The club was packed, neon lights flashing against the dark, bodies lost in the heat of the music. The bass pounded in your chest, but none of it mattered—because Rafe Cameron had his eyes on you.

He was leaning against the bar, watching, drink in hand, head tilted just slightly like he was considering something. Or maybe—someone.

You.

You smirked, tilting your chin up as you swayed to the music, letting your dress ride up just enough to make him crazy. It took less than a minute for him to make his move, slipping through the crowd like he already knew how this would end.

Rafe stopped in front of you, close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath, the faintest hint of cologne clinging to his skin. “You having fun, doll?”

You dragged a finger down his chest, slow, teasing. “Why? You jealous?”

His smirk widened, but there was something dark behind it. “Do I look like the jealous type?”

You laughed. “Yeah, actually.”

Rafe’s hands found your hips, firm but not pulling—not yet. “And you?” he murmured, leaning in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You like playing games with me?”

You turned, pressing your back against his chest, grinding just enough to feel his breath hitch. “Depends,” you teased. “You planning to win?”

His grip tightened. There it was. The shift, the spark, the moment when the game stopped being just fun and started being something else.

“princess,” Rafe rasped, voice low, dangerous. “I don’t play unless I know I’m gonna win.”

You smirked. Oh, Rafe.

“Then let’s see what you’ve got.”

And with that, the game was on.