My hand shoots out, grabbing her securely by the wrist. Touching her skin gives me a jolt, electrifying me down to my toes.
I know she feels it, too. She shudders.
My voice lowers. “You know damned well we do. Right now.”
“Or what?” she challenges. Her head swivels, her eyes roaming the restaurant’s span. “You going to make a scene? You wouldn’t dare.”
My stare hardens. I pull her closer. “Try me.”
She snatches her wrist back, shrugging noncommittally with her next step.
“I think I just did.”
She takes another step and then she doesn’t stop. Before I can blink, she is halfway across the floor, sashaying her way back to the fully stocked bar.
I almost call after her until a hand lands on my shoulder.
“Chris. Jesus, man. What the hell are you are doing here this early?”
Chris’s face is red as usual, his breathing short—his expression pained. He looks as if he’s just finished sprinting. I suspect that he has.
“I wanted to get a good look at things before the festivities began. Plus, I needed to talk to you. I need you to look at this Voyager article before it goes to print.”
I glance at Elena’s retreating back. The skin there is bare, and I’m doing all I can to not follow it.
“Can’t it wait?”
“No,” he exhales. “This article’s rolling out soon. Just take a look for me, ok?” He unloads a briefcase at the nearest table, sitting down beside it.
I take a deep breath. Typical Chris.
All he can think about is work—and all I can think about right now is play. It’s a game, really, and I’ve been sucked into it against my will.
A round of “Catch the beautiful blonde,” and I’m already losing by a mile. I’m two seconds from bailing on Chris.
I can tell that he sees the urgency written all over my face. He pulls out another chair, looking up at me.
“It’s not like you have anything better to do.”
Boy, if he only knew. If he only really knew.
In Times of Stalemate
A draw can be obtained not only by repeating moves, but also by one weak move. - Savielly Tartakower
ELENA
The surprise entrance of Foxx and Kat goes off without a hitch, thanks to Lukas. Kat hadn’t the slightest clue that I was coming, and when she sees me, she nearly squeezes me to death with a hug.
The band kicks in. The streamers go flying. Even our little sister, Ana, is here for the night.
But I can’t stop looking at Lukas. I can’t stop remembering what we did.
For the few times that we’ve been forced to interact with each other at this party, all we’ve done is throw barbs at each other—slyly insulting, stealthily jabbing.
Foxx and Kat have already given up the fight—the will to force us to “play nice,” and as soon as we are relieved of our conjoined duties, we spring apart like magnets, making our way to opposite ends of the room to avoid further contact.
But it is useless. Like the magnet that I’ve suddenly become, I still feel his field—still feel the effects of the invisible energy that emanates off of his beautiful body in palpable waves.
Good God, he looks great in that tux.
He’s in and out of the room, moving here, talking there. A flock of women are surreptitiously following him around the restaurant, but he doesn’t seem to notice… or care.
In fact, I think his mind is fully focused on something else entirely—me.
Now, either my mind has been playing tricks on me, or Lukas Griffin is casually stalking me around the entire expanse.
If I grab a drink, he’s at the bar. If I stop by a table, he strolls by.
My arm has permanently attached itself to my younger sibling, Anastasia, and I am unashamedly using her as my protection—a sort of secretive shield against a green-eyed glare.
It’s his eyes—they’re everywhere to me. Around each corner. Next to each window. Beside me. Behind me. Blazing right into my face and then away again.
I watch his eyes skim the room several times and then land on me. Always on me.
I can’t avoid them. And frankly? I’m fucking terrified.
There’s something wicked in his glance, something sinister in his stare. And it’s because he knows…
I know he knows… that I want him. I’ve wanted him from the second he touched me.
And at the same time, I can’t stand him. I can’t stand his cocky attitude, his overblown arrogance.
He’s chauvinistic.
He’s whorish.
He’s a prick.
But why the fuck does he have to look so damn good?
Whatever you decide to do, Elena, just do not fuck him tonight.
***
LUKAS
I take another sip of my scotch, scanning the crowd for tonight’s lucky lady: my next lay.
Blondes, redheads, brunettes.
All decked out in sultry cocktail dresses. All good-looking… and pleasantly drunk.
But my eyes keep straying back to one person.
You can’t miss her in that dark red get-up: that deep, plunging dress with the skin-tight wrap.
Her legs are unusually long, especially considering her height. She’s only got a few inches on Kat, and every extra inch seems to have fallen from the waist down.
Miles of slim calves and toned thighs, shooting up from these sky-high heels, cross my line of sight from fifty feet away.
Elena.
Son-of-a-fucking-bitch.
I hate to say it, but it’s true. Kat’s sister is a certified bombshell… and has been plucking my last fucking nerve all night.
She’s mouthy.
She’s uptight.
And she’s so goddamned arrogant…
I am definitely going to fuck her tonight.
***
ELENA
“Do it,” Ana says in my ear. “You do it, or I will.”
“Do what?”
“Lukas.”
“Ana!” I nearly drop my drink.
Anastasia is so close to me that she nearly dunks her caramel-colored hair in my sweet-tasting whisky. Five minutes ago, she let her hair down… in more ways than one, it seems.
I, on the other, am becoming as stiff as a board.
Ana pokes me for the seventh time.
“Look at you,” she says. “You’re as rigid as a corpse. It’s all this sexual tension. It’s holding you as tight as a string.”
I grip my glass tighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, so you haven’t been eye-fucking Lukas all night?” Suddenly, I feel poke number eight. “Don’t lie, Elle. It’s unbecoming.”
She circles me, gripping my elbow from the other side.
“You can’t keep your eyes off of him. And he clearly can’t keep his eyes off of you… so why don’t you do all of us watching a big favor and go over there and talk to him?”
“I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t have anything to say to him.”
Ana shrugs. “Fine, then don’t. Don’t talk to him. Just fuck him.”
Down goes my drink. I catch it last minute.
“Jesus Christ, Ana…!” I whisper fiercely. “Where the hell did you learn to talk like that?”
Poke number nine.
“You,” she says, taking a sip out of my whiskey glass.
“Well, stop it,” I say, swatting her hands away. “I don’t like it. You’re too young.”
She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “For God’s sake, Elle. I’m graduating college soon. And I can drink and curse and do lots of things.” She smirks.