He shakes his head, eliminating the space between us. “Man, fuck them.” He throws one leg over the seat, his knee now knocking with mine under the table. “Let them have their fantasies,” he says as if they could never fit in the world these people live in.
Amy and I meet eyes again, and the doubt flickering in hers pisses me off, but not as much as the inquisition behind them intrigues me.
What is it you’re searching for, Miss Priss?
I hold her gaze for longer than she’s comfortable with, then slowly draw mine to the boys of the hour and wait.
It takes several seconds, seconds I’m convinced are purposeful, and then Ransom’s eyes are pinned to mine.
With a flick of my finger, I call him over.
“Oh my god, what are you doing?” Cali’s panic is hidden behind her hand. “Jameson, he’s going to cover you in your coffee.”
I’ll admit, my pulse jumps at her words; she knows him better than me, right? Still, I don’t take my eyes off Ransom’s.
No one knows about our few, short meetings, other than the five seconds they saw us speak at the club, which I covered up, and the people I met mere hours ago have no sense of what I’m about, so, yeah. I’m sure I come off every bit the overconfident girl their twisted brows insinuate they see me as in this moment.
To be honest, I half figure I am and wholly expect the guy to turn away and ignore me because who the hell am I? The kicker, though, is the hint of the sassy smirks dawning each of their lips. They’re waiting to let them free and will the moment I fail to get Ransom to oblige, but those little grins are guaranteed to backfire as my sole reaction would be laughter, because again... who the hell am I and why would he come at my call?
Only Ransom doesn’t snub me.
He pushes to his feet, and without so much as breaking eye contact, stalks this way in all his six-four sexiness.
Amy sits up straight, a weary expression twisting her face, somewhat mirroring the others around us, while I lift my elbow to the table and press my chin into my open palm.
Scott shifts closer.
The table grows tenser.
Ransom steps up behind me without a care.
His hands lock around the edge of the thick wood at my sides, and he bends, blocking Scott from me completely as he brings his mouth near my cheek.
“What can I do for you, Trouble?” He doesn’t care enough to quiet his deep voice but allows whoever wants to listen in to do just that.
I tip my head backward, now inadvertently resting on the wide stretch of his shoulder. “You’re staring this way.” I don’t point out how he’s breaking the little rule their note conveyed.
“I am.”
My lips quirk with his instant answer. “Why?”
His light eyes shift between mine. “I’m angry.”
I cross my legs beneath the table, swiftly flicking my gaze toward Amy. I’m tempted to throw out her name but decide against it.
“Care to share your reasoning?”
Her eyes narrow and I move mine back to the entertainment of the hour.
Ransom pretends to mull over the question, and when he speaks, his words are delivered in a seductively coy tone. “I expected to find a wicked hourglass of red waiting for me... but that didn’t happen.”
Well, okay then.
There’s the confirmation I didn’t need, but confirmation, nonetheless. They sent me the dress.
Amy’s frown deepens, even more so when heat sneaks up my neck.
She has no clue what he means; she couldn’t possibly, but she sure as hell wants to.
“Damn disgrace, don’t you think? Expecting a shade of the devil with long, dangerous... forks to show itself only to be disappointed by the sight of a crisp, blank canvas.” He shifts the slightest bit, the small waves along his forehead grazing mine as he plays me like a matchbox, striking his lips across my cheek, leaving a low burn in their wake. “Shame really, it’s my least favorite color.”
My fingers twitch around my cup, and I freeze when Ransom dips forward, the sharp definition of his jaw and stretch of his neck pulling my attention, the way his Adam’s apple shifts as he opens his mouth. His mouth that now closes over the peaked swirl of whipped cream at the top. The ache that sparked grows, catching fire.
And then extinguishes.
He’s gone, and I swear everyone at the table hisses a cut-short