Page 93 of Pretty Little Threats

I don’t entirely understand, but it’s enough to undo the tension tightening my chest.

“Can I take your order?” The bartender’s voice is strained and harried.

Dare kisses my palm before releasing my hand. The caress of his lips scorches across my skin. “Rose?” He prompts me to order first.

My eyes shoot to the bartender, but he simply stares back expectantly, fingers tapping on the bar top, oblivious to the fact that Dare has, yet again, shown how different he is from my dad. With my dad, what I want is always an afterthought.

“I’ll have a Malbec.”

Dare’s lips twitch. “I’ll have a martini. Extra dirty.” He side-eyes me.

I roll my eyes and turn to take in the crowd. There are at least a hundred people, if not more, milling about. Lights are suspended in the air, strung across the dance floor, which is close to full. Servers in stark-white, starched uniforms carry hors d’oeuvres and glasses of champagne, offering them to guests. Gold and diamonds glitter throughout the room, a few people in attendance practically dripping in jewelry.

The attendees themselves are all smiles and laughs. They’re enjoying themselves, and the freedom to do the same is almost overwhelming. I’m not sure I know how to let loose at an event like this, after years of working at them. The tables are covered by silky black cloths, and once our drinks are in hand, Dare leads me to one set off from the stage. I snag a few hors d’oeuvres on the way.

Dare narrows his gaze when I move to sit across from him.

I scowl back. “Don’t think you can tell me where to sit.”

A challenge glints in his eyes. “I’d never.”

“Liar.”

Dare chuckles and stands, pushing a chair until it’s right next to mine, then slowly takes his seat. His muscled thigh brushes against mine. My heart skips. Dare stretches his arm across the back of my chair and brushes his knuckles over my bare shoulder. Gooseflesh ripples down my arm.

Is he doing this on purpose? Trying to provoke me yet again? I shoot him a look, but he’s busy staring at the dance floor and sipping on his drink, like he hasn’t a care in the world. Part of me doesn’t trust it. Who’s to say this isn’t his big chance to humiliate me?

“Relax, Rose,” he murmurs, his keen gaze cutting through me. “It’s a party.”

Remy drops into the seat across from us. His tux isn’t as nice as Dare’s, but the bodyguard cleans up good. A classic black and white tuxedo with a bowtie, of all things. Beard line freshly trimmed and manicured, short dark hair slicked back. Remy almost looks like a proper gentleman.

But why is he here? It’s not like someone is going to attack us in the middle of a party.

I arch an eyebrow. “Really?”

The bodyguard shrugs. “Don’t blame me.”

Dare nods at Remy. “All good?”

“We’re good.” Remy’s entire body is coiled tight, like, at any moment, someone could attack. He scans the crowd with practiced ease.

To anyone who didn’t know better, he might look like he fits in, but the bulk of the gun at his side sets him apart. And the hardness of his aura is a dead giveaway that he’s not some rich socialite. This is a man who has seen, and possibly done, unfathomable things.

The partygoers aren’t worried. They’re ignorant, with their perceived safety. They don’t see the world as something threatening.

But Remy does.

I glance at Dare, who was studying me while I watched Remy. There, in his dark brown irises, is a darkness I have yet to truly meet. Dare is more like Remy than he is anyone at this party. The questions are at the tip of my tongue.

What happened?

Why are you like this?

But something holds me back. It could be the slight shake of his head. Or the way his eyes flit to my wine glass, which I have yet to touch, a silent reprimand to let it go.It’s a party, Rose.

He was so appalled by the idea of using the night to our advantage. Does he really come to these things to have...fun?

I don’t even know the last time I had fun at an event like this, and that’s really sad.

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