Page 25 of Compulsion

“Can’t you get a cab?”

“Why are you so upset about it?”

“I’m not fucking upset,” I growled.

“Why are you growling, then?”

So the argument was lost and I drove them to the end of the street. Louis tumbled out of the car, resplendent in black satin sprayed-on trousers and a shirt that barely covered his nipples. He sashayed up the steps to the entrance, waving to a couple of friends arriving at the same time. Jack slid out of his seat to join him. I risked a glimpse at the club, weighing up the door monuments—two of them again, wide guys in heavy black suits and the ridiculous shades. I let out a breath. Not the heavies who’d attacked me. Not the man I thought I’d recognized. How could I have recognized someone I hadn’t seen for a bloody long time, from another city, from miles away—from another life, for God’s sake? I’d been hallucinating from fear.

I felt the pain returning, but it wasn’t just my still-aching ribs. The sight of the club disturbed me. The pavement where Seve had stood, leaning insouciantly against his car. The memories of other times he’d driven us away from there, of other nights he’d been waiting for me. Memories of the dark yard, the stuffy storeroom. What was worse, something else was aching, and it disgusted me. I started to pull away from the curb.

“Max!” The call was peremptory, and I knew it was Seve.

Fuck. My heart raced and my cock throbbed. I cursed every nerve I possessed for betraying me like this. Why the hell was he here again? Why did he think it necessary to waste further time humiliating me? Most of all, I wondered why I couldn’t have driven away that little bit faster. God knows, Jack’s car had the acceleration. If I hadn’t given way to the stupid memories….

Meanwhile, Seve strode quickly and easily to the car and placed his hand on the half-open window. I didn’t think I should close it quickly and leave him fingerless, so I stopped the car. I should never have thought about his fingers at all… his fingers on my hips… his fingers at my mouth… his fingers sliding into me. I missed him. And badly.

“Max, where have you been?”

“I got your message,” I said sharply. I could smell the tang of his cologne in my nostrils. My body reacted of its own free will, and I was immediately fiercely aroused. I hoped to God nothing gave me away. It was suddenly very important to me that Seve didn’t realize the effect he still had on me. “There’s nothing more to say, is there?”

“Message?”

“The postcard with a punch.” I almost spat the words. “The warning off. Couldn’t you have just left me a note behind the bar? Or tucked a tenner in my jeans and dispatched me back home?”

“What are you talking about?” His eyes darkened with even more anger. “A warning about what, Max? Who brought you a warning?”

It was a good act, I had to admit. “Three lumps of cretinous concrete like those heavies up there. Told me to keep my fuckin’ fag hands off you. And as I don’t welcome any more bruises and battered bones, I’m taking it to heart.”

“They beat you?”

The tightness of his tone jarred on my nerves. No point in keeping up the charade, was there? I knew I wanted out of here. And fast. “I remember every kick,” I said. “A few months ago I might have given them a better run for their money, but I’m obviously out of practice at taking on three guys twice my size. I don’t need that kind of trouble, Seve, not even for you. There are safer men to see.”

I was genuinely angry, but I knew my words were largely bravado. I didn’t want other men, did I? He must have known that. And he knew I didn’t want “safer,” or I’d never have come anywhere near here again.

“I’ll take care of it, Max.”

“Sure you will.” I suddenly felt more grief than anger. His hand was too close to mine, and his breath curled the hair on my neck. His existence made me vibrate with desire. Fuck, no. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’ve got to go.”

“You always go!” he growled. “You fuck and run—that’s what I tried to tell you the other night. Why won’t you give me time to sort things out? Tell me what’s pissed you off. Let’s talk about it.”

I stared at him, startled. “But this is what you want, isn’t it? You want to move on. It’s okay by me—”

“Is it?”

I gaped. I wanted to say: Yes, of course, it’s just fun, just fucking. “No,” I said. “It’s not.” I didn’t know what to make of this. He seemed genuinely disturbed and angry about the attack on me, but I didn’t know what else was going on in his handsome, well-groomed head. I put my hand to his to push it away.

He grabbed me instead. “So come with me, Max. I want you, you know that. I told you I’ll take care of what’s happened. I’ll make things good again.”

No! His hand was strong over mine. He leaned in the window and his mouth ghosted its words at my ear. Half of my mind begged me to listen to him. Every instinctive inch of me tried to squeeze its way out from under the seat belt and flow against him. His lean, sensual body and his rich, acquisitive lips….

The other half of my mind—the bloody-minded, masochistic half—won out. “Get lost,” I said coldly. “No one needs a fuck that badly. Or another beating. Find someone your family does approve of, if that’s your problem.”

I wrenched my arm away and he stumbled back. I saw shock flash brightly in his gorgeous eyes. Then I slammed my foot on the accelerator and the car lurched away from the curb. Difficult to concentrate on the wheel when your cock is hammering to be let out of your too-tight jeans and there’s a strange, painful tightness in your throat.

I didn’t do that corny old thing of looking back in the mirror as I drove off.

No, I didn’t.