“Oh my God!” Andrea cried when she saw whom Liz was talking to. “Jamie!” She flung herself at the girl.

“Andrea!” Jamie said, returning the hug.

“Clay, you remember Jamie Lane from the art exhibit?” Andrea said by way of introduction.

Of course, Andrea only ever got this excited about art. He was pretty sure this was actually the sister to Liz’s ex-boyfriend, Hayden. Small fucking world.

“Yes. You bought all of her paintings at her last exhibit. Cost a fucking fortune,” he drawled.

Jamie colored slightly and looked between Liz and Andrea. “It’s so good to see y’all.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Liz said. “I didn’t even know you ran in this circle.”

“My artwork has been getting around to some big names, and those people like to dole out favors.”

“Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!” Liz said.

“Thank you so much!” Jamie cried. “I’m just, you know, so happy to see you happy, too. Oh, and, Andrea,” she said, as if remembering something, “did you get ahold of that art gallery owner I introduced you to when you were looking for new pieces?”

Andrea’s lips thinned. “Um…which one?”

“It was, like, a month ago, I guess. Maybe six weeks? You know, the one from that last exhibit I saw you at. Asher McWalter.”

Andrea hadn’t mentioned that to him. Strange.

“Oh, right,” she said, glancing away, as if she wanted to be anywhere but in this conversation. “Yes. We, uh…we spoke. Briefly.”

Fuck. He knew what that meant. But why the hell is she nervous? If she’s fucked the guy, then why is she purposefully avoiding my gaze? That meant something was wrong. Something that he wasn’t supposed to know about.

“Who is Asher McWalter?” Clay asked, forcing her to look at him.

She frowned. “Nobody.”

“He runs this amazing art exhibit downtown,” Jamie said.

Sensing the building tension between Clay and Andrea, Liz put her hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “How about I buy you a drink?”

“Oh. Sure,” Jamie said with a frown.

Then, they disappeared.

“Well?” Clay prompted.

Andrea met his gaze. Christ, she was so strong. Even though she didn’t want to say whatever was about to come out of her mouth, she still looked him in the eyes and crushed him.

“He’s an art gallery owner who I met about a month before your attack. He’s the guy you saw me with the night of your…robbery.”

Clay’s mouth went dry as the crowd started counting down to midnight. Bad Suit. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been fucking that douche bag for over a month?”

She nodded minutely.

“You told me to come fight for you in that bar, knowing you were going home with him. He wasn’t some stranger you’d picked up. That was planned,” he growled. “You let me show up and you let me finger-fuck you in the restroom,” he spat.

“Clay…”

“You broke the rules, Andrea. No wonder you want to end the game. Why the fuck did you leave with that douche?”

“Fuck, isn’t it obvious? I wanted to make you jealous,” she cried.

Clay’s eyebrows rose. “You left me alone, pissed off and horny, only for me to get jumped and have the shit beaten out of me…because you wanted me to be jealous?”

She gritted her teeth. “I didn’t know that would happen. I didn’t want it to happen.”

“Five, four, three, two, one!” the crowd cheered all around them as they watched the ball hit the ground in Times Square, the festivities being shown on a giant projection screen on the wall.

But Clay and Andrea just stared at each other, as if in a duel.

“Well, are you going to kiss me?” she demanded as everyone made out around them.

He was so pissed. Unbelievably, horribly pissed. He couldn’t think straight; he was so angry. A rage filled him to his core to know what Andrea had done.

Their game was simple. It had worked for ten years until Asher McWalter had walked into her life.

Clay let his anger feed him as he grabbed her roughly by the back of her neck and kissed her like it would be their last breath.

Chapter 6

LIMOS

In the back of the limo, Clay shredded Andrea’s expensive dress between his hands. Whatever had passed between them during that midnight kiss hadn’t dissipated in the time it took them to get out of the ballroom and into their waiting limo. In fact, it had only heightened their emotions. All Clay wanted was to rip Andrea’s clothes off and claim her body.

Fuck his ribs. He was getting laid. Right here. Right now.

“This dress cost a fucking fortune,” she murmured.

Not that she gave a fuck. He could see it in her eyes. She’d rather have the material in pieces on the floor of this limo than around her body.

“Tell someone who gives a fuck, baby.”

“Well, you’ll have to buy me another one.”

He bore down on her, sliding his hands up her bare calves. He grabbed the slit he’d torn into the dress between his hands, deviously grinned up at her, and wrenched it into two until it hit her upper thigh.

Andrea exhaled loudly and squirmed. He knew she was trying to seem unaffected, but he wouldn’t have any of that fucking shit.

“I’ll do as I please, and you’ll like it,” he told her.

She raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you all domineering?”

“Shh,” he said. “You broke the rules, baby. It’s my turn.”

Her eyes widened, and then he saw it—the fire that he so craved from her. She was crazy if she thought she was getting off scot-fucking-free for her part in what had happened to him. Yeah, he wasn’t an idiot. She wasn’t responsible for him getting jumped, but what she’d done pained him more. It went against the foundation of their relationship. And he was fucking pissed.

“You think I’m just going to lie here and let you do whatever you want?” she demanded, sitting up onto one elbow. “You said yourself, nothing has fucking changed between us.”

“That was before I knew you were fucking with me, Andrea,” he growled, his voice rising an octave.