Page 5 of The One Night Match
I don’t know what it is about this stranger, but I can’t bring myself to lie to her.
She reaches for the shots and hands one to me before clinking the glasses against one another. “To escaping.”
We both swallow down our shots, and I press my eyes closed for a long moment, reveling in the way the liquor burns.
Discomfort is something most people avoid, but not me.
Being uncomfortable reminds us of how much we have to lose, and that’s something I always welcome.
When I drag my eyes open, she’s staring right at me like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve. Maybe she’s one of those girls who think they can change every asshole they meet.
But there’s no changing a man like me.
My soul is as black as the ink that marks my skin, and for the first time in my life, I’m not sure I like it.
She reaches toward me and grasps my hand. “Let’s dance.”
I don’t get a chance to refuse her before she tugs me toward the dance floor, her tight little ass swaying to the beat.
This is the biggest test of my restraint in…ever.
THREE
RILEY
The alcohol has made me much more confident than normal.
I’ve never been much of a drinker, but I can hold my alcohol better than most women my size, which means I’m less susceptible to hangovers.
Thank the lord.
Because I don’t think I’d be able to drag myself down the aisle tomorrow if I felt like death warmed up.
The tattooed mystery man I’m dragging toward the dance floor doesn’t show as much resistance as I expect him to, and before I know it, we’re in the center of the writhing bodies, dancing to a song I’ve never heard in my life.
My music taste is basically the opposite of what is usually played in clubs, but with the alcohol warming me from the inside out, and a sinfully hot man to dance with, I couldn’t care less.
I downed what was left of my drink on my way to the dance floor, and when his hands grasp my hips, tugging me against his body, I realize he must have done the same.
He’s all muscle beneath the black suit, and I can’t help but lean into his hardness. God, a man like this would ruin me, and I bet every cent of my trust fund that I would love every second.
Our bodies move in time with the music, and every now and then, his fingers flex on my hips, dragging my too-short skirt up another inch.
“I’m not usually the possessive type, Kitten, but every time I spot another man looking your way, I get the urge to tear his eyes from their sockets,” he rasps against the shell of my ear, and an involuntary shiver moves through my body.
The pet name should piss me off. I know that. But for some reason, the word on his lips is like a live wire straight to my core.
I don’t need to know this man’s name to know he’s dangerous, and yet that danger calls to me like a moth to a flame.
Despite growing up as a Mafia princess, I’ve always tried to stay away from things that hurt me. It was drilled into me all my life that I needed to always be on high alert because the moment I let my guard down, someone could take me. Someone could use me as a pawn against the family.
Never mind that the people who were supposed to keep me safe were often the same ones I needed protection from.
His lips press to the side of my throat, pulling my attention from my thoughts and dragging a soft moan from my lips.
Fuck.
I can’t think straight when he’s touching me.
