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I give my hips an extra flourish, and he growls, sending aroused shockwaves across my skin. I've never seen this side of Quaid, and it's something to behold.
He turns me around so that the front of our bodies are plastered against each other. He looks dangerous and wild under the flashing lights in his navy blue Henley and his form-fitting black jeans that had to have been specifically made for him with how good they look.
He stares into my eyes, hunger and intensity the most prominent emotions visible, as I stare back at him.
One of his hands moves from my hip, up to the base of my neck. His fingertips gently trace an invisible line from my collarbone down to the top of my dress and back, igniting a trail across my skin. I inhale sharply as a sharp bolt of arousal once again hits me.
He flips me around again and buries his face in my neck, as if he's right on the edge of losing control.
I'm debating trying to find a place in here for a quickie, until I look up and see a gorgeous woman sitting on Carter's lap.
I freeze in place as I watch her stroke Carter's hand lovingly with a red-tipped nail.
Logan's uncomfortably watching them, his gaze flicking to me worriedly, which tells me that whatever she's saying to Carter is exactly what I'm imagining.
I'm tempted for a second to ignore it.
Carter's not mine. Not anymore.
An angry voice inside of me calls me a liar.
And I agree with it.
"Let's head back," I tell Quaid, already pulling him with me back to the table.
"Shit," he mutters under his breath as he sees the goddess reclining on Carter.
And she is a goddess. Her hair's cut into a sleek bob. She's wearing bright red lipstick and a strapless black mini dress that perfectly showcases her willowy form. As we get closer, I can see that she has chocolate-colored eyes framed by long sooty lashes. Curse the French for having so many attractive women.
And do they all really have to want Carter?
We get to the table, and Carter's gaze immediately meets mine. He has a little smirk on his lips, as if he's been waiting for this moment the whole night.
A sick feeling hits me when I realize he probably was.
Why else would he choose this club? Why else would he be in such a good mood at the prospect of coming here?
I immediately decide that I'm not going to show him I care. If he wants to play this game, then he can play.
I steadfastly ignore the murderous urges I'm feeling inside at the moment.
"Carter, are you going to introduce me to your friend?" I ask casually, reaching over and taking a sip of Logan's drink. Quaid pushes a glass of water towards me, and I set Logan's alcohol aside to gratefully gulp the water down.
I pretend I'm not self-conscious, but I'm well aware of the wet-dog look I'm rocking after dancing so hard out there with Quaid.
"Celeste, I'd like you to meet my old friend, Valentina," he says, his smirk somewhat dimmed since I'm not reacting how I'm sure he was imagining I would.
Logan puts his arm back around me, apparently not caring about my sweat getting all over him, and Quaid puts his hand back on my knee, stroking the skin reassuringly, as if they both want to give me the strength to survive Carter's little game.
"Oh, isn't she precious!" Celeste exclaims in a heavy French accent. Her comment is decidedly sarcastic, and I dig my hand into Quaid's leg to try and keep myself controlled.
Did I mention that I suffer from sudden emotional outbursts because of my brain tumor? I'd really love for those not to come out right now.
"And how do you know my Carter?" she continues, the "my" decidedly possessive.
"We go way back," I respond steadily, but she's already whispering something in Carter's ear as she strokes the skin that's peaking out from the top of his smoky grey dress shirt.
I hate her. The feeling comes on very strongly, and I just accept it.
