Page 52 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

I curled my fingers into her hair along the base of her skull. Cornsilk over unending heat. The kind that would leave me like scorched earth.

Her gaze dropped to my mouth before bouncing back to lock with mine. “Easier isn’t always better.”

“It is when it comes to you, duchess.” I lowered my mouth to hers before I could think better of it. Her fingers curled into my ancient thermal shirt, pressing hard enough to tattoo the pattern on my chest.

Another scar to wear. One I’d take willingly right now.

Her other arm hooked over my shoulder to pull me in, her sweet, smooth skin dragging over the scars on my neck.

I jerked back, staggering away from her to wipe at my mouth. It was no use, her taste was branded there. That night in the piano bar had been me touching her on my terms. She’d been faced away from me.

She couldn’t see me.

Couldn’t understand the whole of what she’d unleashed.

“Whatever you may think of me, I’m not into games.” She slipped around the upright piano and down the stairs to the maze of tables set up for one of the smaller concerts. Drinks and a show. Easy, small town charm without artifice.

Not anything like the night we’d played to a standing room only house.

“If you’re not into games, then why do you keep running?” I called out to her. My voice was little more than a hoarse whisper at the best of times, but I’d shouted for her.

She stopped and turned back to me. “Because if I don’t get away from you, I’m going to murder you.”

I laughed, then shoved my hands into my pockets. Mostly to ease the ache of my raging hard-on, but also because the idea that this sweet and mostly sheltered woman could hurt me was ridiculous.

Oh, but she could scrape you to the bone, boyo.

That wiped the rare smile off my face.

She whirled around and the swift click of her heels filled the room. The sound even drowned out my stampeding heart and the roar of dread in my ears.

She shoved chairs and tables out of her way as she returned to me. “You think you know who I am. There are very few people whom I call friend. Logan King happens to be one.”

Why did she have to keep mentioning his fucking name? Even with my taste fresh on her lips, his name was there.

“Oh, I just bet.” My hands bunched into fists in my pockets. “Tell me, duchess, just how friendly have the two of you been?”

Twelve

God, he made me crazy.

“A friend. Just a friend. He’s never been more than that. Ever.” Why couldn’t he understand that? Was he that thick or just incapable of listening?

“Except that once, right?”

I narrowed my gaze at him as I climbed the stairs. I’d never wanted to rip into another man as I did Alexander Nash. He made my skin heat and my heart beat double-time, but he also made no sense. One minute, he was taunting me, the next, he was kissing me.

Whiplash wasn’t a strong enough word.

“Is this your version of jealousy?”

His spine snapped straight and he stood at his full height. Just a few inches taller than me in my heels.

“Is that what drives you crazy? The idea of me with someone else?”

His otherworldly eyes went hot, but he said nothing.

Was that the problem here? Why?

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