CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Harper
Gripping the sink, I look down at the diamond on my finger.
I saw how Ace flinched when he glanced down at it. A split second. Barely there. But I know his face the way I know my own heartbeat, and that flinch cut through me deeper than anything Hudson has ever said.
We both know the score. We both know this ring isn't real.
But we also both know it was supposed to be his.
I shouldn't be wearing this. Let alone flaunting it in front of him in the bar his family owns, surrounded by his family. Ace has a temper. He's a Sterling. These men don't bluff. And I saw it in his eyes when he looked at Hudson—that dark, steady calculation behind the grin. He might be all jokes and charm on the surface, but if he were alone with Hudson, he'd be stomping on his skull.
Luckily, he understands. His family is under the microscope right now. They have to behave. Stay in line. Or they'll end up where Hunter did a few weeks ago—hauled into a cell.
Or in the middle of a war between the LA mafia.
I wash my hands. Recompose. Stare at my reflection until my breathing steadies. I need to think up an escape plan. Tell Hudson I'm tired. Tell Dad I have an early meeting. Get out of here before something breaks. Make this up to Ace.
I dry my hands and push open the door.
The hallway is dim. I turn right, back toward the bar.
A hand clamps over my mouth. My back slams against a hard chest.
I know that body anywhere. The height. The heat. The way his arm wraps around my waist with the kind of strength that makes my knees weak yet makes me feel the safest I’ve ever been.
"Shh, baby girl," Ace whispers in my ear.
He walks us backward, into the next bathroom. Once we're in, he spins me round, kicks the door shut, and locks it.
My breath hitches as he leans down, tipping my chin up with one finger. His dark eyes burn into mine. That jaw. That mouth. That look that has owned me since I was sixteen.
"You're playin' with fire, Goldie, you know I got a temper," he growls, dipping his head closer.
"Oh yeah?Friend?" I grin up at him.
I let out a yelp as his lips crash over mine.
My back slams against the wall. His fingers thread into my hair, deepening the kiss until I can't tell where my breath ends and his begins. He tastes like whiskey and want, and I melt into him so completely that the woman who walked into this bar with another man's ring on her finger ceases to exist.
His other hand works my belt. Fast. Then the button of my shorts.
"You're in big trouble, Harper," he mutters against my lips.
His fingers slide under the fabric, and I tip my head back against the wall, a gasp escaping me.
"So much trouble," I moan as he sinks his fingers inside me.
"You were right," he breathes against my neck. "You're soaking, baby."
My eyes flutter closed. My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer, needing every inch of space between us to disappear.
"Who do you belong to?" he grunts.
"You." I don't hesitate. Not for a fraction of a second. "You."
"That's right. Mine. I'm the one making you come. I'm the one who gets to kiss you." He presses his lips to mine again, slower this time, deeper, and my entire body arches into him.
