Page 90 of The Rival's Obsession
She’s impossible to miss in Ledger red.
Inthatdress. Fuck.
A fitted sequin gown hugs every curve like it was sewn onto her body. The slit running high up one thigh flashes skin with every step. And when she walks, it’s like she’s hunting something. Or someone.
Christ.
That leg.
That leg could ruin a man. Could break him open and leave nothing behind but worship.
I want to feel it wrapped around my head while I feast on what she’s hiding between her thighs. Slow. Filthy. Grateful.
She sees me before I reach her.
I take another sip of bourbon, let it linger on my tongue as I make my way through the crowd—never taking my eyes off her.
She doesn’t look away either.
We meet near the roulette table, where some hedge-fund vampire is bleeding money like it means nothing. I wrap an arm low around her, my face turned into her neck and taking an appreciative pull of her perfume.
“Stunning.” I place a light peck just below her ear.
Eve gets straight to our shared purpose for the night.
“Grant’s here,” she says, voice low, smooth as the liquor I haven’t finished yet. “But he ran into a leech.”
I smirk around the rim of my glass. “Corrine?”
She nods once—sharp and knowing.
Of course it’s Corrine.
She’s like a rash you can’t treat.
No matter how far you push her, she always finds a way to cling to Grant like she’s owed him.
I set my glass down on the velvet edge of the table and pull a deck of playing cards from inside my tux jacket.
“Do you carry cards everywhere you go, Mr. Marchesi?” Eve asks with a flirty smirk.
“Perhaps,” I say, giving them a slow, deliberate shuffle. “You never know when luck might strike.”
She watches the way my fingers move, the crisp snap of the deck between them.
I fan the cards and then cut, the way I was taught as a boy by men who played for more than money.
When I set the deck down between us, I look at her, eyes daring.
“Feel like playing a game tonight?”
Her eyes flick to mine, interested. “Always up for a fun time.”
We each draw a card.
Mine’s higher.
I can’t suppress my grin as I lay it down on the felt—smug and slow.
