“Can you pretend to be my girl as well as you pretend to be a murderer?” he murmured, his fingers splayingacross my stomach and reminding me how he’d nearly torched that exact spot yesterday. Thank fuck I’d chosen the minidress that wasn’t a two-piece. Otherwise, we’d be skin to skin, and I’d surely burn alive.
“Yes,” I whispered, ignoring his dig. I felt like a deer in the headlights with his touch on me. His chest was pressed to my back, a stance far too intimate for the two of us.
He hummed, low and gravelly, as his fingers dug into my stomach. “So obedient for me.”
I swallowed, lost in the heat radiating between us. It was like my eyesight had become a microscope, zoning in on every place he was touching me. Too many points of contact, too many places to look.
I wasn’t going to make it.
His hand slid from around me, fingers gliding along my back to then intertwine with my own. He took the lead, tugging me behind him by our clasped hands. I nearly tripped over my Doc Martens, my legs forgetting how to work for a moment. I blamed my sheer thigh-high stockings for not doing a great job of keeping the cold out, numbing my limbs.
As for the room, I quickly realized how muggy the space was as we approached one of the pool tables in the far corner. The space was barely lit, a dim light hanging over each of the tables to give just enough visibility to those who played. Dark corners and shadows seemed to jump out at me as we moved, making my hands clammy.
I might’ve imagined it, but I swore I felt a thumb brush along my hand. But that’d be ridiculous—Henley wouldn’t comfort me. He’d only aid in the mindfuck I was currently experiencing.
No way my target hadmeplaying the part of hisgirlfriend.
We planted ourselves on the side of the pool table where we could face the room.
“If anyone catches your eye, or you catch theirs, tell me.” His tone was harsh, clipped, and on edge. Did he think someone would try to take him out here? How many enemies did the man have?
“What’ll it be, Hen?” a man with hair caked in gel asked.
A smirk tilted Henley’s mouth as he wrapped both arms around my waist, hugging me from behind. “What do you think, sweetheart?”
I forced my eyes not to bulge from my head. Was he insinuating he was going to betme?
“Uh…”
He moved my hair and placed his chin on my shoulder, whispering, “What should we bet, little killer?”
Maybe if you stopped breathing on my neck, I could fucking think.
No way was I going to take one for the team and end up with some sleaze. Henley was a chronic loser.
“A variegated monstera adansonii,” I spit out, coming up with one of the most high-value items I owned.
Silence met me, my ears ringing.
Gel Man’s bark of laughter had me jumping. Henley held me tighter, straightening to stare at the man.
“The fuck is that?” Gel Man asked, barely able to get the words out through his laughter.
“A plant,” I deadpanned, not comprehending the nonexistent punch line here.
Gel Man schooled his features, his demeaning smile disappearing. He looked at Henley. “Who the fuck are you fooling around with? I’m not betting for some fucking plant.”
Henley offered no response, surprising me by letting me take the lead on this. Men usually wanted to mansplain everything, but maybe I’d finally caught one off guard and left him speechless.
I wished there was a single window in here so I could peek outside and check if pigs were flying.
I offered no reaction to Asshole Gel Man. “That ‘fucking plant’”—I used air quotes and ignored how, when I dropped my hands, they landed on Henley’s arm, like that was natural or some shit—“has sold for thousands of dollars in particular cases.”
Gel Lover’s glare sliced into me like a knife. He wasn’t amused.
Neither was I.
He rolled his eyes, like a woman couldn’t be right about anything. “You expect me to believe aplantcould ever be worth that much?”
