to know what’s responsible for that reaction. If she can feel my touch through this dress I bought her without permission, and whether it sent a little jolt through her body like it did mine.
Now those distracting tits are brushing my chest through my shirt.
We’re pretending, I remind myself. But the implication—that there are consequences of under-acting, of failing to look interested—provides a racy carte blanche under the dark lights of the club.
“I’m glad you came tonight," I say over the music.
“I almost didn’t, but I told Marc I’d get a drink with him later this week.”
My grip tightens on her hips hard enough she flinches. “You’d rather be with Wall Street than with me?”
The question is more earnest than I’d like.
“He has one thing going for him. He’s not pretending to like me.” She loops her arms around my neck, making her lips shine in the flicker of neon lights swirling across the dance floor. “Not all of us are happy alone. I want someone who makes me feel like I’m what they want, and not just a means of getting it.”
Her words rock me.
I didn’t know she felt that way. I’d never pegged my best friend as feeling so alone, never thought of her wanting that.
We took on the world together. Suddenly, I’m blaming myself for missing this.
"Besides," she goes on, "he wouldn't have barged into a change room, not to mention tortured me while he was there."
My hands experimentally stroke up her back, finding bare skin above her dress. The jasmine scent of her skin is familiar and appealing. “You’re right. I’m not him. If you were really my girl and I found you in a dressing room wearing this, I wouldn't have untangled you."
Her gaze comes back to mine. "Why not?"
"Because you're the strongest woman I know, and I like watching you struggle because I know you'll win."
I can’t read the emotions chasing one another across her face in the dark, but I wish to hell I could.
"You overestimate my abilities with zippers," she says at last. "What if I couldn't get out?"
A ghost of a smile pulls on my lips. "I would've ripped the dress off you—slowly—and fucked you against that mirror until you didn’t care.”
Daisy stops moving in my arms.
Knowing I caused that simple reaction sends a blaze of heat through me, one that has me aching to find out what would happen if I did just what I described.
“Can I borrow your girlfriend?” Tris drawls from beside us, catching Daisy’s hand from around my neck and pressing his lips to the back of her hand. “I need to ask her something.”
"Get your own girl, Tris." I splay a hand possessively over her collarbone, the rise of her breast above the dress.
I half expect her to retort, but she’s quiet as my brother shoots a look of surprise between us. He's gone a moment later, and Daisy's hands find my shoulders again.
Somehow she's closer now, and I'm wondering if she did it herself or whether my hand on her hip dragged her against me.
When she speaks, her lips brush my cheek and send heat down my spine. “Was that retribution for what I said earlier about the bath bomb?”
“No. I’m collecting on that next.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. Her hands dig into my neck, the muscles that got tight when I wasn't paying attention.
“We agreed to make this look as real as possible,” I remind her. “And any woman I dated wouldn’t mock me in public the way you did without retribution.”
Her dark brows rise halfway to her hairline. “Don’t tell me your fragile ego can’t take it,” she taunts.
“I can take everything you have to give,” I promise. “But that doesn’t mean there wouldn’t be retribution if you were my girl.”
The lights in the club are dim, but I swear her eyes flash with heat. “If we were dating for real, I’d remind you I don’t belong to anyone but myself.”
I stroke my thumb along the line of her jaw. “And I’d make you wish you were wrong.”
If I thought Daisy would come back at me with fire, it’s my turn to be caught off guard.
Her lashes lower, and the next second, she’s studying my mouth as if she can’t decide where to tape it shut…
Or maybe ask me to put it on her.
This was about putting on a show for our friends and maybe proving a point too. But the point gets lost when I make good on my threat, burying my