CHAPTER FIVE
CELESTE
Not one word. He was like a ghost for the entire drive, hovering in the background. Every nerve and pore and cell of my body prickled with awareness that Liam was behind us. With each subtle shift of my head, my peripheral vision strained to gauge his facial cues to no avail. Stony.
I hate that I can’t look away.
At least we’re finally here. Traffic and patrons littered the front of the resort when we pulled around, but the spot we’re parked in is reserved for us. The covered lot only accommodates ten vehicles. It already feels exclusive.
My door flies open as I’m gathering my clutch. Liam must’ve jumped out because Ty hasn’t even turned the car off. This is why I found myself prattling on during that never-ending ride, a knot balled at the base of my lungs—an air bubble of perplexing emotions.He’s acting strange, not that I find his traditional composure comforting, but at least it’s anticipated.
He reaches for my hand, pulling me up to meet him, his lean fingers curling around mine with a sizzling sensation. Goose bumps soar up my arm, but the air is cool.
God, I wish that were the culprit.
I school my features, hoping to mask this vexing reaction I’m having, and offer a polite, “Thank you,” for his supposed gallantry.
He’s so imposing, all long limbs and intimidating stature. With my four-inch heels on, I’m about five-ten, but his shoes must give him an inch or two also, rendering him six-four or six-five.
He slips his arm snuggly around my waist, anchoring me to his side with a divine, commanding strength. “On me. Keep it tight, princess.”
My breath hitches as his lips tickle my ear with that order. Maybe he’s just in security mode. If so, my body isn’t getting the memo. It never responds this way to Rex or the other guys, and they corral me plenty. I’ve never tried to inhale their cologne or commit their scent to memory. This heady buzz is fruitless though—not worth another second of consideration.
But that moment back at the house, things felt … confusing.
It wasn’t his surveying of the dress draping my curves or the swell of my breasts peeking out that had me rattled. Men gawk at women. Nothing new there. I’ve never been one to hide from a hungry perusal, confident with my most blatant assets on display.
Given the right circumstances, I can render an opponent dizzy enough that they underestimate what’s underneath. Like my mother taught me. And I do value having the upper hand—it’s invigorating.
Liam definitely paints himself as an opponent. My dress certainly displays my assets.
And he took note of every single one.
But when I was on that staircase, he wasn’t only regarding my sultry bends. He was entangling my soul, reeling it in for closer examination. Trying to dissect me in a way I’ve never experienced, which was unsettling. Disconcerting. I’m not sure I liked it even though it took monumental effort to break that hypnotic haze and walk out the door. And yet, throughout my conversation with Ty, I felt both enlightened and terrified.
That deep dive might be a new craving. To have someone who will search me, drowning my soul in his gaze and becoming my oxygen. Liam Graves is most definitely oxygen—one way or another. But I’m not a fool. Oxygen can either birth our breaths or fuel the fire. Even the air has choices. And I’m not sure if Liam wants to keep me warm, help me breathe, or burn me to ashes.
With the way he’s owning that suit, like a cross between a Calvin Klein model and a young godfather—all power and aloof sex appeal—I don’t think I care.
None of it matters though. My fate is sealed. It’s time to focus on making the best of it, carving my place in the world I’m being thrust into. It’s not a terrible destiny, so I refuse to be all woe is me. The Carver name might come with a family legacy full of trifling expectations, but it also affords me a platform for change.
Most people don’t find an epic love, out-of-this-world sex, and life purpose in a single destination. Ivy’s been blessed with a unicorn situation, which is exactly what she deserves—not that it doesn’t come with some drawbacks, but we all make sacrifices. I’ve made peace with mine.
But tonight is for fun. Tonight, I forget.
Ty strides along with us, clinging to my other side, but it’s Liam who keeps hold of me with every step. Butterflies flutter from my stomach to my throat.
“Ready for this, Carver?” he asks. His voice is low and gravelly, drawing me up to those ever-changing hazels. They’re dark tonight, like a midnight forest. Seeking.
Despite how flustered I feel with his fingers clasping my hip, I don’t shy away from his probing gaze, relishing both my pounding pulse in unexpected places and the years of etiquette training permitting me to hide it. “I’m always ready for anything, Graves.”
He smirks down at me as we head toward what appears to be a private entrance. We meet up with Wells and Gage, escorting Ivy, the guys forming an armed wall around us. Ivy beams. She’s wanted me to visit La Lune Noire for a while, and I can’t deny how enticing it is already.
To pass through the first door, Wells enters required codes into what looks like an ATM machine and answers a security question, which gains us access to a registration room. Authorization doesn’t take long, but even the holding area is fascinating. It’s got a dimly lit cigar-room vibe, tantalizing with the aroma of sweet and musty tobacco, the signature smell of spices, seduction, and secrets. The decor is a mixture of rich woods and brick, smoky golden light, warm accent tones in greens and reds and aged prosperity.
Every detail of this admittance feels selective and privileged. My pulse races to be welcomed into the next space, like we’ve won simply by entering. A brilliant strategy to combat the losses that might transpire in their casino.
Being invited in is the win.
When Wells described it to me this afternoon, he simply said, “It’s a place where the purse strings are loose because the morals are looser.”
That statement makes this locale of depravity the last venue in which a Carver should be spotted and a temptation I couldn’t seem to resist.
The comment about taming the wild that I made to Ty is my Achilles’ heel. I’ve lost so many years to numbness that chasing the whir and tingle of a rush is an awakening I covet. Whether it’s defying the foam and torrent of tumultuous rapids, confounding an adversary with a sneak attack, or dipping a toe into the forbidden, that jolt of electricity reminds me why I’m alive.
Waking up makes sense again.
So, for this one night, the Carver legacy can take a back seat to the thrill of debauchery.
I’m all in.
As that thought sails through my mind, I’m brought back to the possessive grip still on my hip. Even though he’s discussing the logistics of Axel and Ryker receiving us, Liam hasn’t let go, which evokes a thrill of its own. My eyes travel up to the cut of his chest and the hint of ink above the button. Curiosity pumps through me about the entirety of the image etched onto his tanned skin. He catches my conspicuous scanning, his rosy lips splitting his scruffy jaw into a victorious grin. I’m not even ashamed because those hazels, whether berating or praising, leave me enlivened and reckless.
Liam Graves could be an exhilarating mistake.
“Celeste Carver. Holy shit!” A voice slices through my unabashed ogling as we’re moving toward the penthouse elevators.
I search for the source, zeroing in on an old acquaintance. He’s a few years older, but our brothers were friends. It’s been years since I’ve seen him.
“Hi, Pruitt.” I smile, moving forward for the embrace he’s throwing his arms wide open for.
Liam tugs me backward, pulling my attention to the wary expressions on all four men.
“He’s a friend from high school. It’s fine,” I say, turning back to face Pruitt.
He halts, the goofy grin from childhood reinstated. “Daddy’s as paranoid as ever, I see,” he teases, noting Liam’s firm hold and Gage’s new position a half foot in front of me. “Think the guards will release you for a hug?”
“Of course.” I squirm between the guys and wrap my arms around his neck. “It’s good to see you.”
He drags me into a tight squeeze before backing up and scrutinizing the four glaring men again. Deciding to ignore them, he lifts my hand high in the air as he soaks in more than a gander of my all-grown-up figure. “Fuck, Celeste. You are like a fine wine. Seriously, girl. Hot doesn’t cover it.”
I can’t help but laugh. That saying doesn’t quite apply to a twenty-four-year-old. He’s always been over the top, but it’s easier to humor him. “You’re looking good yourself, Pru. What are you doing here?”
“I know the owners—”
“How?” Liam cuts him off, his delivery as sharp as a steel blade.
Pruitt’s eyes narrow. “Cousin.” As the word leaves his lips with an edge, he spots Ivy, who’s never been his biggest fan, but that could be said about ninety-eight percent of people. And the fact that he’s a complete prick. “Hey there, Luna Lovegood. Still got your head in the clouds?”
Wells shifts into a threatening stance, but Ivy pats his chest, handling her old antagonizer with ease.
“Sure do, and I’m happy to report the thirty-thousand-foot view wins. Far preferable to climbing a ladder to nowhere with a bunch of clones chucking each other off, ending up on that bottom rung one way or another.” She shrugs with a saccharine smile. “I’d rather fly.”
He always gave her a hard time about her mind escapes. It’s one of the many reasons he’s a prick, but I got far more ruffled about his jabs than Ivy ever did. Once upon a time, she politely ignored them, too unbothered to respond. But that right there is a fucking cabal queen. I can’t help beaming at her quick wit while savoring his irritated grimace.
His eyes flit to her belly, and Wells growls. Pruitt takes that as a cue, I guess, because his scrutiny returns to me and Liam’s arm currently slung around my waist.
“I see you’re both doing well, attached, on cloud nine, and sexy as hell.” His gaze lands on Liam with those last words, and my anchor morphs into a hostile shield.
“Reunion’s over, asshole. Go,” Liam barks, hand gripping the gun at his hip.
Pruitt laughs the warning off, addressing me with feigned compassion while maintaining his distance. “You been good? Better?”
“Yeah,” I say, uncomfortable by so many aspects of this catching-up. I don’t like him, but it’s hard to utterly hate someone when you know their deepest wounds. “I’m good.”
The elevator dings, and Axel and Ryker swagger off, lasering their gaze at Pruitt.
“You’ve overstayed your unwelcome visit,” Ryker spits with an icy glare.
“It seems I have.” Pruitt winks like the vain son of a bitch he is. “Tell Jax and Rena I said I’m sorry I missed them, coz.” Turning back to me, he licks his lips with a groan. “Enjoy your time, Cee.”
Before he’s even walked away, Wells hisses, “What the fuck was that, Axel?”
“An unexpected family affair arose at the last minute,” Axel explains. “Bernard alerted us he was bothering you. My apologies. Come on up. There won’t be any other interruptions.”
We all pile into the elevator, Liam glued to me with a renewed proprietorial clutching. Then again, all the guys seem possessive and agitated. Not a great start to the evening.
“Last name,” Wells demands, eyes piercing Axel, Ryker, and me.
“Lancaster,” Axel replies smoothly.
Wells presses Ivy closer, curling himself around her protectively. “Was he inside your residence?”
“No. The conference room on the entertainment floor,” Axel supplies. Looks like he’s the only one in the elevator not breaking a sweat. Although, from what I saw last July, I think that’s just how he carries himself. “He came across some information he felt compelled to share with us,” he adds.
“I knew I sensed he was up to something,” Ivy says, rolling her lips in.
Liam’s breathing picks up. “What type of information?”
“Sensitive. We can’t discuss it now.” Ryker’s jaw is steel, his spine wooden. Pruitt obviously rubbed him the wrong way. “It’s not news to us, but his knowledge of it is.”
“He’s a relative though?” Gage asks, dubious brow arched.
“Distant,” Axel answers. “We’ll revisit this at a later date.” That effectively severs the discussion, but not the tension.
Ty shifts his eyes between Ivy and me. “You girls okay?”
I flap a hand, really wanting to avoid any journey down memory lane involving Pruitt Lancaster. “Unfortunately, he’s the epitome of the private-school, silver-spoon egos we grew up with.”
Ivy laughs. “That’s accurate. Far too many egos.”
The elevator opens directly before their door. We file into the suite and are instantly greeted by Rena and the three younger Noires, all various shades of trouble.
While Axel and Ryker sport suits, charm, and a chiseled edge, the rest of the family boasts self-expression. Jax has blue hair, highlighting the dark blue rims on his golden-brown eyes, gauges in his stretched piercings, and colored tattoos. Maddox has wintry-gray eyes, messy onyx-black hair, and black tattoos all over his pale skin, even his fingers. Cash is less extreme—tousled blond hair, complementing his baby blues, and a few less tattoos. His menacing smile is what sets him apart. No question he’s a miscreant, shoving anyone within reach to the depths of Hell. Although I suspect the fall from grace would be the trip of a lifetime.
And last, but far from least, there’s Rena, the gothic-punk Noire princess.
Their sprawling penthouse is impressive in its Art Deco ambience—modern touches blending with priceless nostalgia. Axel pours us each a drink and guides us on a partial tour—a grand kitchen and family room, movie room, weight room, sauna, game room, and a rooftop pool and lounge area, which is a new addition.
Rena pulls Ivy and me into her bedroom—every bit of the punk-princess aesthetic I anticipated. Magenta and black, a massive mirror framed in shimmery gold, a black-and-crystal chandelier, and vinyl records, vintage banjos, and guitars on display. That’s not even touching the closet, which is as massive as her bedroom space, lined with endless shelves of shoes and cozy with plush black-and-white checkered couches.
Spoiled but smothered.
Loved but locked down.
A privileged prison is still a shackling.
“You both look gorgeous.” She hugs us each and beams at Ivy. “No one rocks pregnancy like you, girl.”
“That’s true,” I agree, sipping my wine. “She’s owning the gown and the glow.”
Ivy is a vision of elegance. Her gown’s cap-sleeve bodice sparkles with cream embroidery and a shiny rosy-taupe sash, cinched beneath her breasts, above a matching flowy skirt.
Rena sweeps my hair behind my shoulder. “She is, but since my brothers aren’t allowed to breathe in Ivy’s direction and she’s currently about to drop that baby, be on high alert, Celeste. You’re killing it in that dress tonight.”
“Lettie always stops traffic and causes riots. But you’re dressed to kill too, Rena. Is this number just for us?” Ivy waggles her brows.
Rena is quite the seductress tonight, flaunting a dusty-mauve corset that swings out in a very short baby-doll dress, paired with a lace bolero and thigh-high black boots.
“Fashion needs no audience,” Rena quips, gripping her skirt to flare it out in a curtsy. “C’mon. Let’s go play.”
She tows us along to the game room, and she wasn’t wrong. Her brothers’ prowling ogles descend upon me, but it isn’t their gaping that grabs my attention. Like always, my eyes swing to Liam, who’s got that probing gawk in action again. It makes my insides squirm, like I’m standing before him naked. My greatest insecurities, hurts, and fears bared to him.
Not possible. It’s my imagination.
But he is different tonight, and I hate the way that’s sparking something inside me. A spark I have no business igniting when it can only result in ashes.
I’m probably reading him all wrong anyway.
“Let the games begin, ladies,” Cash declares, standing behind a blackjack table. “What’s your game, Celeste? Blackjack? Poker?”
“I’m not much of a gambler,” I announce, strutting toward him. Always keep them guessing. “You pick.”
“Deferring to the house. Have a seat.” He flashes that menacing smile. “Blackjack it is.”
Play their game.
“Okay,” I singsong, sliding into the high seat as Liam, Maddox, and Gage join me. “We’ll have to either bet pretzels like I did when I was a kid, or I’ll owe you.” I set my wineglass aside and hold up my clutch. “Tiny purse, and I was told there’d be no need for money this evening.”
Liam proffers a rolled wad of hundreds. “I’ll buy her in.”
“No need.” Cash dismisses that offer with a flippant wave. “I have a better idea.”
Jax barks a laugh from a poker table where he sits with the rest of the group, holding an unlit match out in front of his face. “What could go wrong there?” he gibes, and the match spontaneously bursts into flames.
“Impressive,” I commend him, but turn back to Cash. “Try me.”
He nods, tossing a glittery black half-mask onto the table. “Per your anonymity agreement with Ryker.”
A rip-roaring laugh spills out of me, comprised equal parts temptation and terror. “I’m intrigued.”
That earns me a delighted twinkle from the dealer. He sets the mask on the side of the table and swigs his cocktail. “No buy-in. If you win, you owe nothing for playing. The house will cover it. But if the dealer wins, you spend the rest of the night at Magie Noire with me.”
Magie Noire is a membership-only sex club; yearly fees are fifty grand. Neither Ivy nor Rena have been there, but they’ve filled me in enough.
“Fuck. No,” Liam growls at the same time Maddox chimes, “I want in on that action.”
The room erupts in a chaotic debate, orders and outrage swirling around me. Ty’s out of his chair, Gage is foaming at the mouth, Ryker is reprimanding Cash, but my eyes seek out Wells and Ivy. She whispers in his ear, and he winks at me. They both know how much I need this one night, freedom before I take one for the Carver team.
Turning back to Cash, I kink my lips in pensive consideration. “How about this? If I lose, we play another game of my choice. If it ends in a tie from there, we’ll play one more game, spectators’ pick. Best out of three. If I lose the best out of three, I’ll go to Magie Noire with you.” I pause for effect, slanting my head to the onyx-haired gentleman at the table. “And Maddox.”
“And me.” Jax raises his hand. “That’s how we roll.”
“Fine, Magic Jax. And you,” I allow.
His pierced lips flourish into a boyish grin.
“You’re on, pretty lady,” Cash says, shuffling the cards. “Three rounds of blackjack to determine the winner.”
Wells must have ordered the guys to stand down, or they’re feeling better about this arrangement because the commotion has settled.
As Cash begins dealing, I note he’s using one deck. That lowers the house odds a bit, but maybe he’s appraising my skill set. Or simply underestimating me.
In blackjack, you only play against the dealer, but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t consider what Liam, Maddox, and Gage are dealt. It all plays into my odds of getting the cards I need.
When the dealing’s done, I have a soft nineteen—an ace and an eight. Cash has a nine up. Maddox has a hard sixteen—that’s about as bad as it gets with a dealer’s nine. It would be easy to panic here because if the dealer gets an ace, I’m out. A ten, and we tie. I only have one viable option though. Out of sixteen tens in the deck—the face cards and numerical tens all of equal value—only two are out. Maddox and Liam both have one. Cash flipping a ten is entirely likely, but not a terrible outcome. Better yet, Gage sits with two aces. Only one remaining. Doubtful Cash pulls it.
I’m not sweating it. “Stand.”
The guys each play their hand, and when Cash flips over a ten, I smile. We’re both at nineteen. Sometimes, not losing is a win.
“Push,” Cash says before raking the cards and switching to four decks. “Gotta win two out of three hands. Pushes don’t count.”
I pull two tens on the next hand, but Cash has a ten up too. This is where some people would split—almost always a mistake. “Stand.”
My reserve pays off when the dealer flips over his seven. One win down.
The next hand is a pair of nines, Cash showing a six. I think through the available cards.
Never let them see.
He didn’t reshuffle. The hand is mine if I stand, but where’s the fun in that?
“Split,” I say, winning me a megawatt grin from the blue-eyed dealer and an expletive from the scruffy blond beside me.
Cash hits me with an ace and an eight, giving me twenty and seventeen. His ten only takes him to sixteen. Two more victories for me.
“Well played, Celeste,” Cash says, his voice a seductive purr. “What game would you have picked next? We should still try that best out of three. Odds are in your favor.”
“A night at Magie Noire would be very much in her favor,” Maddox croons. “So, I count this as her first loss.”
These guys are far more trouble than any girl should encounter. They need to be stamped with a warning label.
An amused grin leaks over my cheeks. “I bet you can justify a lot with that twisted logic, Maddox.”
Cash exchanges a conspiratorial expression with Maddox before addressing me again. “So, game?”
That’s easy. “Chess.”
“Or Uno,” Ivy adds, which makes me laugh. We’ve had some serious Uno battles over the years.
“We have a board,” Axel volunteers.
Cash’s eyebrows dart for the high industrial ceiling, so I shrug and proffer a coy twist of my lips.
“Sure. If you want to keep getting your ass kicked on your own gambling turf, who am I to stop you?”
Gage and Liam both dish out some taunts while Axel strolls to a glass cabinet, emerging with a stunning marble chess board with crystal pieces—clearly a collector’s set. He winks his sapphire eye at me, mischievous glimmer in tow. And his humor is warranted. It’s not necessary to even narrate the moves of the match. I fly out of the gate with the Dutch Defense, which isn’t even the best in my arsenal, and secure a five-move checkmate.
Cash claps his hands with a maniacal chuckle. “Shit. This is embarrassing.”
Wells sips his scotch, kicking his chin up to me in respect before eyeing the defeated Noire. “We could still do a spectators’ choice game, Cash, so you’re not completely castrated.”
Our crew has lightened up considerably since Magie Noire is off the table, and I can’t deny the blanket of belonging cloaking me because of their possessiveness. It hasn’t felt like I was only Ivy’s friend this evening. Whether it’s merely posturing in front of the Noires or not, tonight, I’m theirs. It’s an acceptance I didn’t realize I was craving.
A comical debate about what game we can venture into next ensues, but my eyes keep gravitating back to Liam’s. Different again. Still a midnight forest, opaque and luring. But there’s something else. Pandemonium.
Ty struts over, presenting me with a new glass of cabernet. “Fucking impressive, Lettie. Can you play pool?”
“Pool?” I question after a sip of wine. “Why?”
“Where were you the past ten minutes?” He smirks, his gaze snagging briefly on the willowy girl perched at the bar—or more specifically, Rena’s bare thighs.
Same could be asked of you, Tytan.
He refocuses on me with staunch resolve. “Grab a stick and clean the damn table.”
Oh, so pool it is.
Cash racks the balls with renewed confidence. “Lady’s pick on order.”
I take a slow drink, nonchalantly saying, “You can break.”
He scatters the balls perfectly, choosing stripes and making several shots, while I catch a conversation between Ryker and Ivy.
“Will you be attending the Dalton Montgomery sentencing next Friday?” Ivy asks.
“I’ve seen enough of that fucking dick for ten lifetimes,” he spits, every word ripe with venom.
“You could always visit him,” she goads. “He’s in good health. He could live for another fifty, sixty years.”
That draws an ominous chuckle from Ryker. He guzzles his last shot of whiskey, tipping his head. “He could. You never know. The damnedest shit happens in prison.”
Cash misses during that cryptic sentence, so I’m up. While I don’t quite run the table, I make a better dent than he did. We go back and forth until it’s toe-to-toe for the eight ball. We’ve each missed once, but he lined it up perfectly for my shot. It almost kills me to do it.
Sensing my internal struggle, Cash grits out, “I swear to fuck, if you throw this game, it’ll be my actual balls in those goddamn pockets, girl. Do what you came to do.”
A cacophony of jeers and laughter flares through the game room, which grows more prominent when I sink that eight ball.
“Someone should play ‘Luck Be a Lady,’ ” I say with a Rena-inspired curtsy. “But you were a worthy opponent, Mr. Noire.”
Ivy rushes me with a hug, and I swear it’s like we’re transported to the dive bars we inhabited years ago in college, crushing those guys too. Seconds later, Rena crashes into our celebration, sweetening the moment even more. This night has been more fun than I’ve had in ages.
We spend the next couple of hours drinking, chatting, and sharing stories. The only snag is when they reminisce about Ivy and Wells’s wedding. It stings to be the only one in the room who wasn’t there even though, aside from the bride and groom, I deserved to be there most. But I swallow that along with another swill of wine, and soon, it’s time for goodbyes.
Leaving isn’t as seamless as expected though. Gage is lost in an animated discussion with Cash, and as I saunter out with the others, Wells, Ty, and Ivy get held up by Ryker, asking about his friend, Mercy.
So, it’s Liam and me in the hallway, awaiting the elevator. He’s been far nicer tonight, but I think that has something to do with Ivy, so I won’t hold my breath. This silence is more deafening than a blaring siren. Awkward.
The bell dings, and when the doors open, I twist to see how our party is faring, but Liam grabs my hand, yanking me inside. That renders me completely speechless, as does him pushing the red Stop button once those doors close. The box jolts to a halt, and in a flash, he’s pinning me against the wall. His lingering gaze cages me as successfully as his formidable frame.
He threads his fingers into my hair, swiping his thumb across my cheekbone. Searching. “Was this you tonight, Carver?”
The question seems similar to what he asked my first night here. I still don’t understand it, but I’ll answer anything if those hazels keep drinking me in.
“It’s all me,” I whisper, giving the only answer I can.
His face falls into what resembles disappointment. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
The thought that he actually wants to know me fans that earlier spark into an inferno, compelling me to add, “Most of it is me.”
The truth—sometimes, I’m not sure where the expectations end and my soul begins. It’s muddy and tangled. And so lonely. But with Liam’s eyes on me, his hand gripping my hip, and his ski-lodge musk permeating the air, the all-familiar hollow ache seems somewhere far away.
I’ve only ever hated him because he hated me. If he didn’t, I would … do nothing because it doesn’t matter. I have a role to fulfill, and he’s content with his. So, I’m not sure what the point of this is, but no matter how futile, it seems I’m momentarily a slave to this connection.
He nods to my honesty with a heavy breath, dusting his thumb over my lower lip as he continues cradling my head. “Good girl, Ace. Now, we’re getting somewhere.”
I’m not sure what undoes me most—his use of good girl, his new nickname for me, or the getting somewhere idea. It’s all a wrecking ball.
Never let them see.
“Where is that?” I rasp, my hand cautiously exploring his chest.
What the hell is happening here?
He smirks, like he’s got a secret. Or sees one. “To an understanding.”
“Which is?” I ask, relishing his steel-cut pecs rising against my palm.
His lips graze my cheek with an exquisite tingle. “You’re more.”
God, is he as turned on as I am? Because it’s taking all my strength not to turn my head the fraction of an inch necessary to capture those lips.
I can almost taste the beer on his breath and even the nicotine he denies himself.
Freedom and forbidden.
Always keep them guessing.
Instead of lifting my chin that half inch, I murmur, “Yeah,” because I am more. Far more than what he’s claimed in the past. His acknowledgment bursts across my skin like a blaze, leading me to volley his query. “Are you?”
He’s dominating the almost space.
Almostkissing.
Almostgroping.
Almosttaking me right here in this lust-filled metal cube.
His hand glides to my lower back, pressing me against him and devouring the air between us. Any doubt regarding his arousal is erased by his hard cock nudging my abdomen. A chill skitters down my spine as his lips wet my ear.
“You tell me.”
“Maybe,” I concede with an eager pant. He’s certainly packing more.
He angles his face, revealing a smile that obliterates the midnight forest with a boastful ownership of my assessment. “You’d be right, Carver.”
Play their game.
I slide my hand over his shoulder, humming seductively as my fingers weave into the shaggy hairs dressing the nape of his neck, and stretch onto my tiptoes, my lips moving against that sexy golden stubble on his upper jaw. “If tonight taught you anything about me, Graves, it’s that I rarely bet on a maybe.”
Wriggling out of his embrace to reach the control panel, I activate the elevator again, facing the doors. And down we go, my heart chanting an accept-the-challenge cadence.
He stands behind me, laughing incredulously. “Worst move of the night, Ace.”
Checkmate.“Prove it.”