Page 30 of Dirty Play

It’s her.

I see her the second she steps through the double doors, her blonde hair catching the pulsing lights like it was spun to trap every man’s attention in the room, including mine.

My eyes drag from her black heels, up her bare legs, to the little black dress that stops just below her upper thigh. The V-cut of her dress is low, leaving her sternum exposed. The swell of her full breasts is visible enough to make a man go crazy. By the time my eyes reach her smoky eyes, blood is already rushing to my cock.

Fuck, she looks devastating.

When our eyes meet, it feels like someone’s cranked the temperature up a few degrees. She looks away almost immediately, but I don’t. I keep my gaze locked on her, unapologetic, daring her to look back.

She stops at the base of the stairs, looking back at me like she’s deciding whether to come closer or turn and hide.

For one wild second, I think maybe she should. Hide. Get the hell away from me before I ruin her.

But I know she won’t. Livia doesn’t run.

And I can’t stop watching.

That dress should come with a warning. The thin straps, the slight overflow of her breasts that makes it impossible not to imagine pulling it off her, the slit up the side that’s one wrong move away from baring her soul, it’s enough to make my blood pound harder than the bass shaking the walls.

She’s a walking contradiction. Fire and frost. Strong enough to take me on but still flustered when I get too close. I hate what she’s doing to me.

No. I hate that Ilikeit.

I’m a determined son of a bitch. And right now, Livia Moody is my goal. Get her to give in. Break the moral clause and remove her from my team and my life. That’s the only reason she’s under my skin. That’s the only reason I can’t stop thinking about her.

Except, I know that’s bullshit.

And judging by the way my pulse kicks up when she starts walking up the stairs, slow and deliberate, I’m completely fucked.

The second her heel hits the final step, the guys notice her.

“Livia!” someone shouts, followed by a chorus of cheers.

The idiots are loud enough for their voices to be heard over the music for a second. Livia doesn’t flinch. She just keeps walking, her chin up, that black satin dress begging for attention and getting every fucking ounce of it.

I don’t join in. Neither does Ares, who’s brooding a few feet away, a tumbler in his hand and murder in his eyes.

The rest of the team? They’re all over her.

“Damn, you clean up nice!” one of the rookies calls out, earning him a raised brow from Livia.

“Glad to see all the puppies showed up,” she shouts over the music, her hips swaying like she owns the whole damn club.

It’s the kind of confidence that’s designed to level a man.

And fuck me if it isn’t working.

She makes the rounds, saying hi to the guys. But she doesn’t stay long. She’s got a purpose, and it becomes painfully clear when she turns and heads straight for the bar.

Straight for me.

I don’t move. I just lean back, arms crossed over my chest, watching her approach like she’s walking into my trap.

But when she finally reaches me, I’m the one who feels trapped.

“Hey.” Her voice is tight, barely audible over the music, but it’s enough to make my pulse hammer against my ribs.

“Hello.” I keep my tone deliberately flat, but it doesn’t stop her from shifting on her heels, glancing away before turning to the bartender.

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