Page 87 of Dance of Ruin

Not smiling.

Justwatching.

I sit up too fast and scramble to my feet, my pulse jackhammering.

Nico still doesn’t move. He’s sitting dead center, elbows resting on the arms of the theater seat, his piercing blue eyes locked on me making me feel exposed.

Both wanted, and not.

After last night, I don’t know what I am to him anymore: a virgin? A slut? Adisappointment?

“How long have you been there?” I manage to whisper.

“Long enough to know you don’t fucking leave my head, even though I want you to.”

My breath catches in my throat.

It’s not what I expected from the man who walked away last night without touching me. But with those words, he’s cracked open something raw inside me. Something that pulses low in my belly, like a bruise being touched.

I don’t know what to say. Don’t know what tothink.

I’m not supposed to want this. I’m not supposed to crave his jealousy like it's affection. It’s sick and shameful and laced with something I don’t even have the language for.

But I do, and I feel it blaze to life like a match struck inside my chest.

“Come here.”

Nico’s voice is low, a dark drawl purring from the semi-darkness of the front row, sliding under my skin and coiling hot in my belly.

I hesitate.

He lifts a warning brow.

Slowly, I start to walk toward him. My legs feel shaky under me, but I move to the front of the stage, step by step, until I’m standing near the edge of it, looking down at him, my breath coming quickly.

I watch him watch me, the moment stretching out silently until the feeling of being poised before a drop almost overwhelms me.

Just as I'm opening my mouth to say something, he speaks.

“Take off your tights.”

He cocks his head, eyes dark.

“I don’t like to share what’s mine,” he continues. His voice is quiet, but it lands like a whip. “I don’t even like tothinkabout sharing what’s mine.”

Oh God, he’s talking about the video again.

“Nico,” I begin, voice shaky. “I didn’t?—”

He holds up a finger.

“I have no interest in talking about pasts,” he growls. “What I give a shit about isright the fuck now.”

He sinks back in his seat in the shadows and looks up at me like he’s decidingexactlyhow to devour me whole.

“So: take off your fucking tights. And then sit on the edge of that stage and spread your fucking legs for me like a good girl.”

For a full five seconds, I don’t even breathe. I stand there frozen, trying to force my throat to swallow the lump caught in it his eyes pin me in place.

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