Shiver

“Lucky for you, you know the owner.”

And then the lightbulb went on. I sighed. “This place is yours, isn’t it?” Which was just my fucking luck.

He cupped my chin and turned my face to his. “Mine,” he confirmed. And my brain just sort of … short-circuited or something, because there was no way I should have a full-body shiver from one whispered word.

Oliver turned back to me. “Sorry about that, I …” His brows lifted. “Mr. Mercier.”

Sarah reappeared then, grinning. “Hey, I’m back. Are you—Oh, shit.” Her eyes were wide as they bounced from me to Blake. There was no surprise on her face, but there was enough panic to tell me she’d known the place belonged to him but hadn’t expected to see him there. Well, she could have freaking warned me.

Oliver was also looking at us curiously. “You know Kensey?” he asked Blake.

“I know her,” said Blake, curving his hand around my nape. “Thank you for keeping her company while I took care of business. Come on, baby.”

I tensed. “But—”

“We’ll be outside,” Blake told Sarah. “I’m sure Edilio will keep you company.” The glance he flicked at the bartender held a reprimand that made Edilio wince.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured Sarah as Blake began guiding me away with his hand still on my nape. People stopped him several times to try to engage him in conversation, all wanting his time and acknowledgement. His responses were brief but polite, and he never once loosened his hold on me. Some nodded at me. Others cast me a curious, assessing glance that made my scalp prickle.

As we stepped outside, the scent of chlorine hit me. The moonlight dappled water lapped gently at the edges of the expansive pool. “You can let go of me now.”

His grip flexed. “If I do that, you might run again.”

My spine snapped straight. “I don’t run.” And I was pretty sure he only accused me of doing so because he knew it annoyed me.

He shepherded me into an open, pool house cabana that was dim apart from the flickering candles on the glass table. It was both cozy and stylish, and I made a mental note to buy one if I ever won the lottery. He gestured at the curved, white-cushioned sofa. “Sit.”

I did so, tensing when he sat way too close for comfort. It was impossible to not be keenly aware of each and every masculine inch of him. The tension in the air thickened until it was almost unbearable. “I’m surprised this cabana was empty,” I said, mouth dry.

“It’s mine.” His voice, deep and velvety warm, both soothed my frayed nerves and made my body hum. “Nobody sits here unless I invite them to.” He twisted to better face me, his knee bumping my thigh, and rested his arm along the back of the sofa. He watched me with brooding, hooded eyes that glinted with speculation. “Why do you work in a bar?”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I can see the sharp mind that works behind those eyes. You’re a smart girl. You’re wasted in a bar.”

Okay, well that comment completely disarmed me. Which totally wasn’t fair, because I wanted to be annoyed with him.

“Tell me,” he coaxed.

I shrugged. “I enjoy it.”

“Hmm.” The fingers tapping the edge of the sofa paused to brush stray strands of hair over my shoulder. “I love the way your hair falls down your back like dark water,” he said, tone smooth as silk.

Maybe I should have been thrilled to hear yet another compliment, but I found myself wary. As my hand was shaking a little, I put my glass on the table. “Thanks, I guess.”

His mouth twitched. “So much suspicion in those pretty eyes.”

Pretty? I frowned, pointing out, “They don’t match.”

“Aside from your mouth, they’re my favorite thing about you. One’s a rich cornflower blue; one’s a deep forest green. And they’re both huge pools of trouble.”

“Trouble?” I echoed in a tone that warned him to rethink that word.

“Yes, Kensey, you have caused me nothing but trouble since day one.”

I gaped. “How exactly?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever obsessed over anything before, and I don’t much like the feeling. I’ve thought of nothing but having you under me. It hasn’t helped that you’ve been fighting the inevitable.” His eyes glittered with satisfaction as he added, “But now you’ve come to me.”

I straightened. “Um, no, I didn’t know the Clubhouse belonged to you. If I had, I never would have come.”

“Really?”

Actually, I couldn’t be sure about that. “Really.” I was about to edge away, but I’d obviously telegraphed my intent somehow because his hand settled on my thigh, warm and possessive. I stilled, and he rubbed my thigh in what seemed like a reward. “You won’t fire Edilio, will you?” I asked.

“I can’t guarantee that. The Clubhouse is exclusive to members—he knows that. People pay a lot of money to be part of this club. Imagine how they’d feel to discover that some get in here for free.”

“He only did it because Sarah talked him into it.”

“So I should let this slide?” He pursed his lips, softly tracing a circle on my thigh with his thumb. “I suppose I could. For a price.”

“Define ‘price.’”

“You have to answer three questions honestly.”

Thrown by that, I double-blinked.

“Oh, you thought my price would be a night in my bed? No, Kensey, I don’t blackmail women for sex. And we both know it’s only a matter of time before I have you.” He lifted a brow. “So, do we have a deal or not?”

I forced my back teeth to unlock. “We have a deal.” I sighed. “Let me guess. You want to know if I truly tried to kill myself.”

“I’ve already figured out that didn’t happen. My first question is … how did you get that scar on your lip?”

“Haven’t you heard that it’s insensitive to ask a person about their scars?”

“You don’t strike me as a sensitive person. Libby Williams told me you got the scar from a barfight when you were tanked up on crack. And no, I don’t believe that story. I’d like to know what really happened.”

I seriously ought to smack the shit out of Libby. “I was held at knifepoint.”

He stiffened, face darkening in a way that chilled me. Something not holy on the side of the angels flashed in his eyes. The air suddenly felt … oppressive. “By who?”

“Is that your second question?”

“No. It’s a continuation of the first, since you were deliberately vague.”

“You never said I had to give you lengthy answers,” I pointed out.

His mouth curved slightly. Just like that, the air was no longer so thick and stifling. “Sneaky,” he drawled. “Fine, then; we’ll call this my second question. Who held you at knifepoint?”

“I genuinely don’t know.”

When I didn’t elaborate, Blake leaned forward and said, “You’re testing my patience, Kensey.” The words were soft but vibrated with irritation. “That’s not a good idea for you. Especially when losing my patience would mean losing what hold I have on the temptation to kiss that smile right off your mouth. I want details.”