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I’d barely picked up my drink before he was steering me in the direction of his private alcove in the back corner.
I hesitated at the invisible line between the dance floor and Youngblood’s version of a VIP section. Every patron knew better than to cross that line. I’d never seen anyone invited into Sam’s alcove in all the time I’d been coming to Youngblood.
Sam moved his hand from my back to my elbow again and pulled me into the space like he didn’t have time to wait for me to process this moment.
We weren’t alone here. A woman who was probably ten or fifteen years older than me sat with a guy who barely looked old enough to be inside the club. His outfit consisted of ripped jeans and a black T-shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his shoulders, showing off biceps that suggested he either did a lot of manual labor or lived in the gym. He was book-cover-model gorgeous in a stereotypical bad-boy kind of way, with full lips, dark eyes, and a chin dimple.
My breath caught as I stared at him. This guy could be Samuel’s younger brother. Or maybe half brother. But the resemblance was there.
He shook damp hair back from his eyes and sent a grin in my direction. “Who’s the chick? Does this mean the rumors are true, Sam?” he asked, standing from the couch. “Is this your girlfriend?”
“This is Piper,” Sam said, his tone cool, detached.
I’d just told Papa that Sam wasn’t my boyfriend a few hours ago, but Sam’s apparent agreement still felt like a rejection. I guess a part of me had hoped Sam would prove me wrong and claim me as his. I knew I should have expected this, but it felt like he’d just stabbed me in the chest.
I took the guy’s outstretched hand. I was pretty sure he’d just told me his name, but I missed it what with all my internal obsessing over Sam’s tone and choice to avoid the girlfriend comment.
“Nice to meet you,” I said with as genuine a smile as I could manage.
His grin widened before he raised my hand to his lips. I’d grown up in a world where I’d had my hand kissed a number of times, but no one had ever done so with the wicked delight this guy did.
“Don’t worry,” the woman said. “He’s a terrible flirt, but he’s very much in love with a girl he’s been trying to win for the past three years. You don’t have to worry about his intentions toward you.”
“Aw, Claire. You’re ruining all my fun.”
Claire sat back with an amused look on her face. “You’re in danger of having bigger problems than me and your ruined fun.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but Sam’s grip tightened on my elbow, so I figured he knew. Without a word, he led me to a door set in the side wall of the alcove and into a familiar maze of hallways.
“You can get to the back rooms from the main club?” I asked.
“Of course,” Sam said irritably.
“Did I do something?” I asked as we speed-walked our way through the labyrinth. “Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you.” His voice was marginally softer. “It’s not your fault at all.”
“Is there something I can do to make it better?” I asked, not sure whatitwas but knowing that if Sam was willing to tell me, he would have already volunteered the information.
Sam’s hand slid from my elbow to my hand where he interlaced our fingers. “I just want to go somewhere we can be alone.”
Alone. Where there were no eyes to witness him actually caring about me.
But I was going to take whatever he’d give me. Because this was Sam and I could never say no to him. My whole being rejected the very thought.
Twenty-Two
Samuel
It had beenthirty-six hours since I’d been inside Siren, and it already felt like eternity. I wasn’t sure how exactly I’d gone eight years without touching her. One week of being in her bed and I’d turned into an addict.
I glared at the ceiling above my bed in the hotel room that was acting as our home for two weeks. I needed to get my head out of the gutter. There were more important things than where my dick wanted to be right now.
I shoved off the bed and stalked over to the small round table next to the single window in the room, where I dropped into the chair across from Joriel.
“You might want to start dyeing your hair black,” I told him. “Your roots are showing.”
The black had appeared on the top of Joriel’s scalp two days ago when we left for this trip. As if we needed the reminder that he was running out of time. It was why we were on this trip in the first place. I wanted to figure out this demon mess before I lost Joriel as my backup.
