I can’t back out now. Blocking out everyone around us, I concentrate on Zayn. “Turn your chair around and face me,” I repeat, lowering my voice and softening those sharp edges just enough to give him pause. “I don’t take orders from you,” he replies, the tone of his voice dark, glittering with challenge and lust. Behind us, Jeb sniggers. He’s fucking loving this. Screw him. “I have something you want, and I can’t give it to you if you’re tucked beneath the table.” “Fuck,” York grinds out, and I can hear the disbelief in his voice. I ignore him. I ignore the heat of the Breakers’ stares. If
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