Dirty Deal (Dirty Rich 1)

I shouldn't look.

But this is the only chance I'm going to get.

If I don't look, I'll never get inside his head.

I'll never know what he's thinking.

I'll never know if he's thinking about me.

I place the book in my lap and pry it open. The first few pages are familiar tattoo mockups—Brendon always shows off his finished work. Or maybe I check the shop's Facebook religiously. Either way.

Then there are figure drawings. More tattoo mockups. A fierce dragon defending a castle. A giant octopus destroying a sea monster. A topless mermaid sunning on a rock.

A librarian pin up.

Only...

No.

She looks like me. Same champagne blond hair. Same green eyes. Same pretty pink cardigan. Same thick blue glasses. These aren't exactly standard frames.

And she's wearing a Mockingjay pin.

Exactly like the one attached to my backpack.

That's nothing. Lots of people like The Hunger Games. Even Brendon.

There's no way he's looking at me like this.

My heartbeat picks up.

My breath flees my body at an alarming rate.

I shouldn't turn the page, but I can't stop myself.

It's that same pin up, only her cardigan is unbuttoned. Her breasts are exposed.

In the next picture, she's lying on her back, her arms over her head, her cardigan binding her wrists.

The next.

That's me. Splayed out over this bed. Naked. Bound to the railing.

I turn the page.

Fuck.

I suck a deep breath between my teeth.

I press my thighs together.

I'm on my knees, resting on my heels, looking up.

Naked.

Waiting.

Hungry.

He wants me.

Brendon wants me.

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