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She makes a sharp left turn through the doors and ascends a dark, narrow stairway. She knows I’m following and keeps going, which means she’s deliberately leading me away from everyone. Taking me somewhere private. Something twists in my gut but I fight it back. She’s way too furious with me to be going there right now.
Speaking to me over her shoulder, she says, “The deal became null and void the second you walked in here to buy the place.”
Moving quickly, we reach the top of the stairs at the same time. Cara pushes me into the small room there and whirls around, arms folded tightly across her chest as she glares at me.
The lighting room is about a third of the size of my closet, with a rectangular cutout on the far wall where the spotlight rig is placed. Dingy and dark, everything from the equipment to the furniture looks like it hasn’t been replaced since the early 1900s.
I pick up a dust-covered lamp that has seen better days and let it fall to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. “I don’t get why you’re so hellbent on saving this dump.”
“You wouldn’t,” she says. “Because you haven’t had to fight for anything in your perfect little privileged life. You can’t know what this place - this dump - means to people.”
I chuckle softly to myself. The room we’re in is nowhere near big enough to contain the self-righteousness radiating off this woman.
“You think you’re better than me,” I lock eyes with her and slowly cross the floor to close the distance between us. She doesn’t move. “But you and I are more similar than you think, and that scares you.”
Hesitation. A flicker of something behind her big blue eyes. She’s trying to figure it out but of course, Little Miss Perfect could never…
“You’re wrong,” she finally manages to say.
But I don’t miss the way her eyes dart to my mouth before finding my gaze again.
I shake my head slowly. “No, Cara, I’m not. If I were wrong, your body wouldn’t tense up when I do this.” My fingers come up to lightly brush the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. A touch that lingers a little longer than it should. “And your heart wouldn’t start to race when I lean in.”
I do just that, cupping her cheek as I bring my face close to hers. Cara’s lips part slightly and I can feel the way she’s trembling under my touch.
“Is your heart racing, Cara?” My thumb traces slow patterns on her cheek.
Her tongue comes out to wet her lips, eyes pouring into mine with the answer to my question and so much more. And before our mouths even meet, I know with a certainty I rarely feel that despite my previous perceptions, Cara Elizabeth Ford is nothing like the others.
7
Cara
His mouth crashes with mine in urgent desperation, lighting a fire within me that I’ve never felt before. I hate Edward Spencer and everything he represents. I hate his childish games and his entitled attitude. I hate the way he goes around acting like God’s gift to women and how he expects everyone to unquestioningly serve his every whim.
And when he pulls me closer into him, strong hands gripping my waist as his tongue delves into my depths, I hate that I want more.
My fingertips dig into his shoulders, muscular and tense beneath the thin cotton of his button down shirt, searching for a hold as he pushes me back. The kiss is frantic, hot, ravenous… our mouths never stopping as we stumble together until the lighting rig puts a stop to it.
Edward presses hard into me, bucking his hips so that the small of my back pushes into the edge of the table. A pained moan filters out of me, but instead of stopping, he does it again. Harder this time.
I break the kiss, my breath coming in short, quick pants. “Edward… wait…”
“I’m through waiting.” And with a low grunt, he hoists me onto the table, coming to stand between my legs.
The hint of his arousal I felt back in the auditorium is no longer in question. Edward grinds himself against my inner thigh and it sends a sensuous quiver through my entire body. The salacious preview of the hard cock straining inside his pants is all I need to understand what I’m in for.
“I hate you.” It comes out in a breathy whimper. But I don’t let go of him. I don’t want him to move.
Because I don’t hate him. I love what he’s doing to me and I want him to keep doing it. When his hands are on me this way, his body so close to mine, it’s the most alive I’ve felt in… ever.
Edward takes my ass in his hands and pulls me so that my core presses tightly against his crotch.
“But you don’t hate this, do you?” He rocks his hips, rubbing up against me, his eyes locked with mine.
“Oh, God…” I moan, my head falling forward to rest on his chin. It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to control anything in my body at this point.
Edward takes his forefinger and touches it to my jaw so that I’ll look back up at him. A slight smirk curls his lips and he says, “That’s what I thought.”
