Killer

“It’s okay, Jack. I understand this dress will attract a certain amount of…” I pause to snag a glass of champagne off of a passing tray and take a big sip. “Attention.”

He grins, laughing. “Yeah. You could say that. Hell, Britt. You know you’re at an FLA dinner, right? Filled with hormonal men. Every fighter in the room is going to follow you around drooling.”

No, I didn’t think of that. I was too fixated on K seeing me as someone other than good-girl Britt, I forgot about the forty or so other testosterone-fueled fighters here tonight.

Jack chuckles again. “From your expression, I’m guessing you didn’t think of that.”

I shake my head and down the rest of my drink, the bubbles tickling my nose. “No.”

“Don’t worry. I can always pretend to be your date and keep the men off of you.” Jack smiles earnestly. Without question he would do it. But having Jack hanging off of me all night isn’t the best way to garner K’s attention. Well, it is, but not the attention I want, or the attention K needs. A fight with Jack at an AFL dinner would have him disqualified in a heartbeat.

“Are you ready for the fight Saturday?” I change the subject, scanning the room for another waiter with champagne, and a certain silver-eyed man.

“As ready as I can be.” My eyes flick back to Jackson to catch him shrugging. “I have no doubt I’ll win.”

Cocky as ever.

From the corner of my eye, I spot K and Gabriel near the bar set up in a corner of the huge room. Before I can decide if I should go straight over to them or get another drink first, everyone is asked to take their seats.

Here goes nothing.

An arm slips through mine. Jack. “Let me take you to our table.”

I can’t say no without coming off like a bitch, so I smile and nod. God, I need another drink. Jack deftly weaves us through the crowd, puffed up and smug as other men stop to blatantly stare at me and my teensy red dress. I swallow down my embarrassment, instead focusing on the sight of K, dressed in a beautiful silver suit with a red tie, converging on the same table as Jack and me.

Maybe this dress was a bad idea.

K’s shock when he notices us couldn’t be more obvious if he tried. His usual expression of stony indifference is gone, replaced by bulging eyes, clenched hands, and a jaw hanging open so wide it may as well be dragging on the ground. Then those shrewd silver eyes, accentuated by the fine gray fabric of his suit, zero in on Jack and his face goes from gaping to enraged in the span of a heartbeat.

K begins to walk around the table toward me and my palms become slick with sweat. Lust and anger war in his expression, and as screwed up as I am, I love it. Before K reaches us, Gabriel steps in front of him and whispers something in his ear. K nods and Gabriel steps aside to let him continue on his way. K reaches my side and I tense, waiting for the explosive confrontation with Jack.

Instead of shouting or striking, K gives me a wide smile, that dimple making a rare appearance, and holds out a crooked arm. “May I escort you to your seat?”

“What the fuck, Killer?” Jack tries to maneuver between K and me, which makes me stumble in the impossibly high heels I’m unaccustomed to wearing.

“Don’t touch what’s mine, Wolfe,” K hisses, darting around him to steady me with a strong hand on my waist. K’s words, combined with the heat of his touch, singe my skin through the fabric of my dress. Desire builds low inside and I burst into flames, the heat unfurling quickly, flaring up, licking over every nerve ending. I gasp at the intensity and our eyes meet.

I’m trapped. Ensnared by his mesmerizing silver gaze. The familiarity of it warms me further, but that funny sensation of déjà vu is still there to send an icy ripple down my spine and back up to the base of my skull. The scar beneath my hair throbs and I have to tear my eyes away. My heart is pounding in my chest, a cold sweat beading up between my shoulder blades.

What is it about his eyes that is so familiar?

“Britt?” K’s breath tickles my ear and I shiver. “I want to throw a sheet over you and hide that unbelievable body from all the men in the room. You’re going to pay for letting them see what’s mine.” I gasp at his words. Then, as if he didn’t just get me hot and bothered, he changes the subject. “Let’s get you in a chair.”

Breathless, I allow him to maneuver me into a seat. He takes the one to my right, threads his fingers through mine, and pulls my hand into his lap. K’s thumb gently strokes across the back of my hand, soothing little caresses no one would believe could come from a man so intimidating and fierce.

Yet without me saying a word he somehow knows what I need.

The gesture is tender and sweet and so unlike the brooding, angry man he projects, yet it’s so him. It’s another glimpse into the real K, whoever he is.

“You all right?” His question is without ulterior motive or jealousy. He honestly wants to know if I’m okay.

I shake my head, tilti

ng it to meet his inquiring stare. “I-I don’t know. Maybe too much champagne.” Maybe being near you blows my mind. I give a forced smile and K squeezes my hand under the table.

From the way he presses his mouth into a tight line, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t believe me. Or maybe he’s pissed over the dress. Thankfully, K doesn’t press for more. I couldn’t explain how I feel even if I wanted to, which I don’t. How do I tell him his eyes make me uneasy, but at the same time his presence sends a warm, protective feeling straight to my heart?

K glances over, dropping his gaze to the low-cut red dress and my voluptuous breasts. He gives me a dark, hungry look that leaves no doubt what he’s thinking.