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She’s flustered.Imake her flustered. This realization isn’t new, but it’s delicious all the same.
When the bartender walks away, I spin her swivel seat toward me. Her hands fly out for stability, one landing on the bar, the other on my thigh. The thundering in my chest is instant with even the smallest willing—albeit accidental—touch from her.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you missed me,” I say, looking up and down between her hand on me and her eyes. She yanks it away, smooths her skirt and looks at me expectantly. “Do you have something to tell me, princess?”
A pair of men saddle up to the bar next to me, and she eyes them uneasily. She stands. “Let’s dance.”
My fist tightens into a ball at the same time my jaw clenches. “I don’t dance.”
“They’re too close,” she nods toward the men.
“Then we’ll move.” I stand and grab her hand, stomping to a high-top table.
She shakes her hand out of mine, and I have to fight the urge to hold on tighter. “And then what if someone gets close again? We can’t keep playing leapfrog in the bar. It’s suspicious as hell.”
“I thought the point of picking a place in bumfuck nowhere was because nobody would know who we are.”
“It’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Now, fucking dance with me.” She grips my bicep and I let her drag me onto the dance floor despite the protesting in my head. I stiffen when she places both hands on my shoulders and squares her hips with mine.
“Oh don’t tell me you’re scared of a little dancing?” Her lip curls in the corner and I bite my tongue. “You kill people for a living—and I’m pretty sure for fun too—but you can’t dance?”
“You’re stalling.”
“And you’re scared ofdancing.” She smirks and wraps her arms around my neck and tugs me closer so I’m forced to sway with her body. I can’t even appreciate her soft tits pressed against my chest, or the way her hips grind across mine over the stupid fucking noise in my head.
The noise that demands a Fox never show weakness.
And as idiotic as it is, dancing is a weakness and years of survival training has me bursting at the seams to avoid it.
I tug her closer by the waist and lower my mouth to her ear. “Start talking, princess.”
“What do you want to know?” Her own breath flutters against my neck. and a heavy, hot weight settles into my stomach.
How your voice sounds in the morning. What sounds you make in your sleep. How you’d look at me if you didn’t despise me.“Everything.”
“They’re keeping me at arm’s length, I don’t know much.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“It will have to be.” She blinks up at me, a challenge glimmering in her eyes.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and cradle her jaw. “You like playing games, don’t you, pet?”
“Not as much as you. Though I have to admit, yours are getting a bit old.” She steps back, taking my hand with her and spins beneath my arm, a taunting smile on her lips.
My eyes trail up the small bit of extra thigh exposed from her twirling skirt. I let her swirl back to me and lock her in place with a firm hand on her hip, the other caging her hand against my arm like they did in those old-timey dances.
To distract her from my awkward and stilted attempt at having rhythm, I throw out an offer she can’t refuse. “Let’s make it more interesting then. You give me a solid piece of intel, and if it proves to be helpful, I will delete everything.”
Her feet halt and she sucks in a hopeful breath. “Everythingeverything? This isn’t some semantic trick or twisted wording?”
“Every single morsel of evidence that that night ever existed.”
“Okay, it isn’t much but…” She gives a quick scan of the bar floor once more before continuing—I’d do the same if I hadn’t already been paying attention to every single person who’s passed through the door since arriving. “The rooftop. It’s the only entrance you never have men on. I don’t know exactly what they’re gonna do, but they’re going to create some sort of problem that requires you to build scaffolding to fix it—”
“They want me to give them a ladder right into the castle, huh?”
“Something like that.” She shrugs, and I try to read her face for any minuscule hint that she’s lying. Instead I find myself fixating on a small grouping of scratch-like scars by her eye that I’ve never seen before.
