Aria watched him go, the rum still buzzing in her veins like a challenge she couldn't ignore.
He walked out of the club like he owned the night, broad shoulders cutting through the crowd, not once looking back.
She told herself it was the alcohol, the boredom, the thrill of the chase. He wouldn't dare touch her.
He was too controlled, too modest, too afraid of her last name if he knew. She would push him to the edge, watch him squirm, then leave him wanting. It was her favorite game.
She slipped off the stool, ignoring Sasha's raised eyebrow, and followed him into the humid dark.
The path outside the club wound through palms lit by low lanterns, the ocean a black roar in the distance.
Eliot moved fast, but she caught up easily in her heels, the silk camisole clinging to her skin
