Page 7 of Catch You

“Desperate?”

She laughs again. “I was going to say full-on. Everyone around us seems to be coupling up,” she says, flicking a look over to where they’re standing with their girls. “She’s just feeling a little … left behind.”

“And she thought I might get her up to speed?”

I watch her lips, enthralled as she purses them to take a sip of her drink. “You have no idea. She’s been going on and on about meeting you since Milo told her you’d first moved here.”

“Why? I could be a right arsehole.” A smile curls at her lips.

“The accent,” she says, like it should be obvious. “She was hoping you’d talk all sexy to her.” Harlow rolls her eyes at her friend’s insanity. “So, are you?”

“Am I what? Going to talk all sexy to her?” I drop the tone of my voice and delight when the roughness of it makes her pupils dilate. My brows pull together as I cast my mind back over our conversation, trying to figure out what she’s asking me.

“No. Anarsehole,” she says, adorably trying to mimic my accent.

“Some would probably say I am. Others not so much.”

“Cryptic.”

Closing more of the space between us, I reach out and tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Maybe you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

Her lips part but no words come out as my fingertip brushes the shell of her ear. “I … um …”

I search her eyes, trying to read her. She seems reluctant, yet there’s something there. Something wild that I know is screaming to get out.

Our connection holds before she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and my gaze drops to watch.

“Harlow,” that familiar voice calls from somewhere. “We’re going to dance. You coming?”

My eyes jump back up to hers. I want to ask her to stay here with me, but I’ve just met her; I’ve got no right to even suggest keeping her away from her friends and colleagues.

After another second, she rips her eyes from mine and looks at Brooke, who holds her hand out.

I stand back, allowing her some space. She downs her drink before giving me a small smile and walking towards her friend.

Her arse sways as she makes her way over, and my trousers suddenly seem a little too tight as I imagine what, if any, underwear she’s got on beneath. When I look up, I find Brooke watching me.

Her eyes are narrowed, and I’m not sure if it’s jealousy or a warning.

3

HARLOW

“Have you just stolen my Brit?” Brooke asks after pulling me into the middle of the packed dance floor. Along with a group of other Vipers employees, we left the VIP section in favor of bumping and grinding with the rest of the club.

“We were just talking,” I say innocently, trying to forget the tingles that erupted within me every time he looked at me, or the way my temperature spiked at his touch.

“Oh yeah, just talking,” she mocks. “You didn’t see the way he watched your ass as we walked away from him. I told you that dress was pure gold.”

“I’m not interested, B. You know I don’t need a man.”

“Who said anything about needing one? No oneneedsa man; we’re all perfectly capable without one. But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t do with one to help us let our hair down every so often … before he pulls on it as we scream his name.”

“I don’t want that, either,” I argue, hoping it’s dark enough down here that she doesn’t see the color staining my cheeks as the image she’s just conjured up takes over my thoughts. His strong, tattooed arms, his fingers threaded in my hair as I climb toward…

Nope, don’t go there.

“You’re only lying to yourself, and you know it. Give yourself a night off. Let go of the tension. Trust me; you’ll thank me for it in the morning,” she sings.

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