His dark eyes are hard on mine. In a black button down that shows the muscles in his shoulders and his arms, and dark pants I know fit his ass so fucking well, he looks hot as sin. Sylvan was more casual tonight, switching roles, but Faust looks like I messed up not sleeping with him the other night.
Not for the first time, I’m glad he can’t read my mind.
“To talk.” He nods, indicating the private room no doubt.
“Do you know something I don’t?” My heartrate ticks up. Is it about the investigation? “And why would you want to talk in a room full of your teammates?”
“It’s only Connor in there. The rest of the team left to find distractions.”
My cheeks warm. “So you want me alone with you and Sylvan again?” I snort. “No, thanks.”
“I don’t know whose fucked with you before, but it’s just a talk, Neve. No one is going to hurt you.” The way he says it, like a threat, it makes my body grow hot, my chest tight, my heart melting.
I try to shake the sensation. He doesn’t care about me like that. He only wants me close so we all have the same information about the murders.
But maybe I should let Salty Sylvan know I lied to a police officer for him. Perhaps that will get both of them off my back.
My limbs feel tense and I need more alcohol, dread coiled tight in my stomach. But I force myself to say, “For a minute. Only talking. I have a girl’s night to get back to.”
THIRTY-ONE
NEVE
The tension is already there when I walk in.
Faust didn’t lie. The private room is empty, and it’s smaller than I assumed. Not a dining room, but a lounge in miniature, with only a circular booth, a small bar top pressed with tempered glass, two stools beneath it.
Sylvan is sitting in the plush red booth, the dark marble table before him crowded with three drinks and two glasses of water.
When Faust closes the double doors at my back—this must be a place for the elite I teased him about last week—Sylvan looks up from his place at the center of the booth seat, hand curled around his glass. Short, looks like whiskey, an orange slice set along the rim. So Faust might not drink, butFrostbitesure as hell does.
That same frigid expression is on his face, but where he’s cold, I’m heated.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I snap.
The bass beats flood through here too, but quieter. It’s good background noise if you’re having a friendly or lust-filled conversation, but it’s not loud enough for the tension between all three of us, Faust still at my back.
He’s not touching me, but I can feel his presence. Larger than mine, more dangerous in his calm.
Sylvan is ice, but Faust is the kind of black cloud that promises a deadly storm.
And I seem to be the one to fan the flames.
Sylvan takes a drink lazily, but his gray-blue eyes don’t leave mine. When he sets his glass down, it doesn’t make a sound, so controlled is his motion.
He sits up tall then, hands down by his sides as he lifts his chin to stare me down from across the small room.
“You think it’s cool, having both of our attention?” His words are low. Tipped with ice. “You think you’re special, everyone watching you come in here alone with us?”
Truth be told, I didn’t think about it. My back was turned, my mind focused on appearing more confident and unafraid than I felt as I walked in front of Faust to the double doors. But yeah, sure, I guess people saw me. How they feel about it is their business, but “cool” nor “special” are the words I’d use for this.
“Glad to see you have no problem with your ego,” I say sarcastically, smiling sharp at him. “One would think, after that loss, you might find some humility.”
His jaw jumps.
Ah,I think to myself, beaming inside.I’ve hit him where it hurts.
“That wasn’t on me.” He’s defensive.
