Page 112 of The Night Shift
I glance at his hand — the same hand that was around my throat less than six hours ago — then back at his face, which seems impassive as ever except for his lips that are quirked up to one side, the only proof that he’s enjoying this. Whateverthisis. I scoff and turn the other way.
“Is that a yes?”
“No.”
“Why not?” He reels his hand back in.
“Because I’d rather gargle with broken glass than feel you touching me again.” The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them with every fiber of my being.Again.Not justtouching me,period.Again.As in I’m still thinking about the last time you touched me in the hospital storage closet.
I take a large swig of my martini and Theo steps in front of me, allowing himself the faintest smirk. “It’s just a dance, love. I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
“As if that’s stopped you before.”
His smile grows. “Come on, Holly. It’s not very ladylike to keep a man waiting.”
“Is it ladylike to gouge said man’s eyes out because he won’t stop bothering me?”
“No, but I wouldn’t object if you tried.”
“Please leave me alone.”
“Begging already? How many of those have you had?”
“Enough to not care who sees me playing with your blood right now.”
I swear he fucking moans. “Why won’t you dance with me, Holly?”
“Because I’m not crazy.” I take another sip of my drink.
“Darling, you’re positively insane.”
“Because I don’t dance. There. Is that good enough for you to fuck off and annoy someone else?”
It isn’t. He steps closer, the tips of our shoes brushing. A sharp jolt of electricity races up my spine, igniting every nerve like a live wire. “Don’t worry, Hollister,” he drawls. “Despite what you might think of me, I’m actually pretty good at it. Even took lessons as a child. I won’t let you fall. Promise.”
“Promises from my stalker don’t really mean much to me.” I hate how shaky my voice sounds. Hate how his proximity — his fucking presence makes mefeel. “But if you want to dance so badly, you’re more than welcome to do so with literally anyone else. Preferably someone who doesn’t hate the mere idea of your hands on her.”
The grin that spreads across his face is so infuriatingly smug, it almost feels like he can see straight through my lie. “Is that what you want? For another woman to put her hands on what clearly belongs to you?”
I force a scoff, ignoring the way those words make my pulse skip. “You do not belong to me.”
He inches even closer. The faintest hint of his cologne mingles with the warmth radiating from him, and I can actually feel the pull of gravity shifting, drawing me toward him despite every screaming warning in my head. He bends down slowly, his lips hovering dangerously close to my ear, not touching. Not even a little bit.
His fingers slide through the lace loops of my corset. My breath hitches.
He doesn’t grab, doesn’t pull; he simply threads them there, and fuck I wish he would just tug me closer, press his body against mine — anything to bridge the distance between us.
His voice comes out low and rough. “God, but I really fucking want to.”
My heart quite literally stumbles over itself as he pulls back, his eyes locked on mine. He takes the glass from my hand and brings it to his lips, sipping slowly, his mouth brushing the rim where mine had just been. Then, without another word, he hands me back the glass, slides a hand into his pocket, and saunters toward a group of women near the dance floor.
I clench my fists, nails biting into my palms, desperate for something—anything—to ground me.
What the hell just happened?
He zeroes in on a brunette dressed as Wonder Woman and it takes him all of four seconds to coax her into giving him her hand.
The song changes into something slow as he guides her to the dance floor with one hand resting low on her back. The second they reach the edge of the dance floor, Wonder Woman tries to weave her way to the center, but Theo stops her with a light grip on her elbow, pulling her back. He keeps them near the edge — close enough for people to see. Close enough for me to see.
