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Hanson grips Cat’s arm and shakes his head.
“What does that mean?” I ask, feeling my anger start to grow again. I don’t like how Hanson is squeezing Cat and I don’t like the insinuation that he wants her to hide things from me.
Frank nods over to the bar. “I think what she’s trying to say is that Grace is pretty drunk and probably not concerned where she is at this point. She looks like she’s having a good time.”
All four of our heads move in that direction. I scan the bar but don’t spot who I’m looking for.
This isn’t my problem. Grace being drunk in my club is not my concern.
I repeat this to myself as my fists squeeze tighter around my legs, trying to will myself to remain seated. My body wins out in the end though, and I stand up and move to the bar before any one of them can stop me.
When I get there, I still don’t spot her. It’s so loud that the floor feels like it’s moving with vibrations from the music. The lighting is almost nonexistent, except for around the bar and on the floor where rope is built into the ground so that people can see as they move. A strobe light darts around the dance floor, but I’m not looking in that direction yet. I scan each face but don’t see her.
What will I do when I find her? I’m not even sure. I haven’t seen her since the night she destroyed everything.
Frank is up and scanning too. I’m not sure if he’ll actually bring her to me when he finds her. Part of me wonders if his loyalty is split over his obvious concern for her. At this point, I feel concern as well. If she’s drunk and in my club, it’s a liability.
Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
He looks over at me from across the bar and shakes his head. He can’t find her either. I mouth for him to check the bathrooms and make my way to the dance floor. My skin heats from the exhilaration of knowing she’s close. It’s like hunting prey, although quite honestly, she may be the huntress. I’m like fucking Bambi looking for the hunter. One look at her could actually kill me—set me back into swirling self-loathing and hate—and yet I keep moving, my body unable to keep itself from seeking her out.
It’s her ponytail I spot first. A man stands behind her as she dances against him, swaying exaggeratingly. I look around for Tessa, but don’t spot her.
Grace is alone,drunk, and this asshole is running his hand up and down her thigh. As his hand moves around the front of her leg, I grab him without putting any thought into my movements. Once again, my body moves on its own accord when it comes to her.
The surprised look on the man’s face tells me everything I need to know. He wants to hit me, and I only have a few seconds to react. I do the only thing I can think of and grab Grace’s hand, pulling her to me.
“You fucking touch her again, I’ll cut your hand off,” I growl.
Grace’s eyes dart to mine and she says nothing, her mouth in the shape of an O. The guy holds up his hand and backs away, deciding she’s not worth the hassle.
As soon as he’s gone, she turns on me, lifting her hand out of mine and preparing to slap. Before she makes contact, my hand pulls hers into my own and I spin her, bringing her ass flush against me. Drawing her hair to the side, I nudge her head with my own so that I can whisper in her ear, “Did you like him touching you like that?”
Her body stills and both our chests rise and fall with our breathing. I’m enraged to admit that my body exhales at her nearness. My fingers grab at her hips, pulling her tighter against me, my movements angry and unyielding. “Did you? Did you like it when he ran his hand up your thigh?”
She arches her back, and her head falls to the side so that I have greater access to her ear as goose bumps prickle her flesh. Her red silk dress is soft against my arm, and I lower my other hand down her stomach, moving exquisitely slow.
When a high-pitched moan escapes her throat, my dick jumps. “Is this what you came for tonight, Grace? You looking for someone to fuck?”
I’m angry and so fucking turned on at the same time.
With my palm flat on her stomach, she grinds against my erection as my other hand skirts across her pebbled nipple. Coconut teases my senses as her hair sways, and I can practically taste the vanilla I know she wears on her lips. I’m like a live wire, tripping from adrenaline and Grace. There’s only one thing I still need…and I’m fucked if I give in.
But I do it anyway.
I spin her around so she’s facing me and look into the violet eyes that haunt my dreams. The ones I fell in love with. The ones I thought I’d look into for the rest of my life. The eyes I thought would belong to my future wife.
It’s always been her eyes that undo me.
They render me speechless, soothe something deep in my soul.
Even in this moment when I hate her, they still have that power. And I need to see her when I touch her. Desperate to know that she feels the same as me. That she feels the excruciating pain that I do.
But I don’t see the pain I expected. Instead, her violet eyes are hazy with lust. They search mine, looking for answers I couldn’t possibly give.
Instead, my thumb traces her bottom lip, and like my own personal toy, she lets me bend and press her however I want, as if she doesn’t actually believe any of this is real.
Her lip teases me and her tongue darts out and swipes at my thumb, making my cock jump. “Fuck, that is what you want,” I say as my eyes dance between her eyes and her lips, in a war with myself over wanting to kiss her.
