Page 27 of Salvatore

I don’t wait for a response. I shoulder past people, making my way from the main part of the club to the entry hall.

My pulse kicks at the sight of her about to escape past the front doors, her stride adamant, her shoulders war-ready.

“Ivy,” I call over the music.

She stops dead in her tracks and turns to face me, fierce, wild, intoxicating.

There’s something about her hatred that has the ability to double-fist my balls in the most pleasurable way.

I normally wouldn’t paint myself as a masochist, but here I stand, fucking eager to claim more of her wrath.

“Leaving so soon?” I drawl.

She storms toward me, a violent hurricane of malice. “Where’s Olivia?”

This time I actually attempt not to taunt her with a grin. I fight the urge for a solid three seconds, but the curve of lips wins out. “You might want to tone down the crazy and tell your facial expressions to use their inside voice. It’s not helping your cause.”

“You haven’t glimpsed crazy yet.” She steps up to me, her chin tilted slightly to meet my height. “And I’m not sure where you got the impression that messing with me is a good idea. But it’s safer to fuck around in traffic than it is to fuck around with me,niñito.”

Niñito?

I don’t need a translation or even knowledge of what language she’s used to become more infatuated. This queen has her hands all over my libido, notching me higher with every interaction.

“Where’s Olivia?” she demands.

“She’s safe.”

“Bullshit. Where did you take her?Whydid you take her?”

“I was merely the chauffeur. This has nothing to do with me.”

Her eyes narrow, her dark irises scrutinizing as a couple passes us on their way into the club. “She was inyourcar.Crying. If you think for one second that I won’t go to the cops?—”

I step into her, making her stumble in retreat, backing her into the velvet wallpaper of the entry hall. “Have you ever threatened someone like me before, Ivy? Because you’re inching so fucking close to being in my crosshairs and once you’re there, you’ll never get out. I can promise you that.”

“The day I give a frick-frack-paddy-whack-good-goddamn fuck about your crosshairs is the same day I tango barefoot through a cactus field with a smile on my face. Olivia is all I have. Intimidation won’t make me give up on her,” she says with conviction, with such pure adamance, her chest puffed, that I fucking believe her.

Maybe she’s crazy after all.

And I’m equally certifiable for craving more.

“Where is she?” Her scowl deepens, her hatred for me so thick and rich I can almost taste it. But there’s fear too. The slightest hint of chaotic panic in her midnight eyes.

I’m tempted to run my hand through her thick hair, to fist the long lengths and command her to my will by mere fingers through long strands.

I lean toward her ear, the faint scent of a fading perfume bleeding into my lungs. “What will I get in return for such valuable information?”

I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she stiffens further, her spine a rigid branch. Her deep swallow draws my attention, her slender throat the perfect handrail. Her breaths deepen, her chest rising and falling under my gaze.

If I wasn’t paying attention I could have mistaken her response to my proximity for fear. It’s the sheen of goose bumps across the tops of her breasts and the slight hint of hardened nipples beneath the funeral dress that cement her insanity.

She fucking wants me.

“I have nothing to give you,” she grates.

“We both know that’s a lie.” My head screams with the need to unravel her. To figure her out. To determine why there’s attraction when there should be nothing more than trepidation. “A few minutes between your thighs would be payment enough.”

“A few minutes?” she scoffs. “You could at least pretend to have game.”

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