Page 67 of Revenge Is a Dish Best Served… Wearing Heels?

"Do you have history together?" he asked, his brows raised meaningfully.

"History?"

His eyes flicked to Archie, and I realized what he was asking and why he was asking it in that subtle way. A laugh escaped me, because Tristan didn't seem to like the idea of Ethan and me being together one bit.

I decided to let him off the hook, though. "No. There is no history between the two of us. We're just pals and always have been." Well, we were more recent pals, but I wasn't going to get into all of that.

"Okay. Good."

"Are you two ready already?" Archie asked "I'm literally halfway through my popcorn."

Without waiting for an answer, he pressed play on the movie, and we were off. Lions and tigers and zombies, oh my. Never in my life had I seen so many undead creatures in a movie. Unless you counted vampires. I'd seen a few vampire love stories. Oh, and a zombie romance too.

But this? This was nothing like that. Just pure gore and grossness.

I tried to focus on it. I really did. But the snow falling beyond the windows and blanketing the city was way more beautiful than anything on the screen. And my mind kept wandering back to that memory board in Tristan's room, then to dinner, then the massage, then back to the photos.

The penthouse was warm, Tristan's gas fireplace a thing of beauty as the flames flickered and crackled softly, and my clothes were so incredibly cozy. If I wasn't so amped up onadrenaline, it would have been the perfect setting for a nice winter nap.

But I kept thinking about this man sitting next to me, whose focus seemed to waver between Archie, the screen, and me, settling on me the most... especially... wait, was he looking at my toes?

I'd propped them up on the edge of the coffee table, the long legs of the sweats covering most of my feet, with just the tips of my bright pink painted toes peeking out.

Maybe it wasn't the best manners to have my feet there, but Tristan had done it first, although he had socks on.

Testing my theory, that he was watching them, I wiggled my toes, and sure enough, his jaw tensed before his eyes darted back to the screen.

Oh, this was good.

Suppressing a smile, I let my focus drift back to the movie, determined to endure the next ninety minutes or so of zombie chaos. Then, just as I settled in, I felt it.

A hand.

More specifically,hishand, sliding against mine on the couch.

It was subtle. Careful. Like he was testing the waters, seeing if I'd pull away.

I didn't. After all, this was the sort of connection I needed to encourage.

His fingers brushed against mine, lingering before his palm finally settled against the back of my hand. It was warm, steady, strong.

Deciding to flip my hand over, our palms made contact, and I heard his intake of breath. Yeah, I'd felt that electric sizzle between us, the same thing that had happened our night together.

Not that it mattered anymore.

He slipped his fingers through mine, the gesture incredibly sensual and intimate somehow. And his thumb began to make slow circles on the back of my hand, sending tingles of pleasure up and down my spine.

Damn.I should be focusing on the plan, not how my hand was starting to feel like it belonged in his. What was I doing?

Before I could react—before I could think about if and how I wanted to react—Archie's voice broke through the moment.

"Aww, look howcuteyou two are, holding hands," he teased, tossing another handful of popcorn into his mouth. "I hope you don't get any ideas, though. My big brother definitely has commitment issues."

"I don't have commitment issues," Tristan grumbled, pulling his hand away to grab a throw pillow and chuck it at the teen's head.

Archie batted it away effortlessly. "Uh-huh. Sure. That's what all the emotionally unavailable millionaires say."

I bit my lip, barely holding back a laugh as Tristan rolled his eyes.