Page 25 of An Assassin's Death
“For the food. Fourteen bucks.” He looks pointedly to his hand and back up into my face. For once, I have the height advantage, thanks to the smooth marble countertop I’m sitting on. “You don’t think you’re getting a free ride here, do you?” He tilts his head like he’s studying a sad puppy, the look on his face overly concerned to the point of sarcasm. Which it is.
“I’m happy to pay my own way.” I smile as sweetly as I can, hoping to give him a cavity. A deep one. One that will hurt to drill. “As you can see, however, I don’t exactly carry a purse.” I motion around me, making my point. “I’m good for the money. I’ll bring some next time I’m here.”
He eyes my chest, which happens to be much closer to his face at the moment, given my position.
“Don’t chicks usually carry money in their bras or something?” He lifts his chin, the smug look back on his face.
“Not this chick.”
“Mmmhmm.” He hums condescendingly.
Without thinking about it, I set down my bag of almost empty popcorn, and casually pull my shirt up, flashing the men in the room my lace trimmed white bra, showing off the mound of my breasts.
A choked sound comes from the other side of the room, but I don’t dare look away from Jameson.
“You going to frisk me? Search me for money? Be my guest.” Part of me hopes he does. It’s been too long since I got off last and my body seems to hum anytime I’m near any of these guys.
Rough, calloused hands land on my waist and Jameson starts teasing my sides, running his hands up and down lightly over my skin. It’s just an inch or so up and then back down, but the movement sends a shiver racing up my spine as awareness blooms right in my center.
Then he opens that damn mouth.
“Well if you’re offering sexual favors, I don’t think we’ll need that money after all.”
Pinning my shirt under my arms to hold it in place, I purposefully run my hands along the bottom edge of my bra, teasing my fingers under the cups.
“I think…” I trial off, my words breathy as I slide my hands fully under the bra, cupping my bare breasts while keeping myself hidden from their view—not that I’m honestly all that modest. Leaning forward, I arch my back toward Jameson and take delight in the way his nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. His eyes never leave the view of my hands, which are now squeezing my breasts, fingertips biting into my own flesh. My teeth sink into my lower lip seductively, my body presses closer before I continue, “…that I’ll just bring the money next week and you’ll have to trust me.”
He growls, actually growls, and his hands land on my thighs, yanking me closer to his body. One leg on each side of him. A gasp slips past my lips and my hands fall free, my shirt slipping back down my stomach. My palms meet the cool countertop behind me for balance as I lean away from him.
“Then I think dinner is a no-go, darling. But you can always be my desert.” His thumbs brush the inside of my jeans, running up the seams, getting dangerously close to my core. He doesn’t dare touch me higher but he does takes his time slowly teasing my skin.
Fire flashes in my eyes, and I lean forward, gripping his wrists to stop his exploration.
“Do these lines really work on women? Like, real, live, actual women?” I question with a mocking tone.
Mason chuckles from the side of the kitchen. “Yeah, no. They don’t,” he says. “She’s got your number, J.”
Jameson simmers in what seems to be sexual frustration.
Deciding enough is enough for one day, I push Jameson back and slide from the counter. He lets me pass, his curious attention held on my every step.
“Thanks for the offer, boys, but I’m going to take a raincheck.” I straighten my shirt and brush my hands off. I pat Jameson on the ass as I walk by. I smirk when I hear more chuckling from Mouse. Rory just stands still as a statue, watching my interactions with his “real” teammates.
He must see me as the fox in the hen house. More like the fox in the cock house. Yeah, I’m more than happy to play the role of vixen in that little scenario. I grin to myself.
With effort, I pretend I’m just as confident as all of them. Adding swagger to my walk, I make sure my hips swing enticingly on my way out. Calling over my shoulder, I head to the door. “See you tonight, Mouse.”
I’m sure the quiet little bastard will be there at some point tonight. Whether I see him or not is another question.
* * *
The Lifeless Leaguehouse is silent as I step through the door. I would never admit it to the guys, but my body aches from being tossed on my ass all day long. I’m looking forward to another long, hot bath. It calls to me.
My stomach is more pressing about its needs, however, so I haul my butt through the corridor and head for the mess hall. The elegant cafeteria is lined with long wooden tables, and carpet in an array of ugly colors in hideous patterns covers the floor. Whoever thought carpet should be made in paisley or other ridiculous patterns should be shot. I mean, rugs are one thing, but entire floors outfitted in swirls of color is overkill.
Just being inside the house again has my guard back up, the image of the file in Armond’s office runs through my head.
I need more information and no one’s willing to give it up easily.
