Page 29 of The Bargain

“You think you’re a big man?” he says.

“Big enough for what I need to do.”

If he doesn’t pick up on the innuendo, Desdemona certainly does.

“I’m right here,” she snaps, but she’s glaring at Dimitri, this time.

“She’ll play with you,” Dimitri says, eyes still on mine. “But she’ll never be yours.”

“Maybe I don’t want her to be mine.” I give him my cockiest smirk. “Maybe I just want to be hers.”

Blaise laughs softly. “A hopeless romantic, in this day and age?”

I give a humble shrug. “Stranger things have happened.”

“You don’t say,” snorts Dimitri. “Cyprian letting anyone in these days.”

“He’s not scared of you,” Desdemona snaps. “So stop trying to intimidate him.”

She says it with such cold authority that Dimitri visibly settles back, and I cast her a glance I don’t want to be too full of admiration, even though it is. I wonder what it would be like, to have someone like her on my side, in my corner. Not for pretend, not as a subterfuge, but for real.

Whoever ends up with you is going to be one lucky fucking bastard.

What a dangerous, pathetic thought.

I slump back in my seat, thigh pressed against Desdemona’s in a silent signal. She doesn’t move away, even though her knuckles have gone white as she clutches the flute of champagne Blaise hands her.

“Nobody’s intimidating your new friend, cuz,” Blaise is saying sweetly. “Rest assured.”

“Boyfriend,” I correct mildly.

“He’s my date,” Desdemona says, almost at the same time.

We exchange a glance.

Fuck.

There’s a sudden, pointed lull, everyone watching us. Mira, wide-eyed and confused. Blaise and Emerald, searching and suspicious. Dimitri, full of disdain and derision. Girls are leaning towards each other, whispering. Fuck this. I’ve made it this far—I’m not falling at the first hurdle.

Slipping my fingers up Desdemona’s shoulders and to her neck, I lightly cup her jaw, leaning down.

“Stop playing hard to get, love,” I murmur against her mouth.

Her eyes are wide with panic, screaming out a silent threat—I can almost see the shape of the words don’t you dare forming on her parted lips. I tilt my head in a silent question. Don’t I dare what?

For a moment, we gaze at one another, the Cyprian suddenly miles away. There’s a flush in Desdemona’s cheeks like she’s been racing across a tennis court, her pulse a frantic flutter in the swan-like column of her neck.

I lower my lips to hers, and her eyes flutter closed.

I have you, love.

I pull away with a low laugh.

“Not that hard to get, then,” I say, rough and playful, as her eyes burst open.

She’s actually a thousand times more gorgeous when she’s pissed off. She opens her mouth to say something, and I interrupt her, speaking low and sweet.

“Careful,” I breathe. “Everyone’s watching, and it’s too early to throw.”