God, it feels good.

“Did you need something?”

He takes me in slowly. Too slowly. His arrogant gaze rakes down my body. I can feel it as clearly as if he were skimming his fingers across my skin.

“I’ve been hunting for you all over the city.”

I hum, sounding bored.

“Have you?”

There’re a few seconds of silent standoff, and then he reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair off my face. I go perfectly still as he continues to curve the back of his finger down my jawline and beneath my chin, lifting it up to expose my neck. Then a little higher still, and my back arches.

Once he has me like that, his eyes fall down my chest to my cleavage, then lower. I’m too aware of every breath, of the rise and fall of my chest. It’s like he’s inspecting a luxury good, deciding if he’ll pluck it off the store shelf or not.

I wrench my chin away and narrow my gaze.

He’s not the least bit bothered by my show of defiance. In fact, I think he likes it.

“What do you want?” I hiss.

His eyes are all too teasing when he replies, “A word.”

Not here. Everyone at the table is watching us, I’m sure of it. We’re far too conspicuous. Even with everything else going on at the party, we’re the main attraction. Emmett draws attention by merely existing; I’d rather not be a spectacle if I can help it.

I walk away, first around the side of the crowd, away from the booth, and then inspiration strikes when I see a pair of heavy black velvet drapes, sectioning off a corner of the club. Though it looks off limits, I dip behind the drapes, and to my relief, no one tries to stop me. I realize immediately why no one’s guarding the space: it’s just a dead end into a supply corner. There are boxes of empty alcohol bottles waiting to be recycled, crates of clean glassware, folded linens.

Emmett’s on my heels. He steps behind the drapes and then deftly unhooks one of the panels from its tieback so it falls, mostly concealing us from the rest of the party.

I turn toward him and fight back a gulp. He’s a real monster in the dark now. Playing at bravery in a crowded bar is one thing; having to contend with Emmett in private is far more dangerous.

Adrenaline has all my hairs standing on end. My hands tremble at my sides.

I should swerve around him and leave. That would get my message across once and for all. God, I can almost imagine the visceral pleasure of getting to devastate him the way he’s devastated me time and time again.

But I can’t do it.

I have traitorous blood. It makes it so I want him, always. I stand weak before him as he steps toward me, a shadowed scary figure.

“Should I compliment you on your dress? It’s fucking obscene.”