Page 157 of The Stranger

With a nod, he dissolves from sight, leaving us alone, the air crackling furiously between us.

Her hair is wild from dancing, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes bright with the kind of ferocity that could easily start a fire.

“Primrose.”

“Lying arsehole.” Her gaze flicks over me, refusing to settle in one place. Perhaps she’s deciding which part of me to scorch first. “Done with the girlfriend already?” Her question is sharp as she moves deeper into the room, her steps slow and dangerously feminine. High, high heels and a short, short dress that’s just a twirl away from revealing everything under it.

“Done with Alejandro?” I force my shoulders to relax as my eyes glide up her bare legs. Farther until they reach her face.

“Why? Were you planning on making a cozy foursome?”

“I’m not sure Amélie would appreciate that.”

Her eyes flash, her jealousy an unexpected thrill as she comes to a stop by the side of the laden low table. She bends to pick up my glass, flashing me an ample amount of cleavage in the process. And a lot of leg and ass, courtesy of the smoky glass wall behind her.

I’m appalled her cheap shot has such a visceral effect as my abs tense and my balls tighten. My head is fit to burst that other men might see her like this. Touch her like I do. If not now, then when we’re through. I thrust away the unwelcome thought. I want to trap her in a fucking cage and keep her always.

She lifts my glass of cognac to her red-painted mouth, her eyes glittering dangerously over the rim. “What happened to sharing?” she purrs.

My brow contracts. Did Amélie suggest that…?

“Not that it matters.” One of her shoulders lifts and falls carelessly. “I’m not sure Alejandro would be down.” The final word in her taunt is reminiscent of a blow job. And I thought my head was hurting before. She must want me to kill him.

“Do you know you’ve got a vein pulsing in your temple?” Her tone? Casual as fuck.

“I am unsurprised.”

“I’d get that looked at if I were you. Can’t be too careful at your age.” She sips and tries not to grimace as she swallows.

I bark out a laugh—her words, her expression. Fucking unbelievable, this furiously maddening woman.

“If Amélie is interested in sharing.” I pluck the glass from her hand and turn it in my own. “Rest assured, the invitees would be women.” I press my lips over the red stain of her pout.

“That’s a really shitty excuse.” She scowls at me as though disappointed. “Try harder, Luc. She was practically dry humping you.”

“Yes, for effect.”

She makes a frustrated noise and crosses her arms over her chest. I try not to stare to the almost perfect framing of her breasts. Perfect would be my hands.

“I’d happily give you her number. If only you had your phone,” I add pointedly.

She makes an audible huff and folds her arms. “You’re not my mother.”

“That’s right.” I step into her quickly. Her chin lifts though she takes an automatic step back. Inside me, her retreat makes something dark and primitive tighten with satisfaction. “I’m not your mother, and you’re not a child. So stop behaving like one.”

“Fuck you.”

“Tu me déitruis.”

Her eyes flare. Does she understand the tone if not the words? Does she see how she’s wrecking me?

The space narrows between us, yet I’m not yet calm enough to put my hands on her. “You have taken something innocuous and twisted it, providing yourself an excuse to run.”

“Innocuous!” she yells, no longer on the defense but the attack. “She looked like she was about to get your dick out. And you did nothing to discourage her, nothing to set my mind at ease! You fucking wrecked me!” She punctuates her words with a finger to my chest.

She understood?

“Amélie is my wife’s sister,” I say, wrapping her finger in my own.