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The game ends, they exchange numbers, and then I hand the beer to Avah. She’s shining and happy, and it pulls deep in my guts, that look.
“Nora—that’s her name—says you’re hot as fuck.” Her lips turn into a smug little smile. “I told her hands off.”
Sliding an arm about Avah’s waist, I pull her in close, and as a slow dance starts, I pluck the beer from her and set them both down on a nearby table.
“I just took a sip,” she says.
I spin her out among the other dancing couples. “I’ll get you another one. I want to hear more about your possessive ways.”
“Oh, God!” She buries her face against my T-shirt, and yeah, I could be happy with her like that for a really long ass time. “I sound like a demon.”
Easing her a little closer as the song about love and heartache and motorbikes plays, I say against her ear, “Maybe I like the possessive demon sort.”
“Maybe you’re a flirt.”
“I go for what I like, Avah. Flirting is—”
“Lifeblood.” And she sighs, her arms tightening around my neck as I slip a hand from her waist to rest on the top of her ass.
I’d been about to say flirting’s a waste of time, but her response seeps into my bones. It isn’t a waste of time, and I’m flirting with her, I realize. But what I don’t do is flirt without fucking intent.
Christian used to flirt with anything that moved, one eye always on Mia. I’m not made like that. I’m the kind of guy who fucking sees what he wants and gets it.
And this . . .
This is both complicated and the easiest thing in the world.
Complicated because Avah thinks I’m here just because I want her. I’m interested, but she doesn’t know I’ve been asked to be here, and she doesn’t know I’m digging into things. She doesn’t know what I am.
Easy because Avah makes sense. Being in her orbit makes the most sense in my life.
I’m not the marrying kind. I’m not really the hold-hands and dates kind. When I see someone, it’s sex. Hot fucking sex. In the literal and the figurative way.
It’s about lust and minds and dirty, filthy things that are lifeblood.
And they always have an end date.
This will be no different.
Except . . . except Avah’s the kind of sweet thing that wants the forever, d the flowers, and the hand holding.
The delicateness wrapped around a core of steel. Fresh innocence coiled about an earthy, erotic being waiting to be released.
The trick is to do that and not hurt her.
Shit. What the actual fuck am I thinking?
I’ve got a job to do, an off the books job, but a job. And one that has no real rules apart from keeping her safe for the bosses’ wives. Beyond that?
Anyone’s game.
And I pull her close because I can.
Because I should.
Because she feels so fucking good and right in my arms.
Anyone watching and thinking they can touch her?
