Page 35 of Reckless Hearts
“Nah, I never want a tattoo.” I give a nonchalant shrug. “Why mark a perfect canvas?”
Saskia snorts. “Should we start a petition to have you hung in the Louvre?” She slips a glance at Louis. “It appears the French like you.”
“The Louvre? Please, I’m more of a modern art installation,” I say.
“I think Marcus needs to be seen in motion to be appreciated,” Louis says, putting a proprietary arm around me, and Saskia, Neets, and John laugh. Seb doesn’t.
Louis regales us with a story about getting his first tattoo, a poorly thought-out Chinese character he got in Bangkok that was supposed to mean strength but actually translates to dumpling.
As he talks, his hand finds its way to the back of my neck, fingers playing idly with my hair.
But I can’t relax and enjoy his story. Instead, I’m acutely aware of Seb watching Louis and me from across the booth. His gaze makes me feel self-conscious in a way I don’t usually.
The conversation moves on to other people’s bad mistakes, and Louis leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “I thinkwe need to get you out of this booth, chéri. You still look far too tense. You want to dance?”
Fuck yes. I think I’d agree to almost anything to get away from Seb’s stare right now.
We weave through the crowd to find a spot on the dancefloor. The beat of the music is low and sultry. Louis’s arms encircle my waist, his hips grinding into mine, slow and deliberate. One hand slides up my chest, coming to rest at the base of my throat, while the other dips dangerously low on my hip.
John and Neets join us on the dancefloor, and Saskia’s at the bar, tossing her hair over her shoulders, leaning in close to a tall, blond guy. She laughs at something he says, touching his arm lightly.
If I was a betting man, I’d wager my life savings on the guy being Austrian.
Sure enough, after a few minutes, she cuts through the crowd with the blond guy trailing her like an obedient puppy.
“Stefan has invited me back to his place. He’s got a hot tub, apparently.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.
I detach from Louis so I can pull her close for a quick hug. “Stay safe.”
She gives me a wolfish grin, her eyes dancing between Louis and me. “You too.”
I turn back to Louis, and we return to dancing.
His hands slide down my back, coming to rest just above my waist, one thigh slipping between my legs as we sway to the beat.
“We appear to have an observer,” Louis breathes in my ear.
I glance at the booth, and sure enough, Seb is sitting there by himself, staring at us.
My stomach twists uncomfortably. I don’t want to look too closely and see the expression on Seb’s face right now.
“Let’s give him a show, oui?” Louis says.
I quirk an eyebrow. “What kind of show do you want to perform?”
“I was thinking it should start with your lips on mine.”
“Well, you guys did invent the French kiss,” I say as I lean in to kiss him.
I’ve kissed Louis before, and it was good, but right now, kissing him feels wrong. His lips are wrong. The way his tongue slides against mine is all wrong.
He isn’t Seb.
I draw back, weirded out.
“I need to head to the restroom,” I mutter.
I make my way through the throng of dancers, the bass pounding in my ears, matching the erratic beat of my heart.
