Page 42 of Leather & Lies

Jackson’s laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrating against mine. “Your body says differently, little hellcat.” His thigh slides between mine as he guides us through a turn, the friction making my breath catch.

“It’s just the dance,” I say, trying to convince myself more than him.

“Is it?” His lips brush my ear, sending shivers cascading down my neck. “Then why is your heart racing? Why are your pupils dilated?” His hand tightens, drawing me impossibly closer. “Why are your nipples hard against my chest?”

Heat floods my face as I realize he’s right—my traitorous body betraying me yet again. Worse is the knowing in his eyes, the satisfaction in his smile. The certainty that he’s winning whatever game we’re playing.

The music shifts to something slower, more intimate. All around us, other dancers maintain their careful distance. But Jackson holds me like he’s afraid I might disappear if he loosens his grip for even a moment.

“Look at me,” he commands softly.

I shouldn’t. Should keep my gaze fixed on his shoulder, maintain whatever scraps of independence I have left. But my eyes lift to his anyway, drawn by the gravity of his presence.

What I see there steals my breath—hunger, yes, but also something that looks dangerously close to tenderness.

His breath catches slightly as I lean into him—the first crack in his control—and his grip turns punishing. “Keep dancing like that,” he murmurs against my ear, “and we won’t make it through the next song.”

His threat—hispromise—makes my core clench with anticipation. I should be terrified by the darkness in his voice, yet I’m fighting the urge to arch into his touch.

“Excuse me.” The voice breaks through our bubble. Ryder Caldwell stands at Jackson’s shoulder, his smile sharp as a blade. “Mind if I cut in?”

Before Jackson can answer, a donor urgently waves him over. Something flashes in his eyes—possession, fury, fear. His fingers dig into my hip once before he releases me.

“Don’t wander far,” he murmurs. The warning is clear.

Ryder’s hand is colder than Jackson’s as he takes over the dance. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” he says conversationally. “Though I wonder if you know exactly what your father’s debts cost.”

My steps falter. “What are you talking about?”

“You know Jackson isn’t the only one holding your father’s markers.” His voice drops lower. “Some of his other creditors might not be as pleasant about collecting.”

I don’t say anything as he spins me around. I know my father owed money all over Salvation, and no doubt beyond. But why was Ryder telling me this now?

“Jackson Hawkins doesn’t need any more blood on his hands,” Ryder continued. “Not for a woman who’s a passing fancy, who’ll be gone at the end of a year.”

My breath caught at the reminder of the temporary nature of my relationship with Jackson. It was so fucking easy to forget when he was charming.

“He’s a businessman,” I breathed.

“Christ, you’re so fucking innocent,” Ryder said. “Victoria Reeves thought that, too. Thought the worst he could do was ruin her financially. Right up until he put that bullet in her head.” He leans closer. “But here’s what you need to understand—he didn’t do it for business. He did it because her actions hurt innocent people. That’s the line you don’t cross with Jackson. You don’t hurt his people.”

“And I’m one of his people now?”

Ryder’s laugh holds no humor. “Sweetheart, you’re not just his people. You’re his obsession. God help anyone who touches you.”

He deposits me at the bar without saying another word, leaving me uneasy as I process his words. A second gin and tonic doesn’t steady my nerves like it should. Not when I can feel Jackson’s gaze burning into me, promising retribution for a crime I haven’t committed.

When his hand settles on my waist again, I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Having fun?” The words are pleasant. The grip is not.

His grip stays punishing as he guides me back to the dance floor, each step deliberate. His hand slides lower than proper, fingers splayed possessively across my hip. The other couples give us a wider berth now, sensing the current of tension between us. My body betrays me with each step, already slick and aching as he pulls me back against his chest.

“You’ll tell me what Ryder said.” Not a question. A command. His lips brush my ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Every. Single. Word.”

Annoyance flows through me, sudden and sharp. “He was warning me away from you,” I lie. “As if I need a reminder that you’re a?—”

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