Page 10 of Tempting Little Thief

In a few long strides, he’s a sway away from me, and this time, it’s he who tsks his tongue.

My left brow pops up. “Do you or do you not want a drink?”

“I want your hands where I can see them more.”

Smart, considering I was going for the weapon strapped to the underside of the shelf behind me.

Lifting my palms into the air, I wiggle my fingers and he creeps closer. “But I’m just a good girl who does what she’s told. What threat could I be to a big bad boy like you?” I push my lips into a fake pout.

“Uh-huh.” He keeps coming until he’s but a foot away, his arms stretching out, hands gripping the edge of the marble at my back. This close, I’m forced to drink him in, from his dark hair to hisdarkdemeanor.

His hair is as black as obsidian, shiny like glass, and a moppy mess on top, though smooth and short on the sides. Hewears it slightly slicked, but a few pieces have fallen forward, hanging just long enough to create a shadow over his right eye, drawing attention to the slim white scar over his left. His brows are thick, lashes long and sweeping, and his eyes a startling shade of celestine stone.

The invader stares for several silent moments, his eyes nearly too bright to stare into, but it has nothing to do with his mood.

He’s bored at best.

“You know why I’m here?” he asks.

“To perve in a corner while an unsuspecting female undresses?”

“Right. That part.” His gaze lowers, and it doesn’t stop a small frown building along his forehead. “What kind of schoolgirl wears lace and them clip things under her uniform?”

“Clip things?” I deadpan. “Seriously? Have you never bought a girl lingerie?”

Attention still on my body, he says, “Do I look like someone who needs lingerie?”

“Aw.” I pretend to pout and his eyes snap up to my lips. “Of course someone like you would assume risqué negligee had a single thing to do with whatyouneed. What a selfish lover you must be.”

His jaw flexes, and I refuse to react when he jerks even closer, my body now pinned between his and the heavy furniture behind me. For being as trim as he appears, the muscles pressed against me inadvertently reveal there’s much more to be seen.

I could easily escape his adorable attempt at an intimidation trap, but he doesn’t know that, and I kind of want to see how far he’ll push.

Why?

No idea. Maybe because no one ever pushes.

No one ever does a damn thing without asking for permission, but this guy?

I wonder if he’s ever asked for anything in his life. He strikes me as the impulsive type, so really he’s not the only fool in this scenario because if he’s as slick as whatever trick he used to get in here, he could ram a knife into my lungright here, right now. No one would know some emo, grunge, rapper-looking boy toy ended me until they came asking why I never made it down for Delta’s performance.

What Ishoulddo is beat him to the punch, knee him in the nuts, grip the decanter to my right and smash his pretty, scarred face in.

Yet, something keeps me from moving an inch, even when he does.

Hands still flat on the bar top, he slides them farther back, his chest now firm against my own, but I merely lift my chin in challenge.

A hint of amusement flickers in his gaze, sparking something within me. Something reckless and bound to backfire.

“Does the princess wanna find out howselfishI can be?” he offers, but his tone is falsely flippant.

Someone’s confident, but somehow, it’s not in the usual way. I get the feeling if I laughed at him or went with the obvious attempt to tear him down, like pointing out the well-worn shoes on his feet or the faded, threadbare jeans stretched over his thighs, he’d go full-on Eminem in8 Mileon me, lay all his shit out and let you judge, becausefuck you.

Or that’s what I imagine he would say.

It’s in the steady way he stares and the playful yet purposeful manner he moves.

It’s the fact that he’s here right now at all, while half the state’s biggest crime families pretend to enjoy each other’s company on the other side of this wall.

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