Page 34 of Dirty Play

“Dance with me,” I murmur, my voice low and rough, “and I’ll do the second interview without a single complaint.”

Her body goes still, her eyes narrowing as she looks up at me. I can see the wheels turning in her head, weighing her options, trying to decide if this is worth it.

Finally, she exhales sharply, her shoulders relaxing just enough.

“No complaints, and you’ll behave?” she asks, still deciding if she should give in.

“Yes, ma’am.” I nod, leaning down until my mouth is leveled with her ear. “I’ll be a good boy.”

Her lips part, and she sucks in a breath at my words, goosebumps appearing on her skin.

Before she can say anything, I guide her further into the crowd, where the music is louder, the lights darker, and the bodies closer.

The beat shifts, wrapping around us like a pulse. I pull her against me, my hand splayed across her lower back, keeping her there.

She’s stiff at first, her movements hesitant, but then the music takes over, and she starts to relax. Her hips sway, her hands tentatively finding my shoulders, and I feel her breath hitch when my fingers skim the bare skin of her back.

“Relax,” I say, leaning down so my lips are just above her ear. “Do I look like I bite?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” she asks, her lips close to my ear. I can hear the nerves in her voice, and I can feel what I am doing to her. And it only makes me want to push further.

I tighten my grip on her waist, pulling her even tighter, and she gasps softly, her hands curling into the fabric of my shirt.

“Do you want me to bite?” I say, my mouth curving into a smug grin. “Is that what you’re into, little hellcat?”

Her head tilts up, her eyes meeting mine, and I see it. I see the fire, the fight, and underneath it all, the way her pupils dilate, the way her lips part ever so slightly.

She hates this.

She hates me.

But she can’t stop herself, just like I can’t stop myself.

“I told you to stop messing with me,” she says, trying to mask the effect I have on her.

“I’m not messing with you, Livia.” I lean down, my lips brushing against her ear again. “I want to make a messofyou.”

Her breath catches as she looks at me, her eyes threatening to pop out of her pretty face.

But the damage is done. I know it, and she feels it.

Livia thinks she hates me. But hate has a way of burning close to something else. And I see it every time her lips part, her breath catches, and her body leans into mine before her pride pulls it back.

The plan is working.

She’ll break that goddamn moral clause, and she’ll break it with me. Because once she does, she’s out. Out of my hair, out of my life, out of every waking thought that she’s been invading like a goddamn parasite.

That was the plan.

But now…now, I’m not so sure.

Because when I look at her—wild, proud, and determined—I don’t just want to ruin her anymore.

I want to keep her. I want to protect her.

And that’s the most dangerous thought I’ve ever had.

Chapter eleven

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