[h3] Duke [/h3]

Duke frowned playfully as Esme explained that of all people she had managed to get wrapped up in, the man was the owner of the place. He simply settled, noticing how relaxed Esme seemed to feel in his arms, safe and sound, like nothing in the world could harm her as long as he was around. If that’s what she was feeling, she was absolutely right. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he would kill every man in the room if she asked him to…without thinking.

As she thanked him for the offer, Duke shrugged, but he raised his eyebrows behind his mask as Esme kissed his cheek. He was about to quip about ‘impulses and protectiveness’. But his words were a bit lost in the haze of affection that she seemed to be showing, all the tension between them erased, finally. Duke watched her smirk carefully, as he could almost taste the mischief behind it, just as he tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her tight against his chest. 

It was then that he confirmed what he thought he had felt earlier in the night. Either she was wearing some very intense shape wear, or Esme…had sticky fingers, like him. Maybe they were more alike than Duke had given her credit. He came out of his thoughts when Esme offered him the opportunity to beat up a couple of random guys that had obviously played the same game as the owner.

“Now see…this is why Dean sendin’ me out to dance with you is dangerous. I would love…nothing more…than to break all of their hands into tiny little pieces. But unfortunately, I’m supposed to be a good boy until Dean is finished upstairs. He said to give him thirty minutes, and then I can show my ass.” Duke chuckled, leaning in close to Esme’s face boldly. He brushed her nose with his, drawing even more glances from the rich folks around them, “And judgin’ by the metal that I can tell is just diggin’ into that pretty little chest of yours, I know why my sticky fingers didn’t bother you a bit. You’re a bandit…like me.”

Duke smiled brightly, tilting Esme back as he took a step forward and dipped her dramatically in the center of the dance floor. He whipped her up just as dramatically, pulling her back to his chest tightly as he turned them both in a circle and a few women began to hover. Duke politely pulled his hand away from Esme’s back, holding it up to turn the women down before they ever asked, “And something about you goin’ around with a bunch of rich folks, stealin’ their goods, drinkin’ up all their liquor? Well, it hits different when we’re both dressed like this.”

Duke chuckled, surprised at his own confidence, without any alcohol. Maybe it was the fact that he could get the entire party in their feelings with the smell of old money oozing off him, and Esme’s mingling. He could almost feel the jealous tension, as the men and women partnered up, the men trying to show him up, and the women glaring at Esme, like she was personally offending them by existing. Honestly, Duke didn’t care about any of them. He had about fifteen minutes to show Esme a good time, before Dean inevitably came back, whisked her away for the night, and Duke became third wheel again.