’t be there.
