Page 11 of Ramsay

Ramsay chuckles above me, and I turn my gaze to his face, mesmerized by the beauty staring back at me. He’s like a sculpture, all icy lines, and peaks.

Why is he so cold? Does he have fucked up parents too? Or maybe he was born missing pieces of his soul?

Searching his face, I come back with no answers, only the deep-seated knowledge that he’s broken, maybe even beyond repair and to my disappointment, his attention isn’t on me, meaning this little maneuver wasn’t about me, but Patrick.

With a wry smile, I shake my head at my naïveté and glance behind us in the direction he's looking to see Diem’s cornered Patrick near the bathroom.

What could Patrick have done to gain the unwanted attention of Diem McCafferty? Is this why Ramsay was at the party a few weeks ago?

Who knows, with these guys it could be anything, but whatever the cause, Patrick will soon regret it.

They disappear out of sight and expecting Ramsay to do the same, I turn back to him with a surge of melancholy because, of course, he’s not interested in me. The Sinners avoid the cheerleaders like they’re diseased, which in many ways they are, so he’ll never see me as anything more than what I pretend to be.

But my eyes clash with his pale blue peepers when I face him, and inexplicably, my cheeks heat because there’s a curious intensity to his gaze, as though he’s dissecting me under a microscope.

This is why I shouldn’t want these guys' attention because if they see more than I want to share, I’m screwed. Still, I’m caught in his stare while he studies me, for what I don’t know, but then the interest fades, and even though he’s holding me loosely in his arms, he might as well be across the room.

“Disappointed?” He rasps and I stiffen in his grasp. Did I give myself away?

“Don’t worry, love. Patrick will have most of his appendages when we’re done, hm.”

“Huh?”

Patrick? Who cares about Patrick?

My stomach whooshes when he chuckles and I bite the inside of my mouth as he says, “He’ll still be able to get you off, love.”

Gross.

Snorting, I can’t help my scowl as I say, “Oh, hardly.”

“No?” he asks, his eyes flashing, before he looks over my shoulder again.

“You can go,” I say softly.

He turns back to me and raises his brow. “Oh?”

“Yes,” I say, clearing my throat, “it’s obvious this is about Patrick.”

Although his lip curls at the corner, the simulated amusement doesn’t reach his eyes, and suppressing a shiver, I glance away only to gasp when he pulls me flush against him.

“On the contrary, I’m enjoying this dance more than you know,” he murmurs, bucking his erection against my stomach.

Holy shit. It’s close enough to the promised land that I moan, hoping he doesn’t hear. But no, his eyes light with fire and his hands tighten around my waist as he spins me around and leads me to a dark corner before pushing me against a wall.

Exhaling shakily, I squirm under his stare. Is he playing me? The Sinners don’t touch us, it’s a known fact. This must be about something else.

Swallowing my disappointment, I raise my chin to speak but lose my train of thought when his mouth curves and he runs his finger over my bottom lip.

Maybe this is a ploy, but I want a taste. Just one. Is that so bad?

Ramsay’s nostrils flare before he dips down and I meet him halfway, opening eagerly. His wicked tongue tangles with mine.

Tingles cascade down my spine, spin in my belly, and roll through my core rapidly. It’s everything I thought it would be and more.

Lost to the sensation, I arch into him, but I’m met with cold air. When I open my eyes, I find the heat in his stare replaced by a cool detachment. And before I can catch up to the abrupt change, he pulls away, and says in a courtly manner, “My thanks for the dance.”

Bewildered, I stare after him as he walks away, my core still pulsing wildly.

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