Page 28 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

I held her gaze and smirked. Then I arched my back deliberately, pressing tighter against Jackson. My hands slid up to link behind his neck as he bent to meet me, his mouth hovering near the curve of my neck.

“You're playing a dangerous game tonight,” he murmured against my ear.

A shiver ran down my spine. "I'm not."

His hands tightened on my hips, his thumbs tracing slow circles through the fabric. “You sure about that?”

His breath ghosted over the side of my neck, close enough that the almost-touch became its own kind of torture. I could feel his hardness against my back, the heat of him pressing through my dress.

Naomi looked like she'd swallowed a lemon whole.

I arched a little farther, fitting myself against him. “Positive.”

A low sound rumbled in his chest, almost a growl. “You're doing that on purpose.” His grip shifted, one hand sliding lower on my hip, possessive. “But I'm not complaining.”

I tilted my head back slightly, my cheek brushing his jaw. "I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't."

His hands slid lower on my hips and stilled. I knew he felt it, the slight rigidity under the fabric, the shape that had no business being there on a night out, the outline of the thigh holster sitting high against my skin. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move away either. Then his hands slid back up to my waist and pulled me flush against him, mouth brushing my ear.

“I had a feeling you’d be trouble.”

I tilted my head back slightly. "I think you like trouble."

A beat of silence.

"Yeah," he said. "I think I do."

Across the room, Naomi turned sharply and stomped away, her shoulders tight, her jaw clenched. That was my cue.

I let my hands slip from behind Jackson's neck and stepped forward, easing out of his hold. His hands lingered a second before they fell away. I turned to face him, and the full force of him up close hit harder than I expected. The dark shirt fit too well—sleeves shoved to his forearms, collar open just enough to show the line of his throat. Heat sat in his eyes as he looked me over, gaze dragging from my face down the length of my dress and back up again.

I made the mistake of glancing down just once and found him hard. Visibly so. The fabric of his trousers did almost nothing to conceal it, and he was not remotely embarrassed about it.

I dragged my gaze back to his face and found him watching me with the faintest hint of a smile, like he'd caught me noticing.

"I'm going to find Cassidy," I said abruptly.

Something flickered across his expression. Not disappointment exactly, but close enough that I felt it.

“I think I saw her outside near the ping-pong tables,” he said.

I said nothing. I didn't trust what my face might do if I tried. I turned and slipped back into the crowd, his gaze following me until the dancers swallowed me whole.

The music crashed over me as I left him behind, the lights suddenly too bright, the air thick and stale. I scrubbed a hand over my face. Focus. Find Cassidy.

I pushed through the hallway and out onto the back patio. Cool night air hit my face. A cluster of people surrounded the ping-pong tables, cheering and groaning at every missed shot.

Cassidy stood at one end of the table, paddle raised like she was preparing for battle, her eyeliner smudged.

"Cass," I called.

She looked up, eyes bright and unfocused. “Harper! Watch this — I’m about to destroy him.”

She swung wildly. The ball sailed three feet wide and bounced off a guy’s shoulder. The table erupted in laughter.

I stepped closer. “You’re done.”