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I close my eyes to brace myself. He’s as bad as they come. A viper waiting to strike, and once bitten, his poison will take you down.
The hotel is a swarm of noises: hushed, excited whispers, gasps of adoring sighs, feet pounding, and a pulsing electricity of chaos that only he can bring.
Then silence.
And I know he’s behind me. I can feel him. His body heat seeps into me.
“Gia.” That voice, it goes straight to my core and slithers up to my stomach. It’s deep, melodic, almost gravelly. I haven’t heard it in years. Sounds flood back in as I take a breath and turn.
And there he stands.
Intoxicating. Riveting. A legend. And my greatest mistake.
A crowd forms around him as usual. He’s like the Pied Piper, but instead of the rats following him, it’s people. He draws strength from them, lets their adoration make him grow stronger. I have no idea how he knew it was me, or maybe I do—I’ve had this sense of foreboding for the last twelve hours.
He’s wearing black Ray-Bans. He must be high or inebriated. I remember a time when he’d make fun of famous people wearing sunglasses inside.
“Rhys.” I nod, my voice slightly raspy, which aggravates me.
I don’t need to see his bourbon eyes to know he’s dissecting me. He’s an addiction that’s always been unhealthy for me.
His full lips turn into his signature smirk—actually, more like a slight snarl—and my heart thuds.
Lucifer. With dark hair, looking like he hasn’t brushed it in days. My fingers tingle as I fight myself not to reach out and try to tame the untamable.
“Who’s this, Granger?” Paulette. Her loud southern drawl breaks all his dark magic. I puff out air and smile. How did I not see her? She’s over six-feet tall and clinging to him.
Her eyes travel up and down my body, stopping to stare daggers at my face. I stare right back. She’s everything I hate. Not because she’s a famous supermodel, but because I see myself in her desperate eyes.
She wants him so bad she’s willing to humiliate herself for one more moment, one last scrap of his attention.
It’s what he does best, and no matter how much self-esteem you start with, by the time Rhys is done with you, you end up exactly like her.
“You fucking dick, you promised.” Paulette lunges for me.
And I’m done.
I step back and straight into a warm, hard chest. Strong, familiar hands wrap around me. I’m dizzy, completely off balance, as if the breath has been knocked out of me.
“Let go of me,” I sneer and watch in horror as Paulette clumsily reaches for the table, misses, and grabs ahold of the tablecloth instead. The sound of her hitting the floor, along with the breaking glass, makes him move us backward.
One tan, tattooed hand has wrapped around my stomach, while the other snakes up to my neck, bringing my head slightly back.
I smell him.
Fresh, clean, with a slight hint of smoke. I used to be obsessed with his scent. Loved it. For some reason it calmed me.
Today is different. This day, I hate it because it’s gonna haunt me. It’s all happening too fast, like a whirl of colors and loud cursing with Paulette sitting in a pile of water, silverware, and glass.
“Brat.” His voice is like a caress, and my whole body feels alive, tingling, as if liquid heat has been injected into my veins.
I try to move, only to be jerked tighter; he has to be high. My heart is pounding so hard I know he feels it.
People are screaming. Phones are filming and yet none of it matters.
“Fuck you, Rhys,” I snarl, the pain I’ve kept locked up escaping. I shift so I can look up at him.
He’s tan and his face sports days of dark stubble. A shiver of unease and excitement runs through me. He’s trying to intimidate me. His rage radiates off him, seeping into me. Like an infusion, it gives me strength.
I’m not the same girl who worshipped him my whole life. He can play the brooding rock star. But he’s in the wrong.
This is bad, so very bad.
He never should have touched me. We’re like a match ready to set fire to dry brush, incinerating and destroying all in our path.
My face is inches from his mouth; his breath kisses my lips. I’m so close I can see through his dark sunglasses.
Our eyes lock and do battle.
Pain.
It’s a new pain, fresh and powerful. I’m actually grateful he’s holding me. Because this agony wants to steal my soul and never give it back.
We’re ugly and damaged.
Damaged people should never be together. But then that’s the allure: it’s forbidden, addictive.
“Who is she?” Paulette says, her face a puffy mess.
Sebastian reaches down to help her, frowning at Rhys.
The restaurant is a buzz of activity. Security is clearing people out; busboys are cleaning up the glass.
