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“No, but I felt frivolous. Will you forgive me?”
“Tell me where she is and I might.”
“Patience, Gray. She’s with other entertainment. Considering you left her, I think she’s entitled to that. She’s rather eligible. Quite sought after in fact by the look of the men flocking. Especially with my introductions. Pretty thing.”
Every hackle I’ve got, every fucking inch of jealousy that I wasn’t aware I owned, rears up at the thought. I stand and search the crowds again, some raged harassment fuelling me to get my body in between her and whatever else she’s next to.
They both chuckle at me, making me wonder what the hell I’m turning into. My head shakes, enough annoyance with them countering the thought of whatever my dick is thinking about.
“Are you going to fight for her, Gray? How chivalrous.”
Another laugh falls from Malachi’s mouth, quickly chased with a giggling Faith just to emphasize the point of my senseless response.
“I’d enjoy seeing it if you are,” Faith says, continuing her giggles.
A swathe of suits starts cutting a path down the stairs on the far side, dark faces under paint scowling at each other. I smirk and peer closer, part amused at their clear intent, as they hustle the steps to get closer to the thing they’re all trying to.
It’s a few seconds more before I actually see the fine line of her arm interweaved with someone else’s. So pale compared to the other women here, insipid and yet holding a vibrancy none of them possess. I can almost feel it on my skin, regardless of the distance between us.
“You might actually need to fight,” Malachi drawls, chuckling still.
“No I won’t.”
I put my champagne down and leave them, my eyes focused on the slow, elegant legs and ankles that descend in the middle of the suiters. One hand holds the front of her dress up a little, the other trying to slip from the arm of a man. I still can’t see her face, as I weave through the dance floor full of people in my way. Only her legs, waist, and the occasional flare of shoulder.
I’m at the bottom of the stairs before she reaches it, my body firmly blocking the way through. It’s then that I see her face for the first time, as she laughs with a fucking idiot who I already hate. A painted skull. How appropriate for the deaths we’re all supposed to be honouring. I trace the lines of whites and greys, as fascinated with the way the black lips elongate her sense of sinister as all the other men swarming around her are.
She swings to look forward and instantly halts her movements, her hand hovering in mid-air. We could be in that gaze for minutes or hours. I don’t know. Don’t damn well care either. It’s just me and her, all the other noise and people dispersed into nothing and no one. I eventually tip my mouth into a small smile, unable to deny the sense of pleasure she causes in me, and remember the last time I was inside her.
Soft. Warm. Close.
And the time before that.
Harsh. Pained. Aggressive.
I chuckle lowly and look over the skin on show, still able to see the outline of my prints all over it, my teeth marks on her neck.
And then the men start hassling her again.
My hand reaches forward into the crowd, starkly grabbing onto hers which is still in mid-air, and I pull sharply to cut her away from them. Her body collides with mine, a groan sounding out the second she hits my chest. She blinks and looks upwards, mouth slightly parted under her black lips.
“You’re dressed, Mrs Tanner. Annoying.”
Nothing but her eyes staring up at me, narrowing slightly.
“I told you, I’m not an easy lay anymore.”
My lips drop down to her ear, brushing over her cheek. “And yet you look like sin again. Tease.”
Every predatory instinct I’ve got clamps her to me, my loose hand going straight to her ass to prove a point to these other hunters. She gasps a little, sending the sound of her straight through to my bones to confirm something I don’t want to acknowledge. “We should dance,” I mutter, looking at the men behind her. “Dismiss the wolves.”
Something in her stalls for a beat. I feel her stiffen, feel her body try to move away. That irritates me more than I want to acknowledge as well, and I turn away and pull her before she gets a chance to disagree with the offer. I damn well grumble at myself on the way, glaring at anything that gets in the way of me and her and the dance floor. Fucking dancing. What am I doing? Playing? Or just damn well winding myself up?
I swing and yank her to me the second I find clear space, almost able to hear the swish of her dress over the clatter of more feet on the floor. Another ricochet into my body and her hand finds mine perfectly, her small body moulding to mine just as it has done before. We move seamlessly, both our faces looking anywhere but at each other, as the music carries us. That’s fucking annoying too, regardless of the sense of harmony it causes in me. We both know. Can both feel it.
And are probably both trying to deny it.
“You left me without a word,” she snarls, after a while.
