Page 133 of Tempting Little Thief

His chin lowers in warning, and he takes urgent, giant steps toward me.

My eyes fly wide as he grows closer, but my feet won’t move.

No, no, no … not here. Don’t do it. What the fuck is wrong with me?

He’s but ten feet away when my hands are caught. I’m spun and dragged halfway across the room, muscles tense, jaw clenched, Bronx and Delta whispering shit in my ears I can’t hear. As quickly as they come to me, we’re locked in the lavatory. They whirl me around and push me onto the tufted, round couch, glaring down at me.

“Do not even think about it,” Bronx warns. “Not tonight.”

“I can’t believe he’s here.” Delta looks between us. “He must be crazy.”

“He’s fucking insane!” I bury my face in my hands, snatching a pillow, and scream into it, keeping my face buried there while I count to fucking ten. Finally, I pull in a deep breath and I look up at my girls.

“What the fuck, I mean, right? What the fuck? He’s here, like seriously? All the deleting we did of the freaking surveillance, as stealth as I’ve been, hiding him away, and he shows up here? Of all places?”

“Girl, please. He was in The Game Room, in the school, and in themanor. He isn’t worried about being any kind of stealthy. The boy gives no fucks.”

“Maybe he’ll lie low, just watch?” Delta, the voice of reason. “People might think he’s simply her plus-one.”

Herplus-freaking-one? He’s notheranything!

My face must give me away, as Delta yelps when Bronx elbows her in the ribs.

I jump to my feet, remembering why my heels clicked in his direction in the first place. “How the fuck did Chloe Carpo get a ticket?”

“Her dad runs security for that Brayshaw family Bass works for. A trio of fine-ass brothers, from what I heard.” Bronx moves to the mirror, fluffing her curls. “Calvin said he extended the invite as a business courtesy, something about his daughter royally fucking up with the Brays and in need of an escape.”

“Those brothers have been keeping him really busy.” I share. “Is Chloe one of theirs?”

She raises a dark brow. “Do you really think she’d be here with the help if she were?”

The help. Right.

Because Bastian Bishop is an enforcer in his world. A soldier, as we call them. One of the lowest-ranking males who never so much as see the man on top, let alone become him. And technically speaking, he isn’t even that.

Sighing, I look to the girls. “What do I do?”

“Ignore him,” they say in unison. “It’s the only thing you can do.”

I look at them like they’re crazy, and they only nod because they don’t get it.

No one does.

I have tried to let this go, to convince myself it’s a rare bit of fun and the fun must end, but it won’t work. It’s impossible.

Bastian Bishop cannot be ignored or forgotten.

He won’t allow it any more than my mind will.

He’s a fucking tornado in dead lands—all eyes called to the chaos without realization.

Again …

Fuck. My. Life.

He’s wearing a suit.

A nice suit and it looks … wrong.

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