Page 140 of Silver Elite

And every touch pushes me into a deeper state of arousal. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.

I’m unsure of the role I’m supposed to play. I’m here for a job, essentially asking to be a prostitute, but I’m also supposed to be new to this line of work, a naïve girl from the wards. I glance toward the bar.

Shenise doesn’t look impressed by my performance. Damn it.

The young men at the next table scrape their chairs back. As they pass us, they nod toward Cross in a respectful gesture, one of them murmuring, “Captain Redden.”

“Redden?” I echo in surprise.

He nods. His lips twitch with humor.

“Are you related to the General?”

“I’m his son.”

Our eyes lock for a moment, and I feel his gaze like a physical touch.

With the hint of a smile, he brushes his hand over his ear and mutters, “Cease comm.”

He’s shut off our feed.

Which means we’re no longer transmitting to Command when he leans in to drawl in my ear.

“I was wrong before. You make a very good whore, Dove.”

I bristle. I wish I could punch him in the face. I stroke it instead. He tenses, just slightly, as I trace the line of his jaw, his stubble gliding beneath my fingertips. Then a lazy smile plays at the corners of his lips. The dimple appears, and I feel a sense of satisfaction that I’m the one who made it happen.

“The bartender says you’re a regular customer,” I tell him, quirking a brow. “I didn’t peg you as someone who pays for it.”

“For drinks?” He lifts his glass. “I can’t exactly waltz in and steal them.”

“You’ve never been upstairs?”

“No.” He seems amused. “And if I had?”

“Whatever gets you off.”

“I’m easy to please,” he says, his lips brushing against my earlobe.

For a moment, I lose myself in the intoxicating allure of the charade. That I want to be on his lap. That I’m here to entertain him.

The heat of his body sears through the fabric of my dress. His hands find their way to my waist, pulling me even closer. His nearness is unbearable.

Pulse racing, I bring my mouth to his ear and whisper, “How long do I have to sit on you?”

“For as long as I fucking tell you to,” he whispers back.

My jaw tightens. I force it to relax, pasting on a hesitant smile. A very sweet, proper Gilly smile. But the way he’s looking at me is not at all sweet or proper.

As his hand strokes my thigh, he fixes his gaze on my face, and I see a flicker of bewilderment there.

“What?”

“Your eyes…That color. It’s like…” He pauses, thinking. “Liquid gold,” he finishes. “With flecks of sunlight dancing in it.”

I can’t help but laugh. “I was trying to describe a glass of pure whiskey earlier and I came up with a similar description. I think the whiskey is more impressive.”

“No. It’s not.”

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