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He surveys the crowd but then stops. Stiffening as he zeroes in on something—someone—below. I move until I stand next to him.

My gaze catches on what has him hooked. Two women in the center dancing together, except they aren’t bunched in like the rest of the people. They have a solid foot around them. The longer I watch, the more I realize…

“I have to go,” Reuben barks out.

But I don’t care.

There’s a buzzing in my ears that grows louder and louder the longer I watch Cinnamon dance. Even from this distance, I can see how her eyes are shut and her lips are lifted in her pleasure. How the skin tight dress she wears offers nothing for the imagination.

Desire hits me like a freight truck, but I force it out of my mind. Turning my attention to the other woman with her.

She’s clearly Cinnamon’s friend—they move synchronously. There’s comfort that exudes in their motions.

There is an unfamiliar uneasiness that finds its way into my gut.

If I go to her here, she will be publicly associated with a Roux.

But then a familiar man steps in the space the women have created, and my mind is made up for me.

45

Stirring the Pot

Kale

For what it’s worth, I watched her for twenty minutes before approaching.

I followed her from the captain’s house all around town. Sat outside while she had dinner.

She hasn’t killed him. In fact, it seems she’s just having a night out with her friend.

Grabbing the water bottle I ordered off the bar, I force my way through the crowd. Until I face her.

Cinnamon offers me a smile but doesn’t pause her motions. Her friend narrows her eyes but makes space for me into their orbit.

I shift into it, presenting the friend the water bottle as a gesture. She eyes it warily but takes it. Checking the seal before drinking a few gulps.

She offers it to Cinnamon next, lifting it for her, and I watch hypnotized as she opens her mouth. As the water spills out of her lips to her chin.

Why is that causing my cock to harden?

The friend takes the water back, chugging a few more gulps. Her face is pink, her hair plastered to her skin.

“I know him! He’s my neighbor, John!” Cinnamon shouts to her friend, she doesn’t miss a beat as her hips continue to sway.

“That sounds like a made up name!” the friend yells back, and I wince at the accuracy. The woman offers me a warning glare. “Cin! I need a break! You coming?”

Cinnamon waves her hand. “You good if I stay?”

“Yes! Be careful.” The last she forces onto me, and then she leans forward and spills into my ear. “My name is Olive, and if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

I incline my head.

Olive seemingly accepts that because she is dancing away without further complaint.

Shoving my glasses up the bridge of my nose, I shift my attention.

All of my blood heads south as I take in Cinnamon. The dress. Her body. Her clear enjoyment and relaxation.