Page 3 of Watch Me

“We have the biggest competition of our careers in eight days, and you think I need to get laid?”

“Yes.”

I try not to see red—along with violet, crimson, and magenta.

Kristoff meets my angry gaze squarely. “Until you relax and smile, you are not fun to dance with. You will certainly make no money for the cause tonight in this mood.”

It might be uncharitable of me, but it’s hard to think about someone else’s cause when my own is falling apart. And the fact that he takes no responsibility for crushing my dreams simply to get off really annoys me.

“Go to hell, Palavin!” I stalk past him.

He grabs my arm. “You are angry. I fucked up, yes. I am sorry. I know what this means to you. But no matter how much I apologize, no matter that we have become friends in the past year, will you forgive me? Stand by me? By tomorrow, will you hold auditions for a new partner? Everyone knows that anyone you deem a liability to your ambition is quickly replaced. That and your standoffishness is the reason your dance card is empty tonight.”

I gape at him. “There’s nothing wrong with being driven. And I’m shy.”

“Among other things.” He raises a brow at me. “In the past, I have defended you, but now… Have a lovely time alone.”

Kristoff storms out, and I’m left alone with my thoughts. The room suddenly feels too small, too stifling. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—flushed cheeks, bright eyes, chest heaving slightly. Despite my anger and fear, there’s an undeniable spark of something else. Excitement? Curiosity?

For a fleeting moment, I wonder what it would be like to let go, to experience the kind of uninhibited pleasure I saw in that video. To feel a man’s hands on my body, to be the center ofattention in a very different way than I’m used to on the dance floor.

I’ve lost my mind.

I shake my head to dispel those ridiculous thoughts and prepare to face tonight’s charity dance crowd alone.

2

Alejandro

“Are you staring at thatrameraagain?”

Scowling, I tear my gaze away from Shanna York as she crosses the room. Her sinfully short, silvery costume clings in all the right places and complements her cool complexion. But her brittle smile tells me she’s angry or upset…something. Instantly, I want to fix whatever distresses her until that smile is real.

“Mamá, you’ve been listening to gossip. We don’t know Ms. York well enough to comment on her character.”

In fact, I’ve only met Shanna once…and it didn’t go well. But I’ve looked enough to know I want her fiercely. Tonight, she’s tucked up her soft blond hair in a complicated yet demure twist. I’m already devising ways I can unpin it, run my fingers through it, and grip it in my fists while I devour her soft, bee-stung lips. Her blue eyes project not only a strength that draws me and a vulnerability that demands I protect her, but a repressed sensuality that makes me ache to fuck her until she screams. Andthe way she moves her killer body when she dances…Dios mío, she’s like watching sex set to music.

Mamá sniffs. “You know her reputation.”

Everyone does. She may give off ice princess vibes—the reason some, including my mother, turn their nose up at her—but I’m convinced Shanna hides her insecurities behind that facade. And I would love to see her melt for me. I want to know the real her.

My cock stirs, and I shift uncomfortably, grateful for the dim lighting of the ballroom. The crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over the dance floor, the light shimmering off sequined gowns and polished shoes. The air is thick with anticipation and old money.

“Are you excited for tonight?” I change the subject as I guide Mamá through a gentle waltz. But my eyes follow Shanna like a man obsessed.

Probably because I am.

Fantasies fill my brain. I picture myself peeling away her glittering costume, revealing inch after tantalizing inch of creamy skin. I’m dying to take her to my club, Sneak Peek, tie her up with silken ropes and watch her body quiver with need as I tease her mercilessly. Would she moan my name as I stuff her pussy with every hard inch I’ve got? Would she get off wondering if others are watching her come undone under my touch?

The questions make me painfully hard.

Mamá sends me a disapproving stare. “Mijo,there are other single women here, beautiful ones. Good Catholic girls.”

Yes, and I’ve met them all. They’re pretentious and vapid as hell.

“And yet you focus on therubia.” Mamá sighs.

I love my mother, and I owe her everything. As a single parent, she endured and persevered through so much while sheraised me. But guilt won’t convince me to give up on Shanna before I know how she feels under me.

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