Page 19 of Under the Lies

There was a brief moment, years ago, when he felt more like mine than hers.

And maybe it’s the drink from earlier or the quietness of the room that feels so small but is not, whatever it is, I want to get to know that person again.

“What did you have in mind?” I ask when the stillness of the room becomes too much. “What kind of favors?”

I don’t get an answer.

Across the table Noah studies his cards. What’s there to study? You get two cards in blackjack.

I clear my throat.

Still nothing. Not even a twitch of a brow.

Well, fine then.

If he’s going to ignore me, I’m going to give him something he can’t ignore.

My butt is barely in the air when, without looking up, Noah growls, “Sit.”

I narrow my eyes at his authoritative tone. “I’m not a dog. Commands don’t work on me.” I hop off the chair. Marching right to him.

He still won’t look at me. It grates on my skin. He dragged me into the room. He wanted to play this game. He unbuttoned his shirt. Now, he’s ignoring me.

My fingers wrap around his chin. I ignore the wave of electricity that ignites inside me as I force his gaze to meet mine. “If you’re going to invite me to play a game, I expect your undivided attention.”

“Oh, you do now?” Low and husky, his words brush against my skin. “My apologies, my lady. Let me rectify that.”

His hands shoot out, sinking into my hips, pulling me close.

Right onto his lap.

“How’s this?” he whispers in my ear. The arms around me feel like steel bands, keeping me secure against his body. Slow, methodic strokes move in circles along my skin, hypnotizing me, holding me in place.

Fire blazes in the wake of his touch.

Noah Kincaid has always felt larger than life, the kind of person that makes everything else fade away when his sole focus is on you, and right now he’s pressed mute on the rest of the world.

All from a caress of his thumb.

Wonder what he could do if more than his thumb was involved…

Stop it. Stop it right now, Sayer Brooks. We do not have these thoughts about our sister’s ex-boyfriend.

Except we are totally having these thoughts about our sister’s ex-boyfriend.

“How are we playing?” I ask softly as I stare at our forgotten cards, needing the distraction from the growing need inside me.

“One round,” Noah says, the words shooting down my spine like an arrow. “Pick your favor.”

“And keep it in my head?” My voice is low and packed with sass.

“Smartass,” he chuckles, shifting behind me to reach into his jacket. Something brushes against my backside and my eyes widen a fraction.

I’m not the only one affected by our closeness.

Seconds later, pen and paper are placed in front of me. “Write it.”

I look at him. “How do I know you won’t peek while I write?”

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