With each passing second, his unblinking blues prod deeper with an unreadable intent, his words delivered slow but sure. “You’re smart, careful and controlled. You’re keeping your rep clean for a reason, I’m sure. Surprised you came.”

“Surprised you wanted me to.”

“Surprised you almost let your friends find us in your dressing room.”

My eyes move between his, and his body dips closer, the corded muscles of his neck stretching as he does. “You weren’t exactly in your right mind, were you?”

I hold still, staring into the sharp gaze demanding the truth of what he knows is an undeniable fact.

I had a momentary lack of sanity.

My lips curl into a smile before I can stop them. “Got that pen?”

His coarse chuckle is delayed, low and perfectly pleased.

Ransom pulls the Stiizy from his pocket and passes it off to Arsen, who pushes to his feet, walks over, and bends in front of me. He holds it near my lips, just far enough to force me to come to him.

I do, and his grin is just as satisfied as the boys behind him.

Unexpectedly, he tugs his shirt from his back, and my focus falls to his naked chest, holding there until he gives a teasing flex. I only get a hint of his smirk before his shirt is gently tossed over my face.

As it falls to my chest, he nods to the makeshift armrest, so I thank him, ball the thick cotton up and tuck it beneath my head as a cushion.

I know they’re toying with me, testing my reactions, and that’s fine. They can think whatever they want; it makes no difference to me. It doesn’t change my reality or theirs, whatever theirs may be, but it does make me wonder if this is the way their game begins.

Do they entice, give a gift, then get inside?

So, I ask, and I think they’re surprised by the question as all three silently stare.

After a few moments, Beretta decides to answer. “Believe it or not, Trouble, Sammie got the dress so we could see your reaction, and for no other reason than that. And she needed no enticing.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, she didn’t. It’s like I said, rich girls love bad boys, even if only in secret.

I don’t know if he’s telling the truth or not and honestly, it makes no difference, yet to see what his response will be, I ask, “Why would you care how I reacted?”

“Because even though you gawked our way for half of that party—”

“I did not gawk.”

“—you didn’t try to get our attention. You didn’t drop onto your back the moment we slipped into your dressing room, and you didn’t find a way to slip us your phone number while pretending to act annoyed at the club.”

“They really do that?”