Crazy Eights (Stacked Deck #8) - Emilia Finn Page 0,62

I exhale and start moving toward the studio doors. “I’ll call you later.”

“Good luck!” Soph’s shouted words are the last thing I hear before I pull the cell from my ear and slide it into my pocket.

My arm smarts each time I forget to be mindful of its movements, but it’s not so bad today. Time away from training is slowly helping it heal.

When I can’t possibly procrastinate a moment more, I broaden my shoulders, stand taller, then I push through the studio door so fast that the metal frame slams against the wall and makes Cam jump with fright.

She spins with a gasp, lifts her leg as though to snatch a blade from her sock – an ingrained habit, I think, considering she’s currently barefoot and in a leotard – then her eyes meet mine, and the blood drains from her face.

Music continues to play, loud, thumping, intoxicating, but Quinn merely stares in shock, her face ghostly white, her chest shuddering as she struggles to catch her breath.

I lift a single brow, glance back to the door, then to her, and fold my arms. “Victoria Quinnton.” I emphasize the realest part of her fake last name, and take a little thrill in the way she somehow turns paler. “Tori…” I remain exactly where I am, and study her luscious body, her long legs – the very first thing I ever noticed about her – her bow lips, and cat eyes. “It’s been so long.”

“Oh my god,” she murmurs.

I expected rage, since she’s so good at that… maybe confusion, terror. But I didn’t expect for her eyes to fill and sparkle with tears.

“Oh no,” she whispers.

“Prima…?”

I turn at the voice to my right, the scuff of shoes on a dusty dancefloor, and meet the eyes of a killer.

Victoria

Confrontation

My heart pounds so hard that I’m not sure it’s not a prelude to death. My head whooshes from the surge of adrenaline that slams inside my blood. Black dots sparkle in my peripherals, but I have to remain standing. Calm. Collected. And I have to get Jamie Fucking Kincaid out of my dance studio right now, before Evan realizes I know him intimately.

“Um… Mr. James.” Ugh! I suck at fake names when I’m being put on the spot. I slowly, shakily cross my studio and extend a hand when I stop two feet in front of Jamie. “You’re early.”

“Early?”

Jamie’s eyes radiate fury. His jaw ticks, and his chest expands. Bigger, bigger, bigger. But he takes my hand in an innocent shake, though the shot of electricity that singes my nerve endings is anything but innocent. He squeezes my hand, holds on a little longer than is polite, and when I try to pull back, he holds on a second longer. Unnoticeable to anyone else, even Evan, but not to me. I feel it.

My mind races as I struggle to take everything in at once. My studio, Evan’s nearness, the extra inches Jamie has grown since he was eighteen.

I’m not sure I’ve grown a single millimeter in four years, except, perhaps in my ass, but Jamie has grown taller, which means my neck wrenches back when I look up at him. His shoulders are broader, wider, muscular beneath his shirt. And his chest is bigger. It’s just… bigger.

Once, a very long time ago, I rested on that chest. My cheek on his pec, my ear on his heart.

“Prima?” Evan comes around Jamie, possessive, commanding, and pulls me in so my ass rests on his cock, and my back on his chest. He’s declaring ownership, and despite my heart and soul begging me to flick him off, I can’t. If I want to help Will, I must keep Evan happy. Which means, of these two men, Jamie is the one I have to flick. “You know this man?”

“Yeah, Prima.” Jamie spits my name like it tastes of sewage. “You remember me, right?”

“Um…” Think faster. Think faster! “Mr. James.” I pull away from Evan, but only so I can stand by his side and take his arm. “This is Mr. McGrady. Evan, this is, um…”

Jamie pastes on a fake smile and extends a hand for Evan. “Spencer Serrano.”

Evan’s eyes narrow to slits. “Serrano?” He looks down at me. “But you called him Mr. James.”

“My middle name is James,” Jamie easily cuts in. “Sometimes ‘Serrano’ is a mouthful, so I use either name.”

“Um… yes.” I smile for Evan. For Jamie. For the whole fucking universe. “Um… Mr. Serrano is here for dance lessons. He’s getting married