Page 136 of Look, Don't Touch

Less than this.

“On a scale from one to ten,” he adds when I don’t immediately answer.

“Two to three, with the sternum and ribs, hit a six.” I shrug. “All in all, very manageable.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you, but the first learning you have tattoos,” Dobson points out.

“I like having secrets from the world.” I swipe my hair back over my shoulder.

“Don’t we all.” Karris practically kisses the side of his glass as he takes a sip. His words are for me, but his gaze is sharp on Dobson for the barest of seconds.

“Hailey.” Hota holds a couple of fingers of dark liquid out for me. “I can get you some wine if you’d rather.”

“Nope.” I snatch the glass from his hand and toss half of it back in one go. Bourbon isn’t my usual drink of choice, but it’s fitting for this off-kilter evening.

“Okay then.” His gaze is on my face. It’s like he’s going to say something, like he’s drawn to speak, but he gives me a small nod, then sits in his original spot on the other couch.

“Okay then.” I sip the drink this time and level my gaze on each man in turn, even Arlo, as he slowly makes his way to sit to my left. “How often do you fellas come here?”

They share a glance among them. I knew I was on the outside peeking in this evening, but it hasn’t been more apparent than right now. One by one, their gazes meet Arlo’s. So mine does too.

“Before you, once a week. After you, not at all.” Someone snorts, and I think it’s Karris. “Not like this,” he amends. “I came only for you, but the boys amused themselves from time to time.” Arlo’s eyes meet Hota before coming back to me. “Most of them, anyway.”

My heartbeat feels like it’s the first chair in the percussion section of the orchestra. I’m sure they can all hear its frantic staccato.

I toss back the last of my drink and set the glass on the black table. Perched on the edge of the fancy couch, as though ready to make a clean getaway, if necessary, I face Arlo.

“And what is it you boys do here, together, like this?”

Arlo looks amazingly unruffled, especially to how I’d seen him earlier today, in front of his parents’ and brother’s graves. His shoulders are down and back. Both his elbows are draped over the couch as though he is the master of this domain.

It hits me like his right hook.

He is the master.

He didn’t do touch, but touch isn’t a requirement for dominance.

My knees go weak. Moisture floods my sorry excuse for panties. My drumming heart picks up the tempo.

“I’d like to show you, Hailey. If you’ll let me.” His gorgeous fucking face kicks to the side. His gaze follows the line of my cheek, down my neck, and over my breasts and to my hips, before finding my eyes again. “Will you trust me? Really trust me?”

My gaze flies to the other men in the room. Each of them looks totally at ease, calm and self-assured. I stare at Arlo the longest, searching for signs that this will fuck us up beyond repair. Then I remember that I was willing to do that just a few hours ago. So what can this hurt?

“Yes, Arlo, I trust you.”

“Good fucking girl.” His hand clamps onto the back of my neck and he drags me until I brace my hand on his chest to keep from falling. His mouth is pressed to mine. He takes his time kissing me as though we’re not in a room with his best friends, like we’re not in the midst of a major limbo.

He kisses me like he is mine and I am his.

Then as soon as it started, it’s over. He tucks me into his side and asks Dobson about a meeting he had today. That flows into other conversations about work. It’s all very sedate. I notice they steer clear of the gala as a topic, which I appreciate. The conversation leads into talk of Dobson apartment hunting.

“What kind of place are you looking for?” I ask. “My aunt is thinking about leasing her place. It’s gargantuan by New York standards and in The Sherry Netherland. Beautiful views of Central Park. A balcony that runs the length of the building.”

“That would be one hell of an upgrade.” Dobson nods.

“Hell, the cardboard box the guy out back of my building has going would be an upgrade.” Karris shakes his head.

Dobson flips him off. “Not all of us come from money, arsehole.”

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