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My breath is wrapped tight in a knot in my throat. Every pulse point beats hard. I’m being pulled to him, him to me, and he’s fucking right. Magnets, each of us.
Hendrick steps in close, his hand brushing liquid heat and desire against my cheek as he cups it.
“You’re an intriguing man,” I whisper.
His mouth almost brushes mine. “And you’re a conundrum. Walter Vern could never hope to get a woman like you. If he did, somehow, he wouldn’t let you come here alone.”
“I know him, he’s out of town,” I say, “like I said. You can call him.”
This close, he’s brushing against me and there’s a sizable erection forming. Very sizable.
My mouth waters.
“I really don’t care,” he says. And then Hendrick Agnossio kisses me.
It’s combustion. A slow, rolling, inexorable combustion. And it consumes. I sigh, and he takes that parting of my lips as the invitation it is. His tongue slides in and oh, fuck, can he kiss.
He kisses like art, like sex. He kisses with the seductive sway of the perfect diamond, something guaranteed to make me wet.
I kiss him back, all the heat, and magic of the art of the heist. It’s all there. The slide of our tongues is the slide under the radar of an alarm. The heat of his mouth is the heat of making that first real move. And the shift of his body, the melt of mine, the wet and hardness and heat and beat of hearts is the chaotic perfection of my fingers closing on the prize.
Maybe it’s because I think the necklace is here, and maybe it’s because he’s turning me on the way pulling off an almost impossible theft turns me on, but he’s loaded with the thrill and passion and singing illicit moments that’s my lifeblood.
When he lifts his head, it takes me a little too long to focus. To get back into one place.
“The answer is yes.” His words wash over me.
I frown. “What answer?”
“To the question I didn’t ask.”
I slip a hand up on his chest, curling fingertips against the soft material of his shirt. The thump of his heart is erratic and mirroring mine.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He looks past me again, then back at me, and this time he sighs. “That you want me, too.”
I step away from him, and he lets me go, and I realize as I do, I’m still holding the glass.
“More than Jac Miller?” I ask.
There’s no shock in his face, but there’s something else, almost…satisfaction? Disappointment? I don’t know. But now the coldness of reality hits, this goes two ways.
He definitely saw me with Jac. Jac saw me not just dance with Hendrick, but disappear and—
“Is that why you kissed me? Why you keep looking at the door? Your little frenemy Jac?” I pause. “I read the papers and online articles. It’s not a secret. He…he introduced himself to me before we danced. Kept watching you, but—”
“Sir.”
A voice says behind us. It’s male, low, and annoyed.
Hendrick holds my gaze a moment longer before lifting his eyes once more to the door. “This is Damon, Damon, Elena. Damon’s my…right-hand man.”
“And here I thought I was your fucking servant,” the man says behind me.
Hendrick grins. “He’s got attitude problems. Would you prefer I call you out as head of security? Self-appointed bodyguard? Grade A Pain in the Ass? Or just Future Corpse.”
“I’m the only one who’ll put up with you, so we’ll scratch the last one,” says Damon.
