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“You’re incredibly light on your feet,” Alina murmured.
A quick bark of laughter burst from him. “You’re a shit liar.”
Her head tilted back as she gazed up at him. “You have a great laugh.”
“And you have the sexiest mouth I’ve ever seen.” Whoops. Okay, that was not the way to head down platonic boulevard. But, having her body pressed to his and his hands curled around her—that probably wasn’t the way to platonic boulevard, either.
Dancing had clearly been a mistake.
Mentioning her mouth had been his second mistake. Because now his gaze had locked to her lips. For one moment, he imagined curling his hands around her waist, lifting her up against him, and taking that hot mouth of hers.
One kiss…
And that would start me down the road to hell.
He whipped away from her. Pulled his hands from her as if he’d been burned. This undercover assignment was stupid. Her dad should just tell the woman she was in danger. It would sure make Midas’s life a whole lot simpler. Then he could put his normal rules in place.
They could establish clear boundaries.
“Is something wrong?” A little furrow appeared between her brows.
Oh, nothing. He just wanted to rip off her clothes and fuck her right then and there. His dick shoved too hard against the front of his jeans, and he was thinking about how to get his charge into bed.
Okay, fine, that qualified as wrong. Because his number one rule with a charge? No attachments.
“We should go,” he rumbled. “It’s getting late. You have to be at the rink early tomorrow.” Did ten p.m. count as late? Probably not. Screw it. “I have to be there early, too.” Like she’d be alone in that place again. Not happening.
“All right.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I just need to run to the restroom first real fast. Be right back.” She hurried away.
Hell, had that been a flash of pain in her eyes? He had yanked away like he didn’t want to touch her. Not exactly a smooth move. But…I don’t want to touch her. Because touching her feels too good. As for kissing her, he was sure that would feel utterly fantastic.
He ambled off the small excuse for a dance floor. His check had been left on their table, so Midas scooped it up and made his way to the bar. He’d settle the tab and get them the hell out of there. But as he approached the bar, he saw that the bartender and two waitresses were huddled around the flat-screen TV that perched on the wall nearby.
“That’s terrible,” he heard one of the waitresses softly exclaim. “Missing all this time, only to find out that she’d been murdered? Broken neck. Stabbed in the heart. God. What a terrible way to go.”
Memphis froze.
“Who would do something like that?”
His gaze flew to the screen. The volume was turned down low—probably so it wouldn’t blast out that strumming guitar—but the closed caption option was on, and he read the words flying beneath the reporter’s image.
The autopsy report has just been released, and although socialite Maureen O’Sullivan had several fractures to her cervical vertebrae, the medical examiner has determined that her actual cause of death was due to the knife wound in her heart that—
“Midas?”
He whipped around.
Alina frowned at him. “Is something wrong?”
Yes. Very. No, no, it’s just a coincidence. A terrible, twisted coincidence.
And since when did he believe in those?
“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Her hand rose to press against his chest. “What is it?”
Not a ghost. The devil. Had to be a coincidence. His dear old dad was still locked away. He couldn’t hurt anyone. Not ever again. “I need to get you home. Now.”
She stared at him as if—as if she cared about how he felt. As if she truly worried about him. They’d just met that day. No way did she care. No way did he care.
