I tilted my head, watching him watch me, my smirk deepening. “You enjoying the show?”

His voice came out rough. “You’re trying to piss me off.”

I ran my hands over my waist, letting them trail over my navel again. His eyes immediately followed the movement.

“Is it working?” I asked, voice all saccharine sweetness.

His lips parted, but he didn’t answer.

Good.

Let him seethe.

Let him burn.

I wanted him to.

I placed a hand on his knee, feeling the heat of his skin through his jeans. Leaning in—enough for my breath to brush against his cheek—I whispered, “Still want me to dance for you?”

He sighed, slow and controlled, his voice just barely loud enough for me to hear over the music. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“Oh?” I let my fingers graze his shoulders.

His body tensed under my hands. His arms weren’t stretched over the couch anymore; he was sitting up now, his hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles were white.

For a second, I thought he was going to snap—that he was going to grab my hips and pull me into his lap.

I frowned, feigning innocence. “You’re tense, Blake.”

His eyes flickered to my lips. I pretended not to notice.

With a short, humorless laugh, he shook his head and leaned back, stretching his legs out like he wasn’t itching to close the space between us. His fingers drummed against his thigh, restless. He stared at me for a long moment, then leaned forward. “You think this is a game, Beverly?”

“I don’t know.” I fought back a smile. “Are you losing?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he had something else to say, and I could feel the weight of whatever lingered on the tip of his tongue. I reveled in the rush of triumph swelling inside me, grinning in response. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

His hand shot out, catching my wrist.

My breath hitched.

Blake’s voice was low. “You think you’re winning this?”

I lifted a brow, trying to maintain my composure despite the racing pulse in my ears. “Aren’t I?”

“Not yet.”

In one swift motion, Blake pulled me into his lap, and I gasped at the suddenness of it. My hands instinctively landed on his shoulders for balance, while my knees pressed against the couch on either side of his hips.

His fingers skimmed my waist, settling just above my hips, his thumbs grazing the skin below my shirt.

“Dance for me now, B.” His voice was rough, low enough that it felt like it scraped down my spine.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribcage.

This was a game I wasn’t sure I knew how to play.