Page 112 of Pretty Little Threats

“No,” I call over my shoulder.

“Dare!” he shouts, but I refuse to rescue him this time. Crue is a big boy. He can send Tara packing if he’s tired of her. It was stupid of him to bring her here in the first place.

“Maybe we should take pity on him,” Rose says.

I glance at her and raise my eyebrows. “Hell, no. He’ll be clinging if he thinks we’ll help him get rid of Tara.”

“So, she’s not his girlfriend?” Rose asks.

Chivalry and a burning desire to see that ass swaying in front of my face have me releasing Rose so she can head up the stairs first. “Crue doesn’t have girlfriends.”

Rose starts up the steps, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from reaching for her ass and squeezing it. So fucking round and juicy, that little strap of material covering her crack and barely anything else. I can see every perfect shake, which reminds me of the way her body trembles when I pound into her.

“Hmm. Sounds like someone I know.” She turns at the top of the stairs and catches my eyes on her ass. “Like what you see?”

“You know I do,” I tell her, crowding her once I ascend. My hand finds its way around her throat, and she instantly softens in my arms. God, I love that. “I’m going to burn that swimsuit.”

Rose scrunches her face. “I thought you liked it.”

“Oh, I do, but I guarantee Crue did too, and the only reason I’m not going down to kick his ass for checking you out is because I already have you all to myself.” I flex my fingers and she inhales, lips parting.

“I should probably worry about how possessive you are,” she confesses, eyes flicking between mine. “But I think I like it.”

Grinning, I trace my lips over hers. “I think I like that you like it.”

She slips her tongue along the seam of my mouth. We stay like that, kissing and teasing each other, until someone clears their throat.

Stealing Rose’s attention from me.

“What?” My glare is overly harsh as it flies to the staff person holding a tray of food.

His gaze is on Rose, and my lips curls as I bare my teeth. That motherfucker better find something else to look at. Rose squeezes my forearm and I release her neck. Her fingers slip through mine as she does damage control, thanking the staff and giving them a generous tip and extra to apologize for my attitude.

Once the staff leaves, Rose levels me with a look. “Don’t be rude to the employees. They’re only doing their job.”

“He was looking at you.”

“You can’t threaten everyone who checks me out,” she warns.

“I can try.”

She rolls her eyes and tugs me to the table on the patio.She pushes me into a seat before climbing into my lap. Her nails dig into my hair, tugging on it and tipping my head until I’m forced to meet her gaze. Those rich hazel irises stare at me in earnest. “You have to know by now that no one else matters.”

“Is that so?”

She pulls my hair. “Yes, you asshole. I lov—” She cuts off and looks away. Lines wrinkle her forehead.

I feel the loss of the words she refused to say in my chest, like someone reached between my ribs and ripped my heart out. It’s been easy to forget the layers of complication between us. Rose pulls away from the moment, eyes distant.

Is she thinking about her dad and what she owes him?

She’s still digging through Vista Holding files every day like a good little puppet. I hoped time would show her that I have nothing to hide. But will she ever believe it?

Will she ever trust me the way she blindly trusts her father?

I shove down the rush of white-hot anger. “What were you going to say, Rose?”

Come on. Don’t let him win again. Give me the words.

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