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“Shit, I’m sorry–”
“And what exactly are you sorry for? My father’s death?” His voice dripped with contempt. Despite his line of thinking, that wasn’t what my apology was in regard to. I was all too aware of how little the words “I’m sorry,” meant when you lost someone. I told him as much, but I could see he didn’t believe me.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” my voice was small.
I wasn’t even all that sure why I was apologizing. He had probably forgotten about it, and I’d just brought it back up. He could take my apology or leave it, but I was done with this whole impromptu run in.
I turned away from him and took maybe two steps before his hand wrapped around my bicep and turned me back around.
“Wait.” His voice was softer now, but I still detected an edge. “Why are you sorry?”
His eyes bore into mine and heat traveled up my spine. I had never been able to figure out what it was about him that made me so flustered. Every time I got near him, I’d veer between irritated and fighting off wildly inappropriate lust. It was so fucking cliché to want the bad boy.
“Why do you think? The night you took me home. What I did was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it.” I could fill the pages of a notebook with why I was sorry.
Pierce made a sound in his throat that could very well have been a growl, and let go of me, just to drag me into his arms a second later.
I sucked in a sharp breath, causing me to inhale the unmistakable scent of his cologne. It was wonderfully citrus with a hint of aquatic and spice. I became acutely aware of just how muscular he was. His body felt amazing. My eyes darted around the garden, making sure we were alone.
“I wasn’t angry for what you did,” he confessed, his tone still slightly edgy.
I brought my attention back to him and blinked. What?
“Yes, you were. I was right beside you,” I tried to focus on his face and not the fact that his hands were dangerously close to my ass, or that we were still holding on to one another. His body being pressed against mine was bad for my psyche.
Isn’t it usually the man that has the predatory instinct to claim a woman? That wasn’t the case here. If he was a gazelle, then I was a starved lion.
“No, I was trying not to pull over and fuck you on the side of the road.” His blunt nonchalant statement may have made another girl gasp and blush down to her toes. It forced me to pull my lower lip between my teeth to stop myself from asking him to do just that. Seriously, what was wrong with me?
This was Pierce Serban, my father’s business partner in all things immoral, and I wanted to spread my legs for him.
“I…I need to go.” I found my voice and tried to push away from him.
“I’ll walk you back inside,” he responded, not missing a beat.
“I don’t need you to do that.” That’s the last thing I need!
“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t ask what you needed.”
He removed his arms from around me and placed one hand on the small of my back. Knowing it was pointless to argue with him, I tried to speed walk up the trail. He easily kept pace with me and left his hand where it was.
I didn’t understand how he could make me want things I had never given a shit about before with a few words and one soft touch.
“Here, take this.” He abruptly stopped walking, reached inside his suit jacket, and retrieved a white business card.
“Why would I need that?” I made no effort to accept his card. Instead, I took another look around to make sure no one saw us. I had been gone much longer than I should have been, and my father would make heads roll if he knew what Pierce had just said to me.
“Because you’re not a little girl anymore, Willow,” he sighed. Is he implying…?
“You want to fuck me. We’re adults. When you’re ready. Call me, text me. You can even email if you’d like. It’s that simple.”
He explained this like he was giving me instructions on how to assemble something. Like I was an insolent child. My temper rose at his brash cockiness. I knew women threw their panties at this man left and right, but I wasn’t one of those women. Sure, I wanted him, but I wasn’t going to send a goddamn email for a booty call.
“Are you fuc-” My sentence was cut off by his fingers gently touching my lips.
“Excuse me, Rebel. I have someone I need to speak with.” He slipped his business card into the top of my dress, placed a chaste kiss on my cheek, and walked past me. I was left staring at his retreating back, unable to call him every nasty word that ran through my head.
