Page 22 of Dirty Deal

There’s a hard pit resting at the bottom of my stomach. My fingers and toes are cold. Shoot, why doIfeel bad?

“It wasn’t—I’m not saying I didn’t like it.” A few minutes ago, Weston James could not have drawn that confession from me with thumbscrews. But that was before he looked so gutted by my words, so floored. “I did. I definitely did.”

Still shaky and unbalanced, I reach out and touch Weston’s thigh for a second time. His muscle is hard and warm beneath my palm, the heat seeping through the fabric of his fancy dark suit, and just that small contact makes me feel more grounded. Steadier.

Until something reckless in me adds, “I’ll do it again, too. If you like.”

Hell, there are enough shadowy crevices in this club for us to sneak into. If Weston keeps watch for servers, I could even slip beneath this table and shoulder my way between his knees.

My head is woozy just picturing it. A heavy ache builds low in my belly, twisting tighter with unfulfilled need.

Iwanthim.

I always have.

And things are so much simpler when we’re both grappling for control. This new, peaceful Weston, this man who wants to lay down our weapons andget along… I don’t trust him. I can’t.

But the man who pulled my hair and came down my throat last night—nowthatguy was honest. He made sense to me.

“That’s what you want?” Weston sounds strained beneath the heady thump of music. “You want me bossing you around again, Lena?”

My pulse races, and my lips part. Already I can taste his clean, salty tang on my tongue. “Yes.”

“Then come here.” Without warning I’m lifted, bundled, slung unceremoniously across Weston’s lap, one of my heels dropping to the shadows beneath the table. I grip his wide shoulders for balance, too startled to do anything except gape up at him.

A large hand lands on my bare thigh. My breath puffs out of me, and my legs slide open an inch. Welcoming him beneath my dress like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“This isn’t the order,” Weston says. He sounds casual, but his whole body is tense beneath mine, muscles trembling with restraint. “You have to want this part too.”

“I want it.” The words come embarrassingly fast, tripping over my tongue. Can’t even blame the vodka, because I’ve barely had three sips.

Already I’m squirming, breathless, desperate for whatever Weston plans to give me, and maybe I should be shamed by that, but I’m not. There’s no room in my brain for shame right now.

No room for anything exceptplease, please, please.

“Then be a good girl,” Weston grits out, leaning so close his lips brush my ear, “andkeep quiet.”

Ten

Weston

If I thought I could take Lena on a normal date this evening and have her play along… well, clearly I was wrong. There’s too much mess between us, too much distrust, and it’ll take time to win over her heart and brain as well as her body.

Time is something I do not have.

We have two more nights together after this. Two more nights for me to turn this ship around, to prove to Lena Merritt that I can admire her without reserve, trust her without caveats, love her without restraint.

This is a shit show of my own making. If Lena weren’t sprawled across my lap right now, begging for my touch beneath her dress, I’d think it a lost cause.

“You squirm for me so well, don’t you Lena?”

She nods, cheeks pink, and she can’t decide where to put her hands. She keeps clutching at my chest, my shoulders, the edge of the table beside her, my thighs beneath her legs—until I catch her wrists and loop her arms around my neck.

“Keep them there.”

If I need to order her to hold me like a lover, I’ll do it. Fake it ‘til you make it, as they say.

With our bodies close like this, I can feel every ragged breath whistling in and out of Lena’s lungs. Can smell her floral scent and feel her heat seeping through my clothes. Her breath is cool and sweet where it puffs against my neck—courtesy of her drink—and her glossy dark hair tickles my wrist where I brace one arm around her back.

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