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“Why?” Morana asked.
The man stayed silent for a beat. “Personal reasons. You were one of the missing girls and you are looking for the same thing. I have information.”
Morana processed what he was telling her. “How can I trust you?”
“You cannot. And you shouldn’t,” the man stated clearly. “But you’re not in my way so you're safe from me.”
Morana tilted her head back up and took the measure of him. She couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. Morana deliberated.
She felt his lips at her ear. “As a gesture of good faith, let me give you a piece of information I came across,” he said so discreetly she could barely make the words out over the music. “Someone at the party is going to try to kill you tonight.”
Morana inhaled sharply. The man continued without pausing. “And no, I have not set that up to gain your trust. I simply intercepted the information and I came to the party to warn you.”
“Wait, you came here to warm me? Why?” Morana questioned, confused.
“Because I need the truth and you can help me get to it.”
She gulped. He nodded. "Live tonight. Find me tomorrow. 459."
“That’s your
number?”
“Who are you talking to?” whiskey and sin interrupted the man.
Morana turned to see the spot beside her empty. She felt familiar hands go over her hips, pulling her flush against a hard, male body. Morana turned her attention back to the man holding her hips, her mind still reeling from her previous encounter.
“Did you see the man beside me?” Morana interrogated him.
In response, he tugged her hard into his body. The song changed to a familiar tune, a version of Wicked Games that she liked. Appropriate.
The hands on her hips held her steady. Morana slowly returned to the present, her own arms going around his neck as they started to move, completely flush against each other.
“What man?” Tristan whispered in her ear, just like the other man had. Except for this time, it sent delicious shivers down her spine, right to her core, that voice of whiskey and sin pouring down her body.
Clearing her throat, Morana informed him. “A man. He just told me there was someone in this room who would try to kill me tonight.”
It was fascinating to feel the reaction of his body to the news instead of just seeing it. Morana felt the way the muscles in his body clenched, one after the other, first his hands, then his arms, then his chest and shoulders until he was utterly still for a second. She had seen it happen on multiple occasions but feeling it was different. More intimate.
Suddenly remembering she was pissed at him, Morana took a step away. Or at least tried to, only to be brought right back into his body, his hands going low on her hips in a gesture nobody would miss. He started to move again, their bodies fitting like pieces of a puzzle together.
Morana could feel the multiple eyes on her this time as he moved her around, not expertly but in a raw rhythm that her body somehow followed. Nobody would have called him a beautiful dancer but fuck, he was sexy. With his hips rolling into hers, mimicking a more intimate action, his thigh spreading her legs for a second, grazing against her core before coming back into place, he was sensuality.
The female vocalist breathed ‘I don't wanna fall in love with you’ into the microphone. He bent her over his arm, his nose breathing the entire line of her neck. Bringing her back against him, his hands on the edge of her ass, her breasts pressed into his torso, her nipples hardened as his mouth stayed close to her ear. She could hear a ragged breath he took, semi-hard.
Uncaring of the unusual display, Morana inhaled his scent in, the mix of musk and man familiar to her now, comforting even.
“It seems you’re done avoiding me, Mr. Caine,” she remarked breathlessly, deliberately using his last name.
He said nothing, only his hands tightening infinitesimally on her flesh in response.
Morana sighed, shaking her head. “Next time you need a moment, just tell me. We're honest with each other, remember?”
He didn’t say anything. She knew he wouldn’t, not when there were people around, unfriendly people, and not when they were watching him like a hawk. He was still The Predator. Only he was doing a very public mating dance, uncaring of those who watched. She didn't understand him sometimes.
The song changed to one she didn't know. His nose brushed against the lobe of her ear, sending blood rushing to the spot.
“Do you have the blade?” he murmured into her ear, like a lover whispering sweet nothings to any watchful eye.
