Page 39 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

“Make sure you show security his picture,” I tell Peter. “If I find him back in my club again, I’ll have him arrested for trespassing.”

Peter leads the blonde away as he stutters pathetic apologies. I turn back to Brinley, who isn’t smiling gratefully at me like I’m her knight in shining armor. She’s glaring like I’ve royally pissed her off. Well, I’m angry, too. I need to be angry because anger is safer than the other thing. Angry is Luke’s best friend making sure Luke’s sister doesn’t get herself into trouble.

The other thing has no excuse.

I take Brinley’s arm, careful to keep my grip firm but not rough. She doesn’t fight me as I pull her to the back of the room, through an exit, and into a private back hallway. Nobody ever comes back this way unless they’re taking out the trash at the end of the night. It’s completely empty, other than a few steel shelves stacked with cleaning equipment.

The heavy door slams shut behind us, leaving us alone in the hallway with nothing but the distance thump of the bass. I glare down at Brinley, who’s glaring right back at me. Without her usual glasses, her eyes feel almost too open. Like I can see too much.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I snap.

Brinley tips her chin up and looks me dead in the eye. “It’s a public venue. I can be wherever I want.”

I step toward her, and she retreats instinctively, stepping back against the wall. Good. She should know how fucking serious I am. Taking another step toward her, I press my hands against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in with my arms. I’m close enough to smell her perfume—something warm and sweet that I know I’m going to remember later, alone, and hate myself for.

My jaw tightens. Every muscle in my body is telling me two opposite things at the same time. Take that last step forward. No, scratch that, walk away. She’s Luke’s sister. She’s nineteen. She’s off-limits in every way that matters. I need to walk away now.

Her big brown eyes dart down to my mouth and I have to fight the urge to lick my lips.

Walk the fuck away, Bishop.

“What’s your problem, anyway?” she mumbles. “It’s not like you ever really talk to me, and now you drag me back here? What do you even have to say?”

Fuck, what do I have to say?

“I’m just looking out for you. You can’t just go around looking like this in a place filled with horny men.”

“Looking like what?”

Like a fucking wet dream.

I scowl. “You know exactly how good you look.”

A flush spreads across her cheeks. “What, are you jealous?”

I scoff. No way. It’s laughable, really, the idea of me being jealous of the other men who can dance with Brinley. Touch her. Feel her tight little body against theirs.

Realization dawns in her eyes. “You are. You’re jealous of the guys who danced with me.”

“You didn’t dance with anyone.” She breaks into a smile, and I realize just how much I’ve given away. Now she knows I was watching her, that I was keeping track of her dance partners.

That she has way more of my attention than she should.

Her eyes grow slightly hooded. “You can touch me if you want,” she says softly.

No, I can’t.

I shouldn’t.

Brinley’s hand closes around my wrist. She pulls my hand away from the wall and sets it against the side of her neck. Her skin feels so fucking soft, like warm silk. Her pulse point flutters under my fingertips.

I want to drag my hand further. Down the slope of her shoulder, over her collarbone, down to her full breasts. Her chest rises and falls in short, shallow breaths. She wants me to keep touching her.

Does that mean she’s forgiven me?

If she wants me to touch her, she must not hate me, right? Because right now she’s standing here with her pulse hammering against my palm, looking at me like I’m the only person in the building. Part of me wants to believe this means the slate is clean. That she’s decided I’m not the villain of that story.

Even if I know I don’t deserve that absolution. Not even close.