Page 35 of Dirty Play

~LIVIA~

The bass thrums through my chest, but it’s Rowan’s touch that truly shatters my focus. His hand presses against the curve of my lower back, heat seeping through the thin fabric of my dress like a brand. His fingers don’t move, but their weight is enough to send a shockwave of awareness through me.

I swallow hard, keeping my eyes fixed somewhere, anywhere, but on him.

“Stop being unprofessional,” I say, but the words sound thin and unconvincing, even to me.

Rowan chuckles at my words, his head still bent down, and I hate how it sends a shiver down my spine. My body betrays me at every turn, my skin tingling where his thumb starts to move, just barely brushing a small circle against my back. The sensation is maddening and electric, making me hyper-aware of every point of contact.

He’s too close. Too solid. Too…Rowan.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” I try again, my voice sharper now, edged with the last shred of defiance I have left.

“Babysitting?” His words are lazy, but his hand isn’t. It slides just a fraction lower, tracing the line of my spine with a deliberate slowness that makes my breath hitch. “This doesn’t feel like babysitting to me.”

The heat in his voice matches the heat pooling low in my stomach, and I want to scream at my body for reacting this way. My pulse races, my thoughts scattering into chaos. I try to pull back and put some distance between us, but Rowan tightens his hold, subtle, firm, an unmistakable message.

His hand shifts again, this time brushing just below the hem of my dress, and I bite down hard on my lip to keep from gasping. The roughness of his palm against my bare skin sends a rush of heat spiraling through me, and my knees feel like they might buckle.

I hate how aware of him I am. His heat, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with whiskey and mint, and the sheer size of him towering over me. It’s too much. He’s too much, and yet, I can’t bring myself to move away.

The lightness of his touch is unbearable. It feels like he’s testing me, playing with me, and winning effortlessly.

“Your heart’s about to fly away.” His voice drops even lower, almost a growl against my ear. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No,” I choke out, though it sounds more like a gasp.

“No?” He pulls back just enough to look at me, and his gaze is molten, all dark heat and dangerous intent. His thumb moves again, one last slow, agonizing stroke along my waist. “Then you don’t mind if I do this.”

I feel the ghost of his lips against my neck. It’s not quite a kiss, but it’s close enough to send a spark shooting through me.

The sensation is enough for me to lose my balance, making me take a step back.

“That’s enough dancing,” I shout over the music now that there’s distance between us. I can’t do this. I can’t have him this close to me.

His eyes narrow, but they’re full of wicked amusement.

I bolt from the dancefloor before I combust. I get to the stairs and start taking two at a time, giving the bouncer a small nod as I hurry past him and into the private bathroom.

As soon as I close the door behind me, I lean back against it, trying to calm my breathing. I can still feel his fingers on me, his breath against my ear.

The bathroom is blissfully cool, the thrum of the music muffled behind the thick door. I walk over to the sink and grip the edge of the counter, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my lips parted, and my eyes…God, my eyes look wild.

I twist the faucet, letting cold water rush over my trembling hands. The shock of it against my skin helps a little, but not enough. My heart is still racing, my body still humming from his touch.

Rowan’s voice is in my head, dark and teasing, wrapping around me like a velvet chain I can’t break. His hands…his lips so close to my ear…

I splash some water on my neck, careful not to ruin my makeup.

“Get it together,” I mutter under my breath. “He’s just trying to mess with you.”

The door opens, and I look up to see his large frame.

I freeze as we lock eyes in the mirror.

His black shirt is still unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, his tattoos crawling up his arms and neck. My mouth waters, and I work to swallow.

“This is the ladies’ room,” I say, my voice steadier than I expect.

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