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“That sharp tongue of yours begs for punishment yet again.”
I stop breathing at that moment. Blinking too. But I manage to keep my back straight, my gaze on his as I retort.
“Maybe yours deserves a taste of it too.”
I don’t miss how his eyes flicker to my lips. How his breathing is so much heavier. How he’s so much closer now. Is he aware?
“Carter’s working on finding all there is to know about yours and your partner’s business. Learning all about the different names, cities, all those lost paintings suddenly uncovered, and a hell of a lot of money you made.”
He’s talking slow, emphasizing his words in a way that makes me wonder what else he can do with that slithering tongue. I can barely focus on what he’s actually saying.
“And they all have one rather important thing in common—not one of them was discovered as a fake. Not a single person was able to identify any inconsistencies, not even in the chemical analysis. You’ve never. Ever. Made a mistake, little witch.”
“Surprised?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow as I straighten my posture, pushing away from the tree, just about touching him.
He doesn’t play, though. One hand goes straight to my chest, pressed right at the base of my throat as he shoves me back against the rough bark, taking my breath away with a slight ache.
“I am. Because we both know this was no mistake. Why?”
Jesus Christ.
His searing touch spreads fire over every inch of my skin, settling deep between my legs, forcing them to press together for some sort of relief.
“I’ll answer. If you do something for me.”
“More than let you live for deceiving us? Stealing from us?”
I smile, and I don’t know why, but his hard gaze falters for a moment.
“Smaller scale than that.”
He watches me for a few moments, his gaze caressing my jaw, my cheeks, studying every bit of my face as his hand moves up around my throat. He doesn’t squeeze, though, just holds it there in this possessive grip, my pulse bouncing off his skin.
I take the silence as my cue to go on.
“Dance with me, Ronan Hennessey.”
CHAPTER 5
RONAN
Dance?
Her small hands reach for my waist, her touch startling me even over this t-shirt, and they move up until they wrap around the sides of my neck.
She holds me there and, for some reason, I let her. I’m afraid to move. I can’t explain it. It’s like I’ve just met a bear on a walk and I have to stay completely still so I don’t get eaten alive. And at the same time, I know that if I take just one step, if I let go of her throat and grip her waist instead, my reality will change. I will no longer be skirting on the edge between business and pleasure… the line will be gone completely, and the purpose will change.
Was it ever about business?
My life will change too.
I keep that hold on her throat, squeezing slightly, enjoying how her lips part, feeling her life pulsate against my palm. I think that maybe if I squeeze just a little harder, she’ll give up.
Only the little witch slides those hands until she grips my short hair between her long fingers, pulling just enough that an image flashes through my mind. Not a memory—a fantasy. Her soft skin beneath me, damp with sweat as I drive my cock into her, her legs around my waist, those fingers tight in my hair, holding on. It’s a goddamn beautiful image and I want to turn it from fantasy to premonition.
My dick seems to want the same thing as it grows stiffer than it should at a public party. Even here, in the shadows of these trees.
Moving my grip to the nape of her neck, I pull her to me with one hand on the middle of her back.
