Playing Dirty

Fifteen

The traitor was gone before Sam could even draw breath to protest. She cursed under her breath, and glared at Dee's retreating back, mentally planning ways to eviscerate the bloody woman.

She heard what sounded like a chuckle and swung around to glare at Ryan.

"Don't you dare laugh."

He wiped the grin off his face and held up both hands in surrender. "I wouldn't dream of it. But I like Dee."

"Of course, you do," Sam muttered, giving him the evil eye, hands crossed over her chest. "You're not the one she just abandoned to the wolves."

An eyebrow rose, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. At that moment, he looked positively wolfish - and delicious goosebumps filled her skin.

"I'm a wolf?" He took a step closer, his voice deep and definitely dangerous - too dangerous for her mental constitution.

Sam felt her heart slam against her ribs, the traitorous organ all too ready to forget she was supposed to be mad at him.

Useless organ.

She lifted her chin and forced herself to maintain eye contact, hoping like hell he couldn't hear the rapid beats of her heart or notice the ticking pulse at the base of her throat, or the way her silly mouth moistened in readiness for contact with his.

"If it walks like one and talks like one," she replied, pleased to hear her voice sound so cool. "Chances are, it's a wolf."

Amusement flickered in his expression, but then, his eyes did drop to her neck, more accurately, to the gently throbbing spot and a feral gleam lit those grey depths.

Oh, goddess.

"Mmm...maybe you're right." he murmured, taking another step, this one bringing his body to brush against hers, her breast, against his chest, nipples instantly hardening to tight buds.

Don't be easy prey, Sameera.

She lifted a hand to his chest in a bid to stop him from coming closer and gulped as his heat threatened to engulf her entire body, concentrating on the area between her thighs. The rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingers told Sam he was just as affected by her touch as she was.

His own hand closed over her wrist, a pained look crossing his face as though her touch burned him. Instead of removing her hand, he merely held it steady, just like he held her gaze, the rhythm of his heartbeat somehow falling in sync with the electro pulse that thumped through the club. Passion sizzled like a forcefield between them, and Sam felt like sinking into the dark promise his gaze offered.

Still, a small part of sanity intruded. The part that knew to allow herself to be swept up in the moment would only result in disaster. With that in mind, she broke eye contact, lowering her eyes to level with his neck, not that it helped much.

"You wanted to talk." She reminded him, letting her hand fall, and tried to ignore the wave of disappointment that ran through her at the loss of contact.

Ryan looked lost for a minute, as though he'd forgotten what he was here for. Then, his eyes cleared, and he nodded, then looked around.