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When I turn, he’s not looking at me. He’s in perfect profile, from the curve of his nose to the swoop of his blonde hair. He’s looking down at his shoes, and for a long moment, he doesn’t say anything else. This is the most complicated part about Whitaker Ashby.

How someone so beautiful can be so unreadable.

Finally, he turns to me, locking those blue eyes on mine. “Wanna go eat all those ridiculous petit fours with me?”

The answer falls from me clumsily,recklessly, like a boulder. “God, yes.”

20

Wicker

My cheek is still hummingwhere she touched me before, even long after we’ve set off for the dining room.

She rushes after me, her heels clicking like automatic gunfire, until we reach the dessert table. Trudie and the rest of these bitches have been going on and on about the food all afternoon. Aside from the booze, it was the only thing about this stupid tea I was even looking forward to. Father has had me on his salad diet for fuckingweeks.

I snag one of the platters and begin emptying decorative tiered trays onto it, little petit fours and cookies tumbling together.

Beside me, Verity wrings her hands. “We won’t get in trouble?”

Touch me again.

“You’re the Princess, for fuck’s sake.” I shoot her an annoyed look, nudging a tray toward her. It’s filled with finger foods. Little sandwiches with the edges cut off. “I don’t know why you tiptoe around East End like a mouse. No one in this whole godforsaken town is as bulletproof as you are. You could probably strangle one of those bitches in broad daylight, and the rest of them would just worry about your manicure.”

There’s a moment where she soaks this in, her brow all knitted up, before she slides me a sly look that sends my skin fucking aching for another touch.

She grabs a platter and starts dumping. “They do look good.”

“I’ve been smelling this stuff forhours.” Platter in hand, I turn, nearly running into a server. The man darts a gaze between us and the pilfered table, mouth going slack in shock. Shrugging, I gracefully pluck a bottle of sparkling water off the tray. “Perfect. The Princess is gonna be parched.”

Verity almost topples her platter when I hand it off to her, our fingers grazing in a way that nearly makes me shudder. The bottle of champagne chilling on the table comes with me. Without missing a beat, I lead her through a side door that goes to the kitchen.

“Richard,” I greet the stoner in a hairnet and apron, both of us pausing. There’s a bit of a complicated history. “How you been?” I ask. “How’s Klancy?”

“Not bad,” he says, glassy eyes darting to me. “Heading upstairs?”

“If that’s okay,” I say, lifting the tray in offering.

Perking up, he takes some cookies. “Go for it, man.” The large stainless steel shelf is easy enough to wheel away from the wall, revealing a squat hatch. Glancing at Verity, he even does me the courtesy of holding open the door. “Princess.”

Verity’s heels click-clack warily behind me, but go silent as we’re faced with the staircase’s sharp incline. I duck under the frame, balancing my tray and bottle of booze carefully.

Turning back, I see her glaring into the darkness. “You’re always taking me into creepy hidden passages,” she grumbles, carefully following my lead. My fingers buzz with the impulse to grab onto some part of her and drag her the rest of the way. It’s not impatience or irritation, but instead, this nagging, clawing need.

Touch me, touch me, touch me.

She waits until we’re halfway up to ask, “That guy, Richard… he’s South Side, isn’t he?”

I answer the unspoken question. “We took a couple of classes together freshman year. Usually, when I make a run at a guy’s girlfriend, I expect violence, but Richard took me aside and asked me to show her a nice time. Called it a birthday present. It completely ruined the conquest for me, so I never ended up actually fucking her.” I turn to toss her a smirk. “But I got a pretty nice hookup out of the deal.”

We turn twice, eventually getting to another door. I open it with my elbow, and bright light fills the stairwell. Stepping out, we’re greeted by a blue sky and an incredible view of the river.

“Whoa.” Verity gapes as she takes it in. It’s difficult to watch her here, all sun-soaked and fiery, because that finger-buzzing crashes into me full force. Her skin looks smooth and radiant, and I can just imagine the feel of her body against mine, all soft and warm.

Touch. Me.

“Expecting a dusty attic?” I wonder, leading her to the back corner. There are a few pool lounge chairs that have seen better days, and a rickety-looking table with one leg bound with duct tape. I clear away an overflowing ashtray before setting the food down.

Verity follows suit, looking nervous once her hands are free. “Do you come here a lot?”