Page 40 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

“Are you going to cooperate?” the pit boss pleads.

“Yup.”

Swallowing, I stand from my chair and subtly tug on the ripped Rolling Stones crop top I’m wearing in hopes of covering the exposed skin on my stomach and back. I’d been fine with the outfit when I walked into the Charlette, but now that I’m mere inches away from this guy, I wish I hadn’t dressed so vulnerably.

With a sullen expression, the pit boss raises his hand to guide me where I need to go. When his palm brushes against the bare skin along my lower back, I flinch away, and I’m surprised when he drops it back to his side.

“This way, ma’am.”

Shocked that he didn’t take advantage of making me feel uncomfortable, I glance over my shoulder to see his face an ashy gray color.

“Everything okay?”

I don’t know why I’m asking. The guy’s an ass.

“Of course.” His gaze shifts back to the corridor where I know I’ll find Kingston. Curiously, I follow his subtle glance to see the guy I can’t stop thinking about practically made from stone. His anger is almost palpable from all the way over here.

I nearly stumble from its intensity, but the pit boss urges me forward.

“Go on.”

With a grimace, I do as I’m told and scurry toward the same hallway I’d been guided to when I met Kingston for the first time. When I reach Kingston’s side, he presses the elevator button then leans forward and whispers something to the pit boss while completely ignoring that I exist. My ears strain to hear what’s said. Even though the slot machines are loud, and Kingston is talking quietly, I can still make out his comment.

“Touch her bare flesh again, and you lose a hand. Understand, Charles?”

“Yes, sir,” the pit boss, who’s apparently named Charles, mumbles. “It won’t happen again.”

With a cold, hard nod, Kingston turns to me and clearly dismisses Charles with the sight of his back before gently running the tips of his fingers along the hem of my shirt and across my belly button.

“This,”—my stomach quivers under his touch—“is a new look.”

“You said you like skin.”

“Did I say I liked it when you showed it around others?” he counters, referring to the pit boss from seconds ago.

Pursing my lips, I reply, “I’m going to ignore the caveman comment that deserves a knee to your balls.” He smirks as I continue. “Do you like Punk Rock Ace?”

Lazily, he scans me up and down before tugging on a blonde strand of hair. “Blonde suits you. It’s different, though. I can’t decide what I prefer.”

Of course, blonde suits me. It’s my natural hair color, but he doesn’t need to know that. I open my mouth to give him a snarky reply about his barbaric views on my ensemble when the elevator dings behind us, interrupting our innocent flirting.

He guides me inside with his hand pressed against my lower back. The heat of his palm scorches me as I follow his orders and step inside. We’ve only been together for a couple of minutes, but I can’t help but notice how he hasn’t been able to stop touching me since the moment I was escorted into the hallway where he was waiting for me. Whether it was my stomach, my hair, or my back, he’s kept me close. And I kind of like it. It makes me feel powerful. Strong. Like maybe one day, I just might be able to own this man the way he owns everyone else around him.

But that’s scary thinking for a girl like me. I don’t want things. I’ve never allowed myself to. Yet, as I glance behind me at the man who’s stolen all my thoughts, a few dreams start to take hold.

Shaking off the desire that floods through me at something I can’t have, I quip, “Then I guess it’s a good thing my hair color isn’t up to you, now is it?”

The elevator is lined with mirrors on all sides, and it gives me a perfect view of the man who’s way too far out of my league. His hair is mussed as if he’s run his fingers through it one too many times this evening, but his red tie is perfectly knotted around his neck, and his jaw looks freshly shaved. But I bet it would still be prickly against my fingertips if I dared to turn around and brush them against it. My hands itch to do exactly that, but by some miracle, I keep my arm at my side and my back pressed against his front.

“Careful,” he growls, leaning forward until I can feel his breath against the shell of my ear as he stands behind me. “If I decide I want something, I can be very persuasive.”

I watch him in the mirror-lined walls of the elevator. The power that emanates from him is almost enough to bring me to my knees, and my palms grow sweaty at the thought.

“Is that right?” I ask, holding his gaze through the reflection.

“Yeah.” With a slide of his hand against my waist, he spins me around then pins me between his groin and the cool wall behind me. “Would you like me to give you a demonstration?”

“For someone who rules with an iron fist, you’re quite accommodating to my wishes,” I murmur as his lips graze my ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth.

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