Hold You Against Me (Stripped 4)

“Oh, shut up.” Then it doesn’t matter because I’m laughing too. That stuff is awful.

He grins and takes a drink—more like a gulp. And he doesn’t cough or wince after. “You get used to it.”

“How much do I have to drink to get used to it?”

“More than you should.”

I take another sip. It burns again, but I have to say, not as bad. It still doesn’t taste good, but I’m determined to drink it anyway. This pool house is the only place where I can break the rules, where I can experience things. The pool house is the only place I even feel alive.

“Let’s try mine,” I say. My voice already sounds rougher from the alcohol.

He holds up the cigar. “Did you bring a lighter?”

“Oh, crap.”

His eyes crinkle in that way I love. It makes my chest feel full, like there’s no room for air. “It doesn’t matter,” he says.

“But I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.”

He takes another drink. It looks so natural when he does it. “What bargain?”

“To do bad things,” I say seriously. When your life is as controlled as mine, you need to plan these things. Tonight is supposed to be the night.

He looks down, a strange smile on his face. “Let’s start with the whiskey. If that’s not enough, we can knock over a bank or something.”

I smack his arm. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Never.” His eyes meet mine, and I see that he’s not laughing at all. “I’d rob a bank if you wanted me to.”

My stomach twists at his solemn tone. “I’d rather you stay safe,” I whisper.

He reaches a hand toward me like he’s going to cup my face, only half an inch away he freezes. I can almost feel the heat of him, and I remain very still, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

He shoves his empty glass onto the bar and walks away.

I let out a breath. What is that about? Lately we keep having these moments where it seems like he’s going to touch me. But he never does. I want to touch him too, but I don’t. I wouldn’t know where to start. I can’t even imagine how he’d feel. Would he be like the whiskey, leaving a trail of fire? I’m scared to find out.

He’s on the couch, so I join him there. Not touching, just sitting beside him.

“Gio, I’m worried about Honor.”

He doesn’t look at me. “She’s strong. She can take care of herself.”

“Yeah, but Byron is a jerk.” And even she can’t fight the tides. That’s what men like Byron are. Tsunamis. Hurricanes. Natural disasters.

“Your dad wants someone who can take over. That’s pretty much guaranteed to be an asshole.”

He’s not saying anything I don’t know, but it’s still frustrating. It’s too dark to see his expression. I can only see the shape of him beside me, his neck and shoulders limned by moonlight. “This isn’t the eighteenth century. This is Las Vegas.”

“Marriage isn’t about that. Not here.”

It’s about making alliances. It’s about money. “He should make you the next one in line.”

At least Gio has been around for years. His dad is trusted here, even if he’s not high ranking. This Byron guy hasn’t even been in Las Vegas very long. And he’s a cop. I learned from an early age not to trust cops—even dirty ones.

Gio shakes his head. “No, thanks.”

“Why not? You’d be good at it.” I can tell he’s biting his tongue. “What?”