Page 4 of Jump

“Because we’re at a masked ball.” He tugs me to a stop just a beat before a fighter would have trampled my feet. Then when they move, he starts us forward again. “It’s both specific and vague enough to leave an impression. Why Anarchy?”

Sliding his curious eyes my way, he places his fingers beneath the stem of my glass when it remains a prop held in front of me. Nudging it higher, he grins and leaves me alone when I take a hint and lift it to my lips.

Are mine touching where his did a moment ago? Is he trying to get me drunk?

Oh jesus, just shut up.

“Do you often buck leadership, Ana?” he rumbles. “Are you a radical?”

“I’m a rebel with no care for the mess I leave in my wake.”

Ha! My claim is laughable. I’m a fricken marshmallow who thrives within routine and rules. It angers me even to see someone else cut corners or break the law. Why the hell should they get to do what they want, when I’m not as brave?

“Don’t mess with me,” I warn the daring stranger. “I’m dangerous, and should be left alone—for your own safety.”

“Mmhm.” He takes my almost empty glass and drinks what remains. Then setting it on a table as we pass, he turns us toward the dancefloor and hugs me close enough to his body, I feel all of him pressed against me.

All of him. Broad shoulders that support my arms where he places them, and a chest that crushes mine in all the best ways. His stomach is hard, and his thighs hug mine.

His large frame makes me feel small. Delicate and cherished. Which feels… nice. Albeit panic-inducing.

“So, dangerous, disastrous, Ana. What do you do for a living?”

I scoff and try, so very hard, not to smell him. But damn, it’s impossible not to taste him in my lungs. “Telling you would be a sure way to destroy our anonymity. That is something I do not wish to do, so…”

“So…” His smile is nice. Irresistible and sexy… which is probably how he lures his prey to their demise.

Like the death-head moth can sneak past a bee to feed on its sweet honey nectar, this man—Jump—merely has to smile, and a woman—in this case, yours truly—will walk straight toward him, no matter the fallout at the end.

“If Ana could have any job,” he tries instead, “whatever her heart desires, what would it be?”

I work hard to ignore his charm. His powerful hold, and his breath in the air, but when he places his hand on the back of my neck and brings me closer, I lay my cheek on his chest and hate, hate, how good it feels.

I literally didn’t know him five minutes ago. I still don’t know him. But somehow, I’m now dancing with him. Intimately.

“She would probably lead a rebellion,” I rasp, when no other, wittier answer comes to mind. “Rule an army, take down the powers that oppress us all.”

“Uh huh.” His fingers, damn them to hell and back, stroke the side of my neck and send tingles sprinting along my spine. “What else would she do? Ya know, when she has spare time.”

I snigger, cursing his wit, and close my eyes. He wins this round. “Rescue animals and punish those who hurt them.”

“You’re a bleeding heart,” he murmurs; not a question, but a statement. “I see.”

“Wrong. I make hearts bleed. I’m a cold, callous bitch who takes no prisoners and gives no mercy.” Pulling back, I hate how my pulse stumbles when I find his eyes. “I’m the praying mantis who wins. Always.”

“Consider me warned,” he taunts with a playful grin. “So, you’re an anarchical, heart-breaking, psycho, cannibalistic bitch… who likes to save puppies in her spare time. Am I reading you right?”

I should get that on a shirt. Or a mug.

I meet his gaze and smirk. “Correct. Though, the puppies are often mongrel breeds that have been rescued from a dog-fighting syndicate or something equally awful. So don’t fool yourself into thinking the puppy thing is cute.”

“Because cute would mess with your reputation.” He places his hand on the back of my neck again and tugs me in. “Do you have questions for me, Ana? Or will I continue to carry our conversation?”

Embarrassment makes me stiffen. Self-doubt makes me pull away and study his expression. But when I find him smiling, I push humiliation aside and remember who the hell I am.

Or, well, who Ana is.

She’s hard. She doesn’t suffer from self-confidence issues. She doesn’t care what a man thinks of her.

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