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TATUM
God, I had to get away before I did something unforgivable. It was infuriating to run away, but I didn’t know whether to yank her by the hair and punish her with hard swats to her ass or crush my lips to hers and smother her with a kiss. Either would’ve worked if only she’d shut up.
Of course, I could do neither. My sense of powerlessness when it came to her drove me to the brink of my sanity. I had a little dominant demon that lived in my gut, and nothing could rile it up like Clara and her sharp tongue.
Stalking out of the reception area, I blindly turned left, then right, then left again. In front of me was a glass door leading out onto a deserted rooftop terrace. I threw it open and stomped out.
Crisp late-autumn air whipped against my face, cooling off my anger. One side of the empty terrace was lined with sectional couches facing toward me, interspersed with coffee tables, each with a trio of glass-covered white candles flickering in the soft glow emanating from lights along the building. This late in autumn, there were a few desolate yellow and brown leaves clinging to small apple trees in planters. Other than that, everything was bare and dormant.
The door swung shut behind me, and I was blessedly alone. Taking in deep breaths, I stared up at the two or three twinkling stars above me in the inky night sky, visible despite the light pollution of the city.
I unclenched my hands and shook them out, attempting to shake off the rage gripping me by the throat.
I could never do anything right with that woman. All night long, she was enticing as hell in a backless dress that clung to her wicked curves like a second skin. Her eyes blazed with fire, even beneath the layers of makeup she’d applied. I wanted to hate-fuck her so bad my cock was stiff and torqued in the trousers of my tuxedo. Get down, you bastard. I gave it a hard squeeze to teach it some manners.
Swish.
I heard the door behind me. Twisting around quickly, I came face-to-face with Clara.
Goddammit.
“What are you doing here? Get back inside. It’s freezing here.”
Ignoring my command, she scoffed, “Please, Tatum, don’t act as if you care.”
Motioning between the two of us with her hand, she commanded, “Let’s stop pretending and get this out of the way.”
“Who’s pretending? What’s there to get out of the way?” I asked, incredulous. Because really, when did this woman pretend to ever like me or even tolerate my presence?
“I came here to apologize for how I acted, but seeing you again just makes me realize how much I loathe you,” Clara professed, eyes glowing a liquid blue and hands fisted by her sides.
I was at the wedding of a man who was like a brother to me. I should be joyous. At the very least, I should be drunk. Instead, I was fuming. Between the anger and the months of sexual frustration I’d suffered with this woman, I was at a breaking point. I knew she detested me, and the feeling was more than mutual, but somehow it upset me to hear her say it.
The hurt poured gasoline on the flames of fury already burning in my gut. Her hissing at me like a wet cat broke the seal over my control. I wanted to turn her around, flip up her dress, and pound out my frustration into her tight, unused pussy, only heaping more kindling onto my blistering wrath. Hell, at this moment, I was so twisted up over her, I ached to bring her down a peg.
It was petty of me, but, for once, I didn’t care how it made me or the Lupu family look. I didn’t care if I had to get up close and personal to make her feel an ounce of what she made me feel.
Payback was in order.
Stalking her, I backed her against the wall right by the door. Slapping a hand on the brick beside her head, I penned her in.
Her eyes blew wide with fear—and something else.
I angled my head to the side, narrowing my eyes at her. Bright light from the corridor streamed in through the glass door to illuminate her face. I reached for her, curling my hand around the silky skin of her delicate neck, and bringing it to rest.
Thrusting my face into hers, I growled, “You hate me? Sure about that?”
Her eyes rounded wide. She shuddered out a soft breath that coasted over my skin, soft as a feather. I expected to be inundated with expensive perfume, heavy and syrupy, something sultry and dripping with power. Instead, I got a whiff of something clean and bright, like…laundry detergent without the additives? No, no, that wasn’t right.
Beach.
Yes, her scent evoked the sensation of hot sand sliding between wiggling toes, of waves lapping over outstretched legs.
I stepped closer, bending my head until my lips were inches from hers. Before she had a chance to do or say anything to piss me off further, I pressed my lips over hers.
She made a strangled sound.
Gripping her delicate jaw, I flicked my tongue against the seam of her lips. She gasped, giving me access to lick my way inside, and fuck if the taste of her didn’t hit me hard. It was as surprising as her scent—like crisp blades of grass on a summer day. Smooth, cool, and surprisingly addictive. If innocence had a taste, this would be it.
