I push my hands against his chest, trying to resist the uninvited kiss from this complete stranger. Trying to do what logic tells me is right. Trying to deny what my body is telling me it really wants. To suppress the need to take as he is taking. To abandon inhibition and let myself enjoy this one, random moment with him.
Common sense wins my internal feud between lust and prudence, and I manage to push him back a fraction. His mouth breaks from mine, our breaths panting over each other’s faces. His eyes, wild with lust, hold steady to mine. I find it hard to ignore the seed of desire that’s blooming deep in my belly. The vehement protest that’s screaming in my mind dies silently on my lips as I succumb to the notion that I
want
this kiss. I want to
feel
what I have been so devoid of—what I have purposely denied myself. I want to allow myself this one moment in time where I act recklessly and have “that kiss”—the one that books are written about, love is found in, and virtue is lost with. For deep down in the depths of my soul, I know this kiss will be that for me.
“Decide, sweetheart,” he commands. “A man only has so much restraint.”
His warning, the insane notion that
simple me
can make a man
like him
lose control, bewilders me, confusing my thoughts so that the denial on my tongue never crosses my lips. He takes advantage of my silence, a lascivious smile curling the corners of his mouth before tightening the hold he has on the nape of my neck. From one breath to the next, he crushes his mouth to mine. Probing. Tasting. Demanding.
My resistance is futile and lasts only seconds before I surrender to him. I instinctively move my hands over the rasp of his unshaven jaw to the back of his neck and tug my fingers in the hair that curls over the top of his collar. A low moan comes from the back of his throat, bolstering my confidence, allowing me to part my lips and take more of him. My tongue entwines and dances intimately with his. A slow, seductive ballet highlighted with breathy moans and panted whimpers.
He tastes of whiskey. His confidence exudes rebellion. His body evokes a straight punch of lust to my sex. A heady combination hinting he’s a bad boy that this good girl should stay clear of. His urgency and adept skill hint at what could come. Images flash through my mind of back-arching, toe-pointing, sheet-gripping sex that no doubt would be as dominating as his kiss.
Despite my submission, I know this is wrong. I can hear my conscious telling me to stop. That I don’t do
these
kinds of things. That I’m not
that
kind of girl. That I’m betraying Max with each continuing caress.
But God, it feels so incredibly good
. I bury all rationality under the surmounting desire that rages through my every nerve. My every breath.
His fingers stroke the back of my neck while his other travels down to my hip, igniting sparks with every touch. He splays his hand on my lower back and presses me into him. Laying claim to me. I can feel his erection thickening against my midsection, sending an electric charge to my groin. Making me damp with need and desire. His leg slightly shifts and presses between mine, pressuring the apex of my thighs and creating an intense ache of pleasure. I push further into him, softly mewling as I crave for more.
I am drowning in the sensation of him, and yet I’m not willing to come up for the air I so desperately need.
He nips my lower lip as his hand moves down to knead my backside, pleasure spiraling through me. My nails scrape the back of his neck in reaction as I stake my claim.
“Christ, I want you right now,” his husky voice pants between kisses, intensifying the ache in the muscles coiling below my waist. He moves the hand from the back of my neck and traces it down my ribcage and over until it cups my breast. I cry out a soft moan at the sensation of his fingers rubbing over my hardened peak through the soft material of my dress.
My body is ready to consent to his request because I want this man too. I want to feel his weight on me, his bare skin sliding on mine, and his length moving rhythmically in me.
Our entangled bodies bump up against the small alcove in the hallway. He presses me against the wall, our bodies franticly grabbing, groping, and tasting. He skims his hand down to the hem of my cocktail dress, finding purchase when he touches the lace tops of my thigh-high stockings.
“Sweet Jesus,” he murmurs against my mouth as he runs his hand at a painstakingly slow pace up my outer thigh to the small triangle of lace that serves more as a decoration than as panties.
What? Those words
. When they finally register, I recoil as if whiplashed and push on his chest trying to shove him away from me. Those are the same words that I’d heard earlier in the darkened alcove. They hit me like cold water to my libido.
What the hell?
And what in the hell am I doing anyway, making out with some random guy in the first place?
And more importantly, why pick now to do this while I’m in the midst of one of my most important events of the year?
“No. No—I can’t do this.” Staggering back, I bring a trembling hand up to my mouth to cover my lips swollen from his. His eyes snap up to mine, the emerald color darkened by desire. Anger flashes through them fleetingly.
“It’s a little late, sweetheart. It looks as if you already have.”
Fury flashes through me at his sardonic comment. I’m intelligent enough to infer that I’ve just become another in the line of his evening’s conquests. I look back at him, and the smug look on his face makes me want to hurl insults at him.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Touching me like that? Taking advantage of me that way?” I spit at him, using anger to ward off the hurt I feel. I’m not sure if I’m more upset at myself for my willing submission to him or the fact that he took advantage of me in my frenetic state as a means of amusement while killing time. Or is it that I feel ashamed because I succumbed to his mind blowing kiss and skilled fingers without even knowing his name?
Something that I would never do under normal circumstances.
The maddening fact is that I’m not sure who I’m more upset with, him or myself.
He continues to observe me, his anger simmering, eyes glowering. “Really?” he scoffs at me, cocking his head to the side and rubbing a hand over his condescending smirk. I can hear the rasp of his stubble as his hand chafes over it. “That’s how you’re going to play this? Were you not participating just now? Were you not just coming apart in my arms?” He laughs snidely. “Don’t fool your
prim
little self into thinking that you didn’t enjoy that. That you don’t want more.”
He takes a step closer to me, amusement and something darker blazing in the depths of his eyes. Raising a hand, he traces a finger down the line of my jaw. Despite flinching away, the heat from his touch reignites the smoldering craving deep in my belly. I silently castigate my body for its betrayal. “Let’s get one thing clear,” he growls at me. “I. Do. Not. Take. What’s. Not. Offered. And we both know,
sweetheart
, you offered,” he smirks. “
Willingly
.”
I jerk my chin away from his fingertips, wishing that I were one of those people who can say all the right things at all the right times. But I’m not. Instead, I think of them hours later and only wish that I’d said them. I know that I’ll be doing that later, for I can’t think of a single way to rebuke this overconfident yet completely correct man. He has reduced me to a mass of over stimulated nerves craving for him to touch me again.
“That poor defenseless crap may work with your boyfriend who treats you like china on a shelf, fragile and nice to look at. Rarely used.” he shrugs, “but admit it, sweetheart, that’s boring.”
“My boy—” I stutter, “I’m not fragile!”
“Really?” he chides, reaching up to hold my chin in place as he looks in my eyes. “You sure act that way.”
“Screw you!” I jerk my chin from his grasp.
“Ooooh, you’re a feisty little thing.” His arrogant smirk is irritating. “
I like feisty, sweetheart.
It only makes me want you that much more.”
Prick!
I’m just about to make a retort about what a manwhore he obviously is. That I know about his “getting acquainted” with someone else down the hall not too long ago before moving onto me. I stare at him, the thought rattling around in the back of my head that he vaguely reminds me of someone, but I push it away. I’m just flustered, that’s all.
Just as I’m about to open my mouth, from behind me I hear Dane’s voice calling my name. Relief floods me as I turn to see him standing at the end of the hallway, looking at me oddly. Most likely perplexed at my disheveled state.
“Rylee? I really need those lists. Did you get them?”
“I got sidetracked,” I mumble. I glance back at Mr. Arrogant behind me. “I’m coming. I just … wait for me, okay?”
Dane nods at me as I turn to the open door of the storage closet and quickly grab scattered paddles off of the floor as gracefully as possible and shove them in the bag. I exit the closet and avoid meeting
his
eyes as I start to walk toward Dane. I exhale silently, glad to be heading toward more familiar ground when I hear his voice behind me. “This conversation isn’t over,
Rylee
.”
“Like hell it isn't,
A.C.E.,”
I toss over my shoulder, the thought fleeing through my mind how perfect the acronym fits him before continuing hastily down the hall, keeping my shoulders squared and head held high in an attempt to keep my pride intact.
I quickly reach Dane, my closest confidant and friend at work. Concern etches his boyish face as I loop my arm through his, tugging him back toward the party. Once we’re through the backstage door, I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and lean back against the wall.
“What the hell happened to you, Rylee? You look like a hot mess!” He eyes me up and down, “And does it have anything to do with that Adonis back there?”
It has everything to do with the Adonis
, I want to confide in Dane but for some reason hold back. “Don’t laugh,” I say, eying him warily. “The closet door jammed shut, and I was stuck on the inside.”
He stifles a laugh and looks toward the ceiling to contain it. “That would only happen to you!”
I push his shoulder in a friendly manner, relieved to be back on more familiar ground with someone. “Really, it’s not funny. I got panicked. Claustrophobic. The lights went out and it brought me back to the accident.“ Concern flashes in his eyes. “I freaked out, and that guy heard me yelling and let me out. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” He questions, his eyes narrowing at me in suspicion for he has known me for too long.
I nod. “Yes. I just really lost if for a minute.” I hate lying to him but for now, it’s my best course of action. The more adamant I am, the quicker he’ll drop it.
“Well, that’s too bad because
damn
, girl, he’s fine.” I laugh at him as he wraps his arm around me in a quick hug. “Go on and freshen up. Take a breather, then we need you back out to mingle and schmooze. We’re about thirty minutes out from the start of the date auction.”
***
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. Dane’s right, I look like hell. I’ve ruined a large portion of the painstaking preparation my roommate, Haddie, has done with my hair and make-up for this evening. I take a paper towel and try to blot at my makeup to repair the damage. The tears have left my amethyst eyes rimmed red, and I need not wonder why my lipstick is no longer perfectly lining my lips. Pieces of my chestnut color hair are falling out of its clip, and the seam of my dress is horribly askew.
I can hear the dull bass of the music on the other side of the wall. It plays background to the voices belonging to the hundreds of tonight’s potential donors. I take a deep breath and lean against the sink for a moment.
I can see why Dane questioned what had really happened and if Mr. Arrogant had anything to do with it. I look completely disheveled!
I shift my dress so that its sweetheart neckline sits correctly, adjusting my more-than-ample
girls
to sit properly. I smooth my hands over my hips where the fabric clings to my curves. I start to put the wisps of hair that have escaped back into my clip but stop myself. The tendrils have returned to my naturally wavy state, and I decide that I like the softened effect the curls have on my overall look.
I reach into my purse, which Dane has brought me, and freshen up my make-up. I add some mascara to my naturally thick lashes and reapply my smudged eyeliner. My eyes look better. Not great—but better. I pucker my lips, tracing my lipstick over the full M shape of them, rub them together, and then blot them.
Not as good as Haddie, but good enough. I’m ready to rejoin the festivities.
CHAPTER 2
Jewels, designer gowns, and name-dropping are prevalent as I observe all of the celebrities, socialites, and philanthropists who fill the old theater. Tonight is the culmination of much of my efforts over the past year. An event to raise the majority of the funds needed to break ground on the new facilities.
And I am way out of my comfort zone.
Dane discretely rolls his eyes at me from across the room, for he knows I would much rather be back at The House with the boys in my usual jeans and ponytail. I allow a ghost of a smile to grace my lips as I nod my head at him in silent agreement before taking a sip my champagne.
I am still trying to wrap my head around what I willingly allowed to happen backstage and the sting of knowing I wasn’t the first person Mr. Arrogant had made his moves on tonight. I’m dumbfounded at both my uncharacteristic actions and confused at how hurt I feel. Surely I can’t expect a man looking for a quick romp to have any kind of emotion behind his actions other than to purely boost his already-inflated ego.
“There you are, Rylee,” a voice interrupts my thoughts.
I turn to find my boss. A bear of a man standing close to six and half feet tall with a heart bigger than that of anyone I’ve ever met. Appropriately enough, he looks like a big teddy bear. “Teddy,” I say affectionately as I lean into the arm he’s placed on my shoulders in a quick hug. “Looks like it’s turning out well, don’t you think?”