Page 63 of Dare To Live

You didn’t want me to show you that the fire was still there, that teenage hormones had fuck all to do with what burns between us. If I’d made love to you, you’d be just as angry with me. You’d accuse me of toying with your emotions, of trying to play you.

Play with me like he wants to do now. I still don’t know why he’s doing this. Why did he change his mind?

I’m barely aware of what is being said up on the stage, but I do feel the buzz of my cell in my bag. Taking it out, I check my messages.

Unknown number: Stop overthinking it, Kitten.

Me: I’m not.

Unknown number: Liar. Just enjoy where the evening takes you.

Eli is watching me. There’s a hungry hot intensity to his gaze that keeps me transfixed. My heart slams inside my chest in a wild tempo, and my breathing turns shallow.

One second, I’m trapped by his eyes, the next, his dark inky lashes lower as Ivan mentions the artist known as Sin.

“Are you okay?” my mother asks.

I clear my throat. “I just felt a little dizzy.”

“How many glasses of champagne have you had?”

“Just the one and a few sips of another.”

Brows knotting, she studies my face for a moment. “You’re looking a little flushed. I hope you’re not coming down with something.”

“No, it’s just a little hot in here.”

I focus on Ivan. He’s talking about the artist who donated the painting on the easel behind him. How Sin does not like to take the spotlight, but that he is in the audience, watching and listening to everything being said.

Eli is smiling, chatting to Gabe, with the crowd none the wiser to his identity, and as much as I try to focus on Ivan’s words about his art, I can’t.

My mind is lost in erotic memories of a blindfolded girl who had done dirty things with a monster in the dark.

Chapter 36

Eli

When the applause slows down, I turn to Gabe.

“I need a favor.”

His eyebrow hikes, interest sparkling in the depths of his gray eyes. “Oh?”

“The ‘Stolen Moments’ painting. Whatever the highest bid is, add ten grand and put my name on it.”

“You want to buy your own painting? Seems counterproductive.”

I shrug. “You get your money, plus an extra ten grand. I get the painting back.”

“Why put it up for auction if you don’t want to sell it?”

“I have no problem with selling it, I just discovered there’s someone who really wants it, and she won’t buy it for herself.”

“The person who owns your unconventional handkerchief and, if I’m right, the muse for most of your work?” He flicks a tattooed finger toward the panties in my pocket. “You could just make me an offer.”

“And potentially stop you making more money? No, just let them have a bidding war, then tell them an anonymous bidder won. Doesn’t matter what it costs. I’ll sign you a blank check.”

“Does she have a magic pussy?”

---