Driven

CHAPTER 11

I barely recognize the girl in the mirror who stares back at me. Once again, Haddie has gone all out with her preparations for the launch party tonight thrown by the public relations company she works for. She spent almost an hour blowing my ringlets out so that my hair hangs in a straight, thick curtain down my back. I keep staring at myself in the mirror trying to adjust to this different person. My eyes are subtly smoked so the dark smudges have an opalescent quality, reflecting the violet in my irises. My lips are lined with nude liner and lip-gloss, making the slight touches of bronzed blush on my cheeks stand out.

She has talked me into wearing a little black number that shows off more skin than I’m comfortable with. The bust of the dress runs into a deep V, hinting suggestively at my abundant bra-proffered cleavage without being trashy. Just a suggestive hint at my curves. The straps go over the shoulders and connect the non-existent back with thin gold chains that drape loosely and attach at the swell of my butt. I tug down on the hemline for it falls mid-thigh, something I’m not altogether used to.

I look again in the mirror and smile. This is not me, the girl I know. I sigh shakily as I add chandelier earrings to complete the look. This may not be me, I think, but this is the confident girl I want to be again. The new me who’s going to go out tonight, let loose, and have fun. The girl who has resolved to have a night of fun and gain some self-assurance before I undertake all that is Colton and his warning-laced pursuits.

“Holy shit!” Haddie walks into my bathroom, a whistle blowing from her lips. “You look hot! I mean—” she stumbles over her words, “I’m at a loss here. I don’t think I have ever seen you this smokin’ sexy, Ry.” I smile widely at her praise. “You’re going to have them lining up tonight, baby. Hot damn, this is going to be fun to watch!”

I laugh at her response, my self-esteem bolstered. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself,” I compliment her harlot-red dress that shows off all of her best assets. I slip my heels, wincing at the feel of them, and smirking at the memory of the last time I wore them. “Give me a sec and I’ll be ready.”

I grab my clutch and stuff my driver’s license, money, and keys into it. When I grab my phone to place in the small purse, I realize I never asked Haddie about the voicemails from her I’d listened to earlier.

“Had? I never asked you what was so exciting about the event tonight. What hot celebrity did you guys secure as a carpet walker?”

She gives me an enigmatic smile. “Oh, it fell through,” she dismisses casually. I shake off the feeling that for some reason she is laughing at me. I quirk my head at her and she turns around, effectively changing the subject, “Let’s go!”

***

The entrance to the trendy club downtown is quite the spectacle, complete with criss-crossing searchlights, velvet ropes, and a red carpet ready for stars to walk for media photo opportunities. The entrance is complete with a backdrop displaying Merit Rum, the new product being launched. We park in predetermined spots for Haddie and her fellow PRX employees at the trendy, upscale hotel that owns and is somehow or another physically connected to the club. Haddie flashes her credentials, which allows us to whisk past the hoopla and within moments we are inside the populated club, the dull throb of the music pulsing through my body.

It has been years since I’ve been in a club like this and it takes me a while to acclimate to the dim lighting and loud music and not feel intimidated. I think Haddie realizes my nerves are kicking in and that my confidence is waning despite my sexed-up appearance for within moments she has pushed us through the throng of people to the bar. With disregard to the numerous bottles of Merit lining the slick countertop, Haddie orders us each two shots of tequila.

“One for luck,“ she grins at me.

“And one for courage,” I finish for her, our old college toast. We clink glasses and toss back the liquid. It burns my throat. It’s been so long since I’ve done a shot of tequila, I wince at the burn and put the back of my hand to my mouth to try and somehow stifle it.

“C’mon, Ryles,” Haddie shouts, unfazed by the liquor. “We’ve got one more to go!”

I raise my glass, an intrepid smile on my face, tap it to hers, and we both toss them back. The sting of the second one isn’t as bad, and my body warms at the liquid, but it still tastes like shit to me.

Haddie gives me a knowing glance and starts to giggle. “Tonight’s going to be fun!” She hugs her arm around me and squeezes. “It’s been so long since I’ve had my partner in crime back.”

I throw a smile at her as I take in the club’s atmosphere. It’s a large expanse of a room with purple, velvet-lined booths around the bottom floor. A glossy bar with a mirror placed behind it fills one whole wall, the mirror reflecting the room back, creating the illusion that the massive space is even larger. In the middle of the main floor is a large dance floor complete with trussing lined with moving head lights that are spinning, creating a dizzying array of colors. Stairs angle up from various intervals around the floor to a raised VIP area where teal booths are sectioned off by velvet stanchions. In one section of the VIP area, a plexiglass partition allows all below to see the M.C. spinning the music that pumps through the club. Model-worthy waitresses flit around in hot pants and fitted tank tops, uniform purple flowers adorning each one’s hair in some way or another. The club is swanky class with a touch of sophistication despite the various advertising paraphernalia for Merit Rum placed strategically around the room.

It’s nearing eleven o’clock, and I can see the crowd thickening and can feel the vibe of the masses pulsate with energy. In the VIP area, there is a crowd of people around a particular corner, and I wonder what trendy celebrity Haddie’s team has gotten to promote their newest product. I’ve been to enough of these functions with her to know the drill. Hot celebrities shown taking photos with new product equals big-time press for not only the item but Haddie’s company as well.

I take the glass Haddie hands me, my usual Tom Collins, and I sip from the straw as I point to the upper section. I raise my eyes in question rather than shout over the music that is starting to increase in volume as the club becomes more crowded. I figure we have about thirty minutes left until the decibels are so loud that the only way to communicate will be to yell.

She catches my silent question asking who’s up there. She leans over to talk in my ear. “Not sure. We have several people confirmed for tonight,” she shrugs a noncommittal answer. “Some surprises are in store as well.”

I narrow my eyes at her wondering why she is being vague with me, seeing as I’m not going to blab to anyone and ruin the surprise. She just smiles broadly and tugs my hand to follow her. We navigate through the mob of people, moving together as one unit. I can feel the alcohol slowly start buzzing through my body, warming me, easing my tension, and relaxing my nerves. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel sexy. I feel beautiful and sensual and at ease with those feelings. It’s not the alcohol that’s making me feel this way directly; rather the alcohol is allowing it by lessening my anxiety and insecurities.

I squeeze Haddie’s hand as she pushes through to a purple booth, which is reserved for PRX staff. She looks back and smiles genuinely at me, realizing that I’m starting to relax. Starting to enjoy. We break through the crowd to the booth to find two of Haddie’s colleagues there. I smile to them and say a quick hello, having met them before at previous events I’ve attended. I thank one of them for his compliments on my vamped-up style for the evening. As we sit down, there is a large cheer from the other side of the room on the upper level where the crowd had been earlier. I glance up to see what’s going on and notice nothing really but a number of women showing way too much skin hoping for whatever hot item PRX has invited up there to take notice of them.

I roll my eyes in disgust. “Fame whores,” I mouth to Haddie and she bursts out laughing.

I finish my drink as the catchy beat of a Black Eyed Peas song fills the club. I start moving my hips to the tempo and before I know it, I grab Haddie’s hand and drag her through the people out onto the dance floor. The surprised look on her face has me laughing as I close my eyes and let the music take me. We sing the words together, “I gotta feeling, that tonight’s gonna be a good night,” as we undulate in our own world on the dance floor.

I haven’t felt this liberated in so long that I just want to suspend this moment in time. I want to capture it in my memory so that the next time I start to fall in that dark place, I can remember this feeling to help me hold on to the light.

Haddie and I move to the music, working our way through several songs, each one strengthening my confidence and increasing my fluidity on the floor. Several of her co-workers, Grant, Tamara, and Jacob, join us as the song switches to Too Close, an old song but one of my favorites. I flirtatiously dance with Grant, acting out the song with him. We laugh, our bodies rubbing innocently up against each other, enjoying the playful interaction of the lyrics.

I raise my arms over my head, crossing them at the wrists and swivel my hips to the rhythm, the alcohol buzzing through my system. I close my eyes, absorbing the atmosphere all around me. A tingling sensation up my spine has me flashing my eyes back open.

I look up, and despite the synchronized unison of the mass on the dance floor, I stop, frozen in place when I see Colton. He is standing on one of the stairways that angles down from the VIP section. He has a drink in one hand and his other arm drapes casually around the shoulder of a statuesque blonde. She is turned into him, her hand rubbing gently through the top unbuttoned portion of his dress shirt. Her face tilts up to him and even from a distance, I can see her reverence and adoration of him although he has his head turned away from her, laughing with a rakish man on his left. A large daunting man stands behind him, eyes scanning the crowd. His security, maybe? Colton flashes a smile at his male cohort and it’s natural and unguarded, allowing me to momentarily appreciate his absolutely devastating looks. The blonde says something and Colton turns his attention back to her. She lifts her hand from his chest to rest on his cheek and lifts her face up, placing a slow, seductive kiss on his lips in ownership.

My insides churn at the sight, clouding my vision so much that I don’t pay enough attention to see if Colton is encouraging and returning the kiss or merely just tolerating it. My mouth is suddenly dry. I am paralyzed on the floor as I watch him with her. Numb really. We’re not together—my constant refusal of him has not demonstrated that I want otherwise. And despite my intense and unfounded hurt right now, all I want is that to be me he is holding. Me he is kissing. In the seconds that all of this swirls within me, my hurt begins to shift to anger. How stupid was I to think a guy like him could actually want a girl like me when he could have a girl like her?

I notice Haddie fall motionless in my periphery, taking notice of what I see. I’m about to turn to say something to her when Colton lifts his chin away from his arm candy, and looks up, his eyes locking onto mine. My heart skips over a beat and lodges itself in my throat. Despite the distance between us, I see shock flash in his eyes at us being in the same place, same time, yet again.

Even though a fellow dancer jostles me, my eyes hold steadfast to his. I know I need to leave the floor before my emotions get the best of me and my threatening tears begin to fall, but I am riveted in place. Unable to break the inescapable, magnetic pull he has over me. He releases his hold on the blonde immediately, discarding her easily. He hands his drink off to his male companion without looking and strides unfaltering down the stairs. His emerald eyes burn into mine, never losing our connection.

As he reaches the dance floor, the music changes to a deep, pulsating throb enveloping Trent Reznor’s hypnotic voice. Without a word or a look, the horde of dancers seems to move apart as he stalks onto the floor toward me. His expression is indiscernible, the muscle pulsing at his jaw, the shadows from the lights playing over the angles of his face. His long legs eat up the distance quickly. Numerous people turn their heads in recognition as he struts past, but the hungry look in his eyes stops them from approaching him any further. Despite the music’s volume, I audibly hear Haddie suck in a breath as he reaches me.

All of the things I want to yell at him, all of the hurt I want to spew at him, disappears as he stalks up to me, and without preamble grabs my hips in his hands, forcefully yanking me up against him. He holds me there, pressed against him, as his body starts to move, hips begin to grind into mine in sync to the punishing tempo of the song. I have no other option than to move with him, respond to the animalistic rhythm of his body. I slide my hands over his hands on my hips and lace my fingers through his. Holding him.

Holding on to the ride that is undeniably coming.

Our eyes remain locked. My head tilts back to look up at him. His lips part slightly, and I can hear him hiss out as my hips respond with him. His eyes darken, glazing with desire, filling with heat—with a predatory need. His scorching look alone has my nipples tightening and my body becoming a melting mess of need in anticipation of his touch. Of his undoubted possession of me.

I bite my bottom lip as he moves our combined hands from my hips to behind my back, kneading my backside through my dress, handcuffing me there. We continue to move as one with the music, the feeling of his firm, defined thighs pressing against mine. His arousal rubs thick and compelling against the lower part of my belly. He leans his face down so that we are within inches of each other. I can smell the alcohol on his breath as he sighs into me.

It is by far one of the most erotically sensual moments of my life. The rest of the world has fallen away. The intoxicating effect he has on my body blocks out the crowd of people around us, all looking our way, noticing me because of the man I am with. Rather it is just he and I. Moving. Responding. Arousing. Anticipating.

The song comes to an end, but we remain entranced in each other’s spell. I breathe for what I feel like is the first time since we’ve touched, a long shaky breath. I don’t realize that the music has stopped, and that the DJ is speaking over the microphone about the product of the evening. That except for the small crowd around us, the attention of the club has turned and is focused on the stage.

Colton and I stand there, not moving, feeling like we are barely breathing despite our heaving chests, absorbing each other and the sparks of sexual tension that are igniting between us.

“Colton! Hey, Colton,” a voice breaks through our connection, snapping me out of my spellbound state. Colton swivels his head to find one of the PRX staff calling his name. “It’s time. We need you on the stage. Now.”

He nods curtly before looking back at me, eyes smoldering with a rapacious urgency that makes my insides shiver. He unlaces his fingers from mine, releasing his hold on my hands and pulls away slightly. The warmth of his body is gone immediately, but my body is still humming from the connection, aching with need. He gives me a slow, suggestive smile and shakes his head softly. At me? At his own thoughts? At which one I’m not sure.

He reaches up a hand and tugs on my hair, his eyebrows quirk up as if to ask me why the change in my hair. I shrug shyly at him, words escaping me. His name is called again. He turns to go, but not before I watch the transition on his face from the Colton Donavan I know, to the public persona. Aloof and untouchable. Sexy and untamable.

We haven’t uttered a single word, and yet I feel like we’ve said so much.

I watch his broad shoulders as he walks through the crowd toward the stage, his bodyguard falling in step beside him, pushing back the people swarming him. I watch the spectacle and a little part of me smiles at the fact that I’ve seen the real Colton, not this one. At least I hope I have, my ever-present doubts returning.

Before I can finish watching his ascent to the makeshift stage, Haddie has me firmly by the arm and is pulling me unceremoniously from the dance floor. My resistance is futile as she drags me down a corridor, past the line for the bathrooms, and toward a small alcove near the exit. She spins me to face her, an incredulous look on her face.

“Ow, you’re hurting me!” I snap at her, yanking my arm away, not exactly thrilled at being taken away from the chance to watch Colton.

“What. The. Fuck. Was. That?” she asks, each word a staccato. I don’t even know how to answer her. I think I’m still under his spell for my words are not forming. “Holy shit, Rylee! You two were basically fucking each other with your eyes. I mean, I felt uncomfortable watching you two, like I was peeping into your bedroom,” she rambles on as she does when excited, “and you know I never get uncomfortable.” She leans back against the wall and tilts her head up to the ceiling, an unbelieving look on her face.

I stand there and stare at her for I don’t know how to answer her, so she continues. “I knew you said you guys had made out,” she continues ignoring the childlike snort of laughter that comes from me, “But you never told me that there was … that spark … that chemistry … such intensity … My God! I mean, I was hoping when you saw him that—”

“What?” Her last sentence triggers my brain to function. “What do you mean you were hoping?”

She smiles sheepishly at me. “Well …”

What the fuck is going on here? “Quit stalling, Montgomery!”

“Well, I was calling you last night to tell you we had landed him as a guest—Merit’s one of his new sponsors. Anyway I called just because I was excited, I thought we could sit back and lust after him tonight—I didn’t know anything about what had happened. I talked to Dane and that was when I found out you were out with him.” Her words are tumbling out now. I nod at her to continue, my eyes narrowed, lips pursed. “Then you came home and everything unfolded …”

“And what? You decided not to tell me because …”

“Well,” she contemplates, “After you told me everything, I had no idea that you two—your connection—is that magnetic. That captivating. I thought maybe if you saw him here, I could help you—I could push the issue. Help you have some fun.”

I blow out a loud breath, silently staring at her. I know she means well, but at the same time, I don’t need my hand held like a child. I’m mad at her. Mad at Colton for being here with that bimbo. Mad at him for waltzing up to me and taking hold as if I belonged to him. Mad at him for making me want him so badly my insides are burning. My contemplative silence settles over us.

“Don’t be mad, Ry. I’m sorry. I was doing it from a good place.” She bites her bottom lip, pouting at me, knowing I can never stay mad at her for any period of time. I smile softly, effectively forgiving her.

I sag back against the wall and close my eyes, listening to the cheering of the crowd at something the MC says. The question rattling around in my brain comes to the forefront. “Who’s his plus one?” I ask, referring to the blonde. Is she one of his arrangements? Someone he picked up in the club? Why is he kissing her if he is telling me he wants me? Did he not ask me because I’m not enough—pretty enough, sexy enough, glamorous enough—to be on his arm in public?

“Does it matter?” she sputters, “I mean, Jesus, Rylee, you two are—”

“Who?”

“Not sure,” she shakes her head. “His people just asked for clearance for ten. No names were given.”

I let out a slew of curses that make no sense, just something I do when upset and trying to process through a situation. Haddie eyes me cautiously, knowing my litany of cuss words and its implied meaning. “Talk to me, Ryles,” she urges. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I’m not lying to myself, am I?” Haddie looks at me confusion etched on her face in question. “I mean, I’m not making it up? The chemistry? Colton?”

“Are you crazy?” she stammers, grabbing me by the shoulder and giving me a little shake. “I thought you two were going to spontaneously combust out there! How can you question it?”

The crowd erupts again, the sound echoing down the hallway. I can hear Colton’s voice on the microphone. The rasp of his voice pulls at me. The crowd cheers again at something he says, and I wait for the noise to subside some before I can continue. “If he’s that into me. If there is that much chemistry … then why is he here with that blonde? Kissing her? Why not ask me? Or am I just the girl he wants to fuck on the side?” The confusion and hurt are evident in my voice.

Haddie twists her lips up as she thinks about my comments. “I don’t know, Rylee. There are so many scenarios here.” I raise my eyebrows at her as if I don’t believe her. “He could have already had her as a date before he met you. Or he could really want you and she could be the piece on the side until you say yes.”

I snort again. “Really? Did you see her?”

“Have you seen you?” she rebukes. “Have you looked in the mirror, Ry? You’re gorgeous on a normal day and you look unbelievable tonight! I’m kind of getting sick of telling you that. When are you going to start believing it?” I roll my eyes at her like a child. She ignores me and continues on her possible scenarios. “She could be one of his arrangements? Or maybe she is a fame whore who met him here? Or maybe she’s a friend.”

“When’s the last time you kissed a friend like that?” I whip at her, taking my hurt out on her. She just stares at me, arms folded across her chest. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I’d say keep doing what you’re doing. He obviously likes you, including your stubborn streak and smart mouth.”

“But, how do I—what do I?”

“Rylee, if you’re mad at him, be mad at him. It hasn’t stopped you from saying something to him before, and he still wants you. Just because you’ve decided to sleep with him doesn’t—”

“How do you know I’ve decided that?”

“Oh, honey, it’s written all over your face—and your body, for that matter. Besides, anyone watching that display out there already thinks that you have,” she laughs sympathetically at me as my eyes widen. “Look Ry, every girl in this club would fall into line if he snapped his fingers. Everyone, that is, but you. He’s the one pursuing you. How many times in his life do you think a woman has said no to him? Has walked away from him? Maybe he likes that. And if he does, don’t change it just because you’ve decided you want to do the deed with him.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“But that’s just it,” I confess, “Am I a challenge or does he really want me? And if it does happen, then will the challenge be over and then he’ll be done with me?”

“Honestly, who the fuck cares?” she castigates me. “You always overthink, overanalyze everything, Ry. Just forget your head for once, ignore the sensible warnings it’s telling you, and follow what your body wants. Follow Colton’s lead, for God’s sake.” I let out a shaky sigh, heeding her words. “Be yourself, Rylee. That’s what he’s liked all along.”

I nod my head several times, looking at her. A timid smile forms on my face, “Maybe you’re right.”

“Well, hallelujah!” she yells, flailing her hands over her head, “you finally listened.” She grabs my hand and starts tugging me down the hallway. “Let’s get you freshened up, get you some more liquid courage, and see where the evening and Mr. Sexy Colton lead you.”

***

It’s been about an hour since Haddie’s pep talk, and my confidence, bolstered by my steady intake of alcohol, is back in full force. We have danced and socialized with some of her co-workers and are currently sitting at the purple booth, taking a breather before hitting the floor again. I have tried desperately to not search out Colton in the club during this time. Tried to ignore the fact that he is probably kissing her somewhere in the vicinity. But I do catch my eyes flitting here and there whenever I see a big mob of people. I also note Haddie watching me as I look for him; so I try to sneak glances, try to be subtle about it. She assures me that he is probably busy with Merit Rum executives. I appreciate the explanation, her trying to make me feel better, so I just push him of my head. Or try to anyway, with the aid of another Tom Collins.

Haddie’s drinks have disappeared at a much slower pace than mine since she is technically “at work” and wants to make sure she has all her faculties. I have a steady buzz, but I’m not drunk by any means, for I hate the lack of control that comes with too much alcohol. She is laughing at me as I ask her to explain for the third time about a situation with a pretentious A-lister she had to deal with earlier in the week.

“Rylee, my dear, you are—”

“Excuse us ladies, would you mind if we joined you?” I turn to see two attractive gentlemen behind me.

Haddie raises her eyebrows at me in question and looks back at the taller one who’d spoken, “By all means, gentlemen,” she answers, a slow, sexy smile growing on her lips. “I’m Haddie and my friend here is Rylee.” She nods at me as they slide into the booth with us. The tall, dark haired one sits next to Haddie and the other, a blond haired surfer type, sits next to me in the open-ended booth. He has a kind, nervous smile and takes a long sip of his drink.

“Hi, Rylee, my name’s Sam,” he holds out his hand to mine, and I shake it, giving him a shy smile. I glance over to see Haddie engaged in conversation with his pal, her giggly, flirty face on. “So uh, I would offer to buy you a drink, but I can see your glass is already full.”

“Thanks.” I lower my gaze from his and bring my glass to my mouth to take a timid sip through my straw.

“Crazy crowded here tonight.”

“Yeah, I know,” I shout over the noise.

He says something else to me, but I’m not sure what because a loud cheer erupts from the booth next to us. I hold my hand to my ear, indicating that I can’t hear him. He scoots closer, placing his arm behind me on the booth and leans in close to my ear. “I said that you seem to be having a good time and that I noticed you earlier and am glad I—”

“The lady’s with me.” I suck in my breath at the rasp of Colton’s steely voice, the threat dominant in his words. My eyes snap up to meet Haddie’s, and I see delight flash in them before she gives me a careful, reassuring look. My heart is beating at a frantic pace, my skin laced with goose bumps, and all because I am so damn attuned to him and to his body’s close proximity.

I slowly turn to face him, effectively turning my back to press into Sam’s chest, his arm across the back of the booth brushing over my shoulder, giving the implied appearance of intimacy. I raise my eyes to meet Colton’s and try to ignore the instant pang of lust that goes straight to the juncture of my thighs upon seeing him. His hair is a tad mussed, his shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbow, that muscle I find so damn sexy is pulsing in his jaw, and his eyes smolder with annoyance. I’ve had just enough alcohol to feel defiant, to want to test just how irritated Colton really is.

“I’m with you?” I question, my voice laced with sarcasm. I can feel Sam’s body tense behind me and shift nervously, unaware of the chess game he is currently a pawn in, as Colton’s eyes narrow at me. “Really? Because I thought you were with her.” I shift to the side to look behind him, looking for her. I raise my eyebrows at him and continue, “You know, the blonde from your arm earlier?”

“Cute, Rylee,” he spits out as impatience radiates off of him. I see his eyes shift, lock with Sam’s behind me, and deliver the hands-off warning without uttering a word.

I’m irritated that he can be all over the club for the past hour and a half, doing God knows what with the blonde, and yet he thinks he can waltz up and lay claim to me? I don’t think so. I reach back and place my hand on Sam’s knee and squeeze it gently. “Don’t worry, Sam, I’m not with him.” I make my voice loud enough that Colton can hear me. I see Haddie’s eyes widen at my words as I hear a low growl from Colton in response. I can feel Sam flinch against me. I turn back to Colton, defiance in my smirk and challenge in my eyes.

“Don’t push me, Rylee. I don’t like sharing.” I can see him clench and unclench his fists in an instinctive response. “You. Belong. With. Me.” His claim of entitlement is a rasped growl.

I quirk my eyebrows up, my insolence mounting, “How so, Ace?” I watch his eyes focus on the hand I’ve kept on Sam’s knee. “Last night you were with me, and tonight you’re with her.” I shrug calmly at him although inside I’m anything but—my heart is racing and my breath has quickened. “Seems to me like—She. Belongs. With. You.” I mimic childishly.

Colton drags a hand through his hair and gives an exasperated sigh as his eyes flicker over everyone in the booth. I can see him try to rein in his frustration at me and at having to have this conversation in front our little audience. “Rylee,” he blows air out in a sigh, “You—You,” he looks around, out into the crowd and then his eyes finally come back to mine, impatience prevalent. “You test me on every level. Push me away,” he grunts, realizing he is saying this out loud. “What am I supposed to think?”

I look him up and down, my mouth twisting in thought. I’m kind of enjoying toying with him, making the man who is so sure of himself, who always gets what he wants, have to work at something. “I’m not sure if I want you yet,” I bait him. I hear Haddie suck in her breath at my flippant comment and the ice clink in Sam’s glass as he sucks down the remainder of it in anxiety. “A girl’s allowed to change her mind,” I taunt, tilting my head as I regard him. “We’re notorious for it.”

“Among other things,” he says dryly, taking a drink, watching me from over the rim of his glass. “Two can play this game, Ryles,” he cautions, “and I think I have a lot more experience at it than you do.”

My bravado falters slightly at the warning look in his eyes. I withdraw my hand from Sam’s knee and scoot toward the edge of my seat, my eyes never wavering from his. We stay like this for several moments, the music in the club background to our little drama. “You’re playing hard to get, Rylee,” he admonishes.

I glance over at Haddie who’s face is impassive but her eyes tell me she can’t believe what is unfolding. I stand up to face him, squaring my shoulders to him, defiantly raising my chin, “And your point is?”

He tsks at me, shaking his head, and takes a step closer. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself because it’s quite a show you’re putting on here.” He puts a finger under my chin, lifting so my eyes meet his. “I don’t play games, Rylee,” he warns, his voice just loud enough for me to hear, “and I won’t tolerate them played on me.” Sexual tension radiates between the two of us. The air is thick with it.

I breathe in a slow, calculated breath, trying to form an intelligent answer as his close proximity is clouding my thoughts and heightening my senses. “Well, thanks for the update.” I slap a hand on his chest, and lean in a little closer, my lips near his ear. “I’ll let you in on a little something as well, Ace,” I enlighten him, encouraged when I hear him suck in a breath in response, my voice a whisper on his cheek. “I don’t like being made to feel like I’m sloppy seconds to your blonde bevy of babes.” I step back, forcing a confident smirk on my face, “You’re developing a pattern of wanting me right after I know you’ve been with another. That’s a habit you’re going to need to break or nothing else is going to happen here,” I finish gesturing between the two of us as I raise my eyebrows at him, “that is if I want it to at all.” His lips curl at the corners, amusement in his eyes at the challenge.

God, he is gorgeous! Even when he is smoldering with anger, he emits a raw sensuality that my body has a hard time ignoring. I turn to glance at Haddie for encouragement, as I hear his name being called by a voice, seductive like velvet. “Colt, baby?”

The words make me want to vomit.

I turn back to him to see a well-manicured hand slide in between his arm and his torso, splaying over his chest in ownership. I see him tense at the touch, his eyes guarded in reaction, and he throws back the rest of his drink, hissing at the sting of it between clenched teeth. I proceed to watch as the blonde from earlier slithers up next to him, eyeing me up and down pityingly, trying to stake her claim. I see the spark in her eye when she recognizes that I’m the one he left her for on the stairs to dance with. If looks could kill, I’d be dead from her glare alone. But despite it all, Colton’s eyes remain steadfast on mine.

I am nauseated at the sight of her hands on him, and the thought of him giving any attention to her. I shake my head at him in condemnation as I cluck my tongue. “Case in point,” I attest, trying to contain my disbelief at her perfect timing in our conversation. I glance back at Haddie and the two men sitting there, sincerity etched in my face, “I apologize, but please excuse me.” Haddie starts to gather her purse, concern on her face, and I subtly shake my head for her to stay.

I turn back and look at Colton one last time, hoping my eyes portray the message I’m sending. Here’s your choice. Me or her. You pick. Right now. Last chance.

I avert my eyes, breaking our connection. He stands static with the blonde draped over him like a bad jacket. I guess he’s made his decision. I try to calmly exit the booth area. Try to flee from the dangerous path that I undoubtedly know he will lead me down.

Once I feel like I’m clear from view, I blindly push my way through the mass of people, hurt bubbling up to the surface. My heart aches with the knowledge that I’ll never be able to compete with someone like her. Never. I try to contain it as I push my way to the bar, wanting to numb the feelings I let myself believe were valid. Were reciprocated. Were possible again.

Shit! I swallow back the threatening tears as I squeeze into an open space at the crowded bar and by some miracle the opening is right in front of the bartender. He looks up at me and if he sees any despair in my face, ignores it. “What’ll you have?” he asks me above the noise.

I stare at him a moment, contemplating my options. I opt for quick and numbing. “Shot of tequila please,” I request, garnering the attention of the man standing next to me. I can feel him looking me up and down, and I roll my shoulders, bristling at the unwanted attention.

The bartender slides a shot of tequila across to bar top to me and I grab it, looking at it for a moment, silently saying our toast, for right now I definitely need the courage portion. Even if it’s false courage. I toss it back without hesitation and scrunch my face up at the burn. I close my eyes as its warmth slides down my throat and settles in my belly. I sigh deeply before opening my eyes, ignoring the offer of another drink from the man next to me.

I grab my phone out of my purse and text Haddie that I’m fine, to enjoy herself, and I’ll see her at home. I know that if she weren’t here for work, she’d be at my side, taking me home.

I glance up from my phone to look for the bartender. I need another shot. Something to numb the rejection. My eyes flicker down the length of the bar when in the mirror’s reflection, I see Colton striding purposefully toward me.

Despite the hope surging inside of me, I mutter, “Fuck!” and throw some cash on the bar before turning on my heel and veering toward the closest exit. I find one quickly, in the corner at the end of the bar and shove open the doors with a measure of force. I find myself in an empty, darkened corridor, relieved when the door shuts behind me, muffling the pulsating music. My moment of solitude is fleeting as the door is thrown open moments later, Colton pushing through. We lock eyes momentarily, I can see the anger in his and I hope he can see the hurt in mine, before I turn my back to him and rush further down the hallway.

I let out a strangled cry in frustration as Colton catches up to me and grabs my arm, spinning me around to face him. Our ragged breathing is the only sound in the hallway as we glare at each other, tempers flaring.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls at me, his grip on my arm remaining.

“Excuse me?” I sputter, a look of incredulity on my face in response to his audacity.

“You have an annoying little habit of running away from me, Rylee.”

“What’s it to you, Mr. I-Send-Mixed-Signals?” I throw back at him, wrenching my arm from his grip.

“You’re one to talk, sweetheart. Is that guy—is he what you really want, Rylee?” He says my name like a curse. “A quick romp with Surfer Joe? You want to fuck him instead of me?” I can hear the edge in his voice. The implied threat. In this dark corridor, his features hidden by shadows, his eyes glistening, he is every bit the intimidating bad boy that the tabloids hint at.

“Isn’t that what you want from me, Colton? A quick fuck to boost that fragile ego of yours? It seems you spend an awful lot of time trying to placate that weakness of yours.” I hold his glare, contempt in my voice. “Besides, what do you care what I do? If I recall correctly, it seems to me you were pretty occupied yourself with the blonde taking up space on your arm.”

The muscle tics as he clenches and unclenches his jaw regarding me, rolling his head back and forth on his shoulder before answering me. “Raquel? She’s inconsequential,” he states as a simple matter of fact.

I can take that answer so many ways, so many variations, and all of them paint his opinion of women to be in a less than stellar light.

“Inconsequential?” I question, “Is that what I’d be to you after you fuck me?” I stand my ground, shoulders squared to him. “Inconsequential?”

He stands there seething. At me? At my response? He takes a step toward me and I retreat one, my back pressing into the wall behind me. I have nowhere left to run. He reaches out a hand toward me and pulls it back in indecision, the muscles in his jaw clenching, pulse in his throat pounding. He angles his head to the side, closing his eyes, swearing silently to himself. He looks back at me—frustration, anger, desire, and so much more burning in the depths of his eyes. Their intensity as they look into mine is unnerving, as if he is asking for my consent. I nod my head subtly, giving him the permission to take. The next time he reaches out, there is no hesitation.

Within a beat, his lips are on mine. All of the pent up frustration, irritation, and antagonism of the evening explodes as our lips clash, hands fist, and souls ignite. There is nothing gentle about our union. Rapacious need burns through me as one of his hands snakes around my back, grasps my neck and yanks me against him so his mouth can plunder mine. His other hand slides between the wall and my arching back, splaying against me in a sign ownership. Gone are the gentle sips and the soft caresses from yesterday.

His lips slant over mine and his tongue darts in my mouth, tangling, teasing, and tormenting mine in a dizzying barrage. His hands slide over mine where they’re fisted in his shirt. He grabs my wrists and pulls them over my head, presses them to the wall, and handcuffs them with one of his hands. He brings his free hand down and cups my jaw as he breaks from our kiss. He draws his face back, and his eyes darkened and vibrant with arousal, hold mine.

“Not inconsequential, Rylee. You could never be inconsequential,” he shakes his head subtly, the vibration of his voice resonating within me. He rests his forehead to mine, our noses brushing each other’s. “No—you and me—together,” he grinds the words out, “That would make you mine.” His words feather over my face, enter my soul, and take hold. “Mine,” he repeats, making sure that I understand his intentions.

I close my eyes to savor the words. To relish the thought of Colton wanting me to be his mine. Our foreheads remain touching as I surrender to the moment, to the feeling, and to the easing of doubts. He steps back from me and gently releases my hands from above my head. Our eyes stay connected and I see what I think is a momentary flash of fear blaze through his.

I reach out tentatively to him and touch his hips, working my hands under his untucked shirt so that I can place my hands on his skin. So that I can feel this vibrant, virile man beneath my fingertips. It’s always been his hands on my skin. Him in control. I haven’t had the chance to appreciate the feel of him beneath my palms yet.

I find my purchase, my fingers caressing the firm warmth of his defined muscles as they tense at my touch. I slowly run them up the front of his torso, feeling each delineation, each breath he takes in reaction to my touch. It’s a heady feeling to hear his response, see his pupils dilate in desire as I glide my hands from his pecs, smooth them over ribs, and under his arms to scrape my nails up the plains of his back.

He closes his eyes momentarily in rapture, clearly enjoying my slow, teasing assault on his senses. I lean up on my toes and hesitantly lean into him and brush my lips against his and press my hands into his shoulders, pulling his body into mine. I slant my mouth over his and run the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip.

His fingers slowly brush against my cheeks, his palms resting on the line of my jaw to frame my face as he tenderly deepens the kiss. His lips sipping, his tongue slowly, sweetly, parting my lips and melding with mine. His quiet affection touches me in my core, slowly unraveling me and winding me into a ball of need simultaneously. He takes my breath away with each caress. I sigh into the kiss, my fingers digging into his shoulders, the only sign of my impending impatience at wanting more. At needing more.

I can feel Colton’s struggle to control his need, his body taut beneath my hands, his impressive erection pressing into my belly. He continues his tender and unrelenting assault on my senses by concentrating solely on my mouth. Seducing my lips. His breath is mine. His action is my reaction.

He stops abruptly, placing his two hands on the wall beside my shoulders and braces himself, letting his forehead drop to my shoulder so that his nose and mouth buried in the nape of my neck. I feel his chest heaving for air like mine is, and for some odd reason I’m relieved that he appears to be as affected by our entwinement as I am. I’m a little confused at his actions, but I take the moment to allow him to collect himself while I settle my racing heart amidst our rasping breaths. I subconsciously squeeze my knees together to try and quiet the relentless pressure at the delta between by thighs.

I can feel the warmth of his breath as he pants against my neck, struggling for control. “Sweet Jesus, Rylee,” he murmurs as he shakes his head, rolling it on my shoulder, before scattering innocent kisses along my collarbone. “We need to get out of here before you unman me right here in the hallway.”

He raises his head to look at me as I still from his words. There is no doubt that this is what I want. That he is whom I want. But I can’t deny the fact that I’m nervous—anxious—afraid I’ll disappoint him with my more than lack of experience in this department.

“Come.” He doesn’t give me time to speak before he grabs my hand, wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him, and walks us deeper into the corridor. “I have a room here for the night.” His strong arm helps support me, leading me toward my apple in the Garden on Eden.

I follow obediently, trying to quiet the doubt and noise in my mind, for it is actively chattering away now that his mouth is not on mine, blunting my ability to reason. We quickly make it to an elevator at the end of the hallway and within seconds we are stepping in. Colton pulls a key card out of his pocket and inserts it into the panel, effectively unlocking the top floor. The penthouse.

He steps back toward me as the elevator lifts and places a hand on the small of my back. The silence between us is audible and only intensifies the butterflies that are churning in my stomach. “Why the change?” Colton asks as he tugs on my straightened hair, trying to ease my mounting anxiety.

“Just trying to fit the mold,” I quip reflexively, referring to the numerous pictures on the Internet of him with straight haired women. His brow furrows at my comment, trying to figure out its meaning when I offer up, “Sometimes change is good.”

He uses his hand on my back to turn me toward him, extending his other arm clasp with it on my lower back. He angles his head down so that we are eye to eye. “I like your curls,” he says softly, my ego preening from the compliment. “They suit you.” Now that he has me positioned, he raises a hand up to wipe an errant strand of hair off my face. He then places his fingers on the side of my jaw and holds me there, his eyes searching mine. “You have one chance to walk away,” he warns me as the elevator alerts us we’re at the destined floor. The husky tone in his voice wreaking havoc on my willpower.

My heart beats erratically at his words. I shake my head in an unconvincing acceptance for I can’t find the words to speak to him.

He ignores the opening elevator door behind him and continues to look intently into my eyes. “I won’t be able to walk away, Rylee,” he says as he scrunches up his eyes as if the admission is painful. He blows out a loud breath, releasing me and running his fingers through his hair. He turns his back to me, reaches out, and stabs the door open button, bracing his hands against the elevator wall. His broad shoulders fill the small space. His head hangs down as he mulls over his next words. “I want to take my time with you, Rylee. I want to build you up nice and slow and sweet like you need. Push you to crash over that edge. And then I want to fuck you the way I need to. Fast and hard until you’re screaming my name. The way I’ve wanted to since you fell out of that storage closet and into my life.”

I have to bite my lower lip to stifle the immediate groan I feel at the dark promise of his words. I fight the need to sag against the wall for some kind of relief from the tension on my core.

“Once we leave this elevator, I don’t think I’ll have enough control to stop … to pull away from you, Rylee. I. Can’t. Resist. You.” His voice is pained, quiet, and chalked full of conviction. He turns back to me, his face swarming with emotions. His eyes reflecting a man tinkering on the edge of losing control. “Decide, Rylee. Yes. Or. No.”