The Assassins Kiss

Chapter 12

Ezra's POV

Luca grins, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Let the games begin, princess."

The challenge in his voice is like a spark to dry kindling. I'm already regretting this, but I'm also more determined than ever to beat him.

Game on.

I can't believe I agreed to this. What the hell is wrong with me? If he pulls out a gun, I swear I'll walk right out of this house—he's already had a knife to my throat once. What's next?

"Ladies first," Luca says, his voice dripping with that trademark smugness as he hands me the cue.

I take it from him, my fingers brushing against his briefly, a reminder of the fine line between hatred and... something else. I focus, steadying my breath as I aim for the first shot.

Then I feel it. The unmistakable press of something against my ass. My heart skips.

I whip around, my hand already shoving Luca back. "What the hell are you doing?"

He doesn't even flinch, just shrugs, the cocky bastard. "Watching you aim," he says like it's the most natural thing in the world.

I glare at him, feeling the heat rise in my chest. "That close?"

Luca leans back slightly, that same smug look plastered on his face. "Yep."

Oh, he wants to play games? Fine, I can play too.

I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. He might think he's messing with my head, but I'm no amateur. I'm a seductress, after all. I've used my charm to get out of much worse situations than this. Let's see how he handles it.

I turn back around, setting the cue against the felt, my eyes narrowing as I line up the shot.

I focus on the table, the sound of the balls clicking together, the feel of the cool wood in my hands.

When I'm done, I hand the cue back to him, feeling the slight shift in the air. This is the moment.

Luca takes the cue from my hands, his grip warm, and steps forward to aim. As he lines up his shot, I move behind him, silently.

Slowly, I let my fingertips glide up his arm, the lightest touch as I trace the muscles beneath his shirt. The tension in his body is immediate—he's aware of every movement.

I slide my hand up to his neck, just barely making contact before I give a gentle squeeze. His breath hitches.

"That shot sucked, mi amore," I whisper, my voice soft but laced with challenge.

His whole body tenses. He turns on his heel, suddenly facing me, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the strain in his neck.

"You started it," I mutter. His eyes burning with a mix of fury and something darker.

I smile sweetly, keeping the cue in my hand as I lift it away from him.

I watch his expression twist—half frustration, half something else. He's trying to hold onto control, but it's slipping, and I know exactly how to push him further.

I bend down and aim at a solid ball that's close to a pocket.

I go to shoot when I feel a hard slap on my ass. I feel his hand go under my dress as he rubs my butt. I stand up straight, at least the ball when in the pocket.

I turn around and hand him the stick. "You're turn." I smile.

He walks around the table to get a good angle. I follow him.