Page 11 of Red My Lips

“Excellent,” he says, turning to Lana as the song changes to something with a heady beat. “Dance with me, astéri.”

Lana joins Christos, plastering her body against his as she moves with the music. I toss back the rest of my champagne and pop another piece of sushi into my mouth before I stand up to join them. The beat pulsates through the air, vibrating through the floor until it resonates in my chest.

Accepting another glass of bubbly when it’s offered to me, I don’t stop moving. Lifting the glass to my lips, my gaze collides with a dark pair of eyes and I falter. Awareness prickles over me at the sight of the man watching me so intently that I can feel his eyes on my skin.

Gage sits reclined on the sofa at the VIP table a few yards away, sharp eyes following my every movement as if I’m the only other person in the world. Even when his friend—Anders, from the VIP lounge the other night—walks up to join him at the table and greets him, Gage’s eyes never stray from me.

He’s watching me again.

Again? No, still.

The unadulterated attention settles through me until every nerve is standing on end. It’s both intoxicating and irritating. When he cocks his head to the side and smirks at me, annoyance sparks into anger as liquid desire pools between my legs.

Fuck him.

Fuck me.

A fiery cocktail of lust and indignation pour through me, making me both horny and spiteful. Ripping my eyes away, I turn back to my friend and her date. By the time I see the bottom of my second glass of champagne, some of the tension has eased from my body.

After the third glass, I don’t care so much that he’s watching as I dance and laugh. And the first round of shots leaves just me, my friends, and the music.

Gage can lurk and watch me all he wants, I don’t mind. I’d watch me too. Every time my eyes meet his, the desire to fuck him grows stronger. Just like the urge to end him.

Chapter Four

Gage

Fuck, she’s perfect.

Carefree, living life on her whims and letting nothing stand in her way. Jillian Hart couldn’t be more perfect if I designed her myself. The fire blazing inside her threatens to scorch everything in her path, and I plan on burning like the damned.

She moves with the music, dancing and laughing with the group she’s with. She doesn’t shy away from being the center of attention, not once. She embraces it, feeds on it. My eyes touch every part of her beautiful body, admiring the art of her. When our eyes meet, dark satisfaction brews deep inside me.

Absolute perfection.

Finally, being touched by the weight of her stare, feeling the focus of her attention after all this time, was worth the wait. After five long months, she sees me—because I let her.

Jillian Hart has been mine a lot longer than the debt she owes me, whether she knows it or not. But she’ll learn. She’ll see that there’s no escaping me, no amount of money that can sever our connection. There is no other option—I’m an omen of the inevitable.

Jill will love me, crave me, breathe me. She’ll feel me rooted so deeply inside her she won’t know where her soul ends and mine begins. She’ll be for me.

Just like I am for her.

Until then, I’ll watch her and enjoy the way her bombshell body moves with the music. I’ll take pleasure in knowing she sees me.

“She sees you watching her,” Anders comments, though his eyes have barely strayed from Jill’s blonde friend all night. I’ve had my eyes on her for months, always just staying out of sight. But not anymore—it’s time I make my plans a reality.

“I know.” I lean back against the sofa, ignoring the flashing red lights and the thrumming bass of the music. Tilting my head, I let my beer dangle between my legs as I watch her.

She arches her back and shakes her juicy ass to the beat next to her best friend, Lana. Lana’s interesting enough—it’s not painful to watch her with my Jill—especially with the company she keeps. The man dancing up against Lana’s back with his hands on her waist, Christos Alexandris, is a war criminal and arms dealer with connections to the mob both here in Chicago and in New York. I don’t give a single fuck if Lana’s dating him seriously or not, as long as he—and his mess—doesn’t touch Jill.

“You’re staring again,” Anders says. I never stopped. He knows that. I could sit here for the rest of the night without moving an inch, just watching her breathe, and not regret a single second.

“So are you,” I point out. He can’t seem to tear his dark eyes away from the blonde.

“They’re both fucking hot.” He takes a swig of his beer, rolling his bulky shoulders and settling back on the couch to get comfortable. He’s attracted to Jill, but I don’t give a shit about that. I don’t fault him for recognizing how stunning she is, and I don’t mind other men looking. I want them to look—to admire, and desire—to witness how brightly she burns. But they won’t touch.

I don’t share.

---