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ARDEN
Itry to ignore him, I really do. In fact, if this were my own party, I’d kick him out. But it isn’t, so I have to live with the fact that I know Grey’s eyes are trained on my back the entire time, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin burn and the place between my thighs pulse and throb, slickness growing.
I swing my hips to the tempo of the music, trying to concentrate on the man that’s dancing next to me, the way that my ass grinds into his groin as our bodies meet in the middle of the dance floor. Nothing gets my blood racing better than a good mafia party does, but this is a whole new high that I’m feeling.
It’s overwhelming, consuming my senses. I know that Grey is watching, and I’m suddenly self-conscious while somehow also bolder than I usually am, wanting him to see me. Wanting him to want me. Need me.
I pull away from my unknown partner on the dance floor, muttering a string of curses under my breath. My body is slick with sweat as I make my way across the room to the bar, already crowded with people, shoving my way past them. At the same moment I make my way to the obsidian counter, the bartender puts down a row of shots—a free for all of fine cognac and aged brandy. We don’t pay for drinks when all the patrons have enough money to buy the entire venue, and I grab one readily, throwing it down.
The alcohol burns my throat and makes my breasts warm with a bloom of desire. When I swipe a hand across my mouth, I find Grey’s eyes across the room, darkened and watching me with an interest that makes my skin go hot. He’s not trying to hide the fact that he’s watching me, pissed off, maybe something a little more.
I’m hoping by the outline in his slacks that it’s something a little more.
Shoving the shot glass across the bar, it shatters as it falls over the other side, but no one bats an eye. I’m fucking Arden Rossi, a mafia princess with a knife strapped to my thigh beneath my dress. They know not to fuck with me. I do what I want.
I drop Grey’s gaze as I slowly make my way out of the crowd of people and into a deserted hall, knowing that he’ll follow me. Call me fucked in the head, but I like knowing he’s following me, watching me, waiting for me. I like knowing that he wants me, he desires me.
Yes, he desires me.
I’ve just now decided that he doesn’t hate me. No, he doesn’t. He hates me just about as much as I hate him—for the sake of hating him, because that’s what we’ve been taught to do our entire lives. The Calvos hate the Rossis. The Rossis hate the Calvos. We’re not going to stop hating each other just because we’re reasonable adults who see no reason to. In fact, I’m not even sure I can tell you where the hatred for the rival syndicate even came from, just that it’s always been there. Maybe we traded in the same illicit industry years ago, but those days are over. We stay out of each other’s way.
But all of that—the decades of hate, the ways that we’ve been taught, the things that we’ve said to each other—that doesn’t mean that we can’t want each other. Desire each other. And I’ve decided after seeing him tonight, actually, after the moment I woke up on that interrogation table, that Grey doesn’t actually hate me.
He wants to fuck me.
I turn the corner and find myself in a bathroom, and sure enough, Grey follows seconds later. I shut the door behind him, turning the lock. In half a second, he turns us around, his fingers brushing up against my dress as he cages me against the bathroom counter. A thrill goes up my spine, making my chest tighten almost painfully.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, Arden?” he growls, keeping his body away from me, but entirely too close. The bathroom is small, just a sink and a toilet, and he’s a big guy. If it weren’t for the killer heels I was wearing, he’d tower over me. “You tryin’ to escape?” he asks.
I smirk. “I’m going exactly where I want to be,” I say, and boldly grabbing onto his tie, I tug him closer. “And you’re exactly where I want you to be.”
The bathroom is hot. Thick with tension. I can hear my heart rushing in my ears, and I can feel the heat of his hatred rolling off him and brushing up against my slick skin. He braces his hands on the counter behind me, his body inches away from mine, our gazes connected like a magnetic force.
I drop my voice to a murmur as I say, “I am planning on making these three days just as much hell for you as they are for me.” Dropping his tie, my fingernails brush up against the buttons at his collar, just as stiff as he is right now. “You must be so… warm right now,” I say, tugging at the knot at his throat. “I’m burning up.”
My gaze dips to the strong column of his neck, but he takes a hand off the counter and jerks my gaze back up to his. His hold on my chin is firm, almost painful, but I like the way he’s smirking, looking at me like a wolf who’s about to eat his prey.
“And how do you think you’re going to do that, Arden?” My name on his lips is like poison, like the sweetest, most dangerous poison.
“The only way I know how,” I say, cocking an eyebrow. “By using your weakness against you.”
“I don’t have a weakness,” he scoffs.
“You have one.” His grip slackens on my chin as he realizes what I’m doing. Dropping to my knees, I say, “It’s me.”
