“Ariana,” I grumble, leaning forward. I run a hand over my jaw, focusing on the scratch of my beard rather than the tone of her voice. “Don’t ask me shit like that.”
“Why not?” she asks, and I don’t look at her. I can’t. “It’s just a question.”
“Because you are Forker’s sister,” I remind her bluntly, risking a look at her. I keep my voice low, knowing that my buddies are in the next room.Her brotheris in the next room. “And entertaining that question is something that neither of us should be doing.”
“So, no?” she asks, cocking a brow as she brings her martini to her mouth.
“Jesus,” I hiss.Yes. Yes, I would want to. She’s insanely attractive. I’d fucking collapse at the idea, probably, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Ever. He’s my friend. My defensive partner. My brother, for all intents and purposes, and it wouldkillhim. “Don’t ask me that question and I won’t have to consider what I would or wouldn’t do.”
A sly grin spreads across her mouth. “So, yes.”
“Ariana,” I say again, shooting her a look of warning. Her face is pure mischief, loving the way she can make me react. She smelled it on me that first day we met on the ice, I think. She saw what she wanted and was entertained by how much it rattled me.
“Oh, how the plot thickens.”
Please stop.Please stop,I’m only human, and you are the most intoxicating, thrilling person I have ever met.That, and the fact that you are completely and utterly off-limits. This has to stop. I have willpower but it isn’t made of steel. I’m just a man, and men are notorious for being fucking morons.
“You have to cut this shit out,” I warn her quietly, but a part of me wants her to push it. I'm intrigued. I want to know if this woman is all talk. I want her to wear me down, but I hope that she doesn’t. I school her with a stern look as her smile grows. “If you’re staying here more permanently, this game has to stop.”
“Game?” she asks, angling her head again. Her pink lips glide along the rim of her glass. “What game?”
“Look,” I say, lowering my head in her direction. Her eyes drop to my mouth, and fuck, I hate that. “I’m flattered. Honestly. You’re a beautiful girl, but you know this is inappropriate. You know your brother would fucking die if I ever looked at you like that. It’s not going to happen, sweetheart. Ever. Alright?”
Her eyes flicker back up to mine. That glossy smile grows. All straight, white teeth and fucking chaos. “All I heard was that you think I’m beautiful.”
Lord, help me.
“Enough.”
“Or what?” she asks, tilting her head again. “You’ll punish me?”
Her brother walks back into the room at the perfect time. I’m sure that with three more sentences from that mouth, and two more seconds looking at the trouble in those eyes, my dick wouldget a bit stiff and I’d have to sit here and will it away while she smiled at my misery.
“I swear to god, if you’re bothering him, I’m sending you to your room.” Forker glances down at her. I shift, trying to let my blood settle throughout my body rather than in one specific area. Ariana flashes him an innocent smile before her eyes cut back to me, so Forker looks my way for confirmation. “Is she behaving?”
“She’s fine,” I mutter, taking a big sip of whiskey. I need to get out of this house. I am counting down the seconds until I can leave. Get away from her. Go home to my fist and a good video starring someone who looks nothing like her.
I feel her smiling at my discomfort, blessed that she struck a nerve.
And the game keeps on being played, even though I haven’t moved my piece from the starting position on the board.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ariana
I wasa good girl last night, just ask Boston Black.
After I finished my fourth martini, I felt myself gravitating toward him more than usual, and when I saw that heavy, drunken look in his eyes, I excused myself and went to bed. I know. Me! Can you believe it? Give me a medal, because being drunk near Boston Black somehow makes me desperate to know if his kisses taste like that bubblegum he’s always chewing.
I don’t think I could ever actually cross that line. Pretending I would is the fun part. Boston is everything I don’tdate. He’s handsome, successful, and he is a good, kind man. He’d treat a woman right. I can just tell in the way that you can with some men, you know? He’s good. He’s husband material. That isn’t the type of man I entertain.
He’stoogood.Tooperfect. He’s someone you’d fall for.
I’m leaving the little coffee shop near my brother’s place when my phone rings. I dig it out of my purse, resting the box of donuts on my hip as I struggle with the mess in my bag. My hair is in my face and I’m blocking the doorway, so I answer it without looking at the name.
I should have checked who was calling.
“Hello?”
