Page 64 of The Devil of Downtown

“Oh my,” the woman says, eyes narrowing. “Are you alright, dear? You look rather flushed.”

“I—” I swallow hard, my voice unsteady. “Excuse me. I need the bathroom.”

I push Dane’s hand away and stand, legs trembling as I step back from the table, my breath coming fast as I make my escape.

Behind me, I sense his attention follow.

I half jog down the first hallway I can find, looking for a quiet place to compose myself before I return. The orchestra fades with every step until all I can hear is the thud of my pulse, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps close behind.

I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, Dane is right behind me, hands in his pockets, almost casually. But there’s nothing casual about the fire burning in his eyes like he’s on the hunt, and there’s only one way this is ending.

“Running again, Ivy?” he drawls like this is the most fun he’s had in ages. “Just when things were getting interesting.”

Ahead, I pounce on a door markedStaff Only, cracked open enough to tempt me.

I yank it open, slamming it behind me.

The room is dim, lit only by the moon through a tall window that paints everything in silver and shadow. Crates, posters, and brochures line the walls. I lean against a table, one hand over my racing heart, breathing him out of my system.

Barely a second passes before the door creaks open.

My stomach flips as I turn. Dane’s broad silhouette fills the frame.

The light catches on his jaw, the loosened tie, the slight disarray of his shirt collar.

“Ivy.” His tone is quiet.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I manage, but my voice wavers.

He closes the door and steps forward, the faint click echoing in the small room.

“Neither should you,” he says softly. “Yet here we are.”

The moonlight carves his face in half as he closes in, one measured step at a time, one side shadowed, one lit, his eyes glinting somewhere between control and danger.

When he reaches me, his hand rises, brushing the line of my jaw with the backs of his fingers. The contact is light but electric. I should pull back, but I don’t.

My breath trembles. “What the hell was that?”

He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth curving. “What was what?”

“Back at the table,” I whisper.

He leans in, close enough that his breath skims my throat.

“That was all you, Ivy. Aching to come for me right there, in front of everyone.”

“Tell me I’m wrong?”

I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out as his mouth ghosts the sharp line of my jaw, his lips pausing just beneath my ear, tracing slow patterns that make my skin prickle.

“We—uh—we...” The words stall as his hand slides down, bunching my dress in his fist until it rides higher on my thighs. The heat of his palm, the rough brush of his knuckles—it’s almost too much.

“We—we—what, Ivy?” he murmurs, voice edged with challenge.

“We should go back.” I force the words out, although my body stays rooted to the spot, lost in every tingle and tremor he coaxes out of me.

“Why Ivy? Just when we’re getting started.”