Vow (Dark and Dangerous Book 3)

by Kaye Blue

  After he shoved the glass into my hand, I turned, happy to leave Melissa to her business.

  I found myself lost in this world, my eyes seeming to look everywhere at once, amused by the excitement and wondering if there had ever been a time when I had been so carefree.

  Knowing I had been.

  With him.

  Knowing I probably wouldn’t be again.

  No matter.

  Even this was something, allowing myself a few moments out, enjoying the energy of others, watching them smile, laugh, be happy and carefree.

  I looked over the dance floor, the crowd a sea of writhing bodies, the sensual air in the room so strong that even I couldn’t ignore it.

  It hit me then that I remembered this feeling, could recall what it was like to be like this.

  To feel alive.

  Another train of thought I didn’t want to indulge in, so I instead looked up, searching through the top layer of the club.

  Clearly the VIP section, a place I certainly would never be, probably didn’t want to be.

  But I could look, so I did, moving from one group to the next, until I froze.

  Everything, my breath, even my heart, seemed to stop.

  I would have thought I was imagining things, would have found that easier to believe than the truth.

  But I wasn’t, and I knew that.

  I stayed where I was, stunned, unable to move, unable to breathe.

  It couldn’t be true, but my eyes couldn’t deny what they were seeing.

  After all the years, all the tears, he was here, now, in this room.

  And he was coming straight toward me.

  Three

  Ivan

  “Boss, where are you going?”

  I ignored the question, unable to process anything but the desire—the unrelenting need—to get to her.

  It was impossible to believe that she was here, close enough to touch after all these years, but I wasn’t thinking of that, wasn’t thinking of anything but getting to her.

  I could have been imagining it, could have finally gone over the edge and made her up in my mind since I couldn’t have her in my life.

  But I knew I wasn’t.

  In all the times I had thought of her, had imagined seeing her again, that look hadn’t been in her eyes.

  The shock of recognition.

  The deep hurt.

  No, when I’d dreamed of Tru, there had only been relief, happiness.

  Love.

  That I didn’t see it now told me she was real.

  And everything inside of me demanded I go to her.

  I moved ahead, out of the VIP area and down the stairs, the crowd making a space for me.

  Whether it was because of who I was or some instinct that told them I would not be impeded, I didn’t know.

  But it was good they moved, because anything that put even an extra second between me and finally being near her again would have hell to pay.

  Some distant part of me told me to stop, reminded me that I had left her for a reason, and that reason hadn’t changed. Had become more important even.

  I ignored that voice, couldn’t listen to it even if I had wanted to.

  No, the thing that pulled me toward her would not be denied, not even in the face of all the things that stood between us.

  I’d lost sight of her in the crowd, and when I finally made it to the bar, she was gone.

  I wasn’t deterred. She couldn’t have made it far.

  The strobe lights flashed, lighting up the ivory sheen of her necklace.

  It was all I needed.

  I set off toward her, unwilling to be denied.

  I closed the gap between us quickly. When I reached her, I reacted without thought.

  I wrapped my hand around her elbow, the contact freezing me in place.

  I had dreamed of touching her again every day for a decade.

  Those dreams were nothing compared to reality.

  Even that simple touch was enough to shake me to my core. It simultaneously destroyed my equilibrium and grounded me.

  I tightened my grip, not wanting to lose the connection, but loosened it ever so slightly when she flinched.

  But I didn’t speak.

  Couldn’t.

  Didn’t trust myself to.

  Instead I started moving again, Tru at my side after all these years.

  She didn’t speak either.

  That meant something, but I was too wired to think about what, too shocked to process anything but the desire to be near her.

  The crowd parted again as it had before, and I marched her up the stairs, glaring at everyone who dared look at us.

  My men watched, but as always were smart enough not to say anything or ask any questions.

  Instead, they made a path to the office where we’d conducted the evening’s business. Yuri was long gone, and I was grateful for that.

  I lead Tru in then closed the door.

  I kept my eyes glued to the ground, smiling before I could stop myself at the sight of her sensible shoes.

  Back then, I’d bought her a pair of six-inch red stilettos. It had taken me a month to convince her to try them on. Once I’d seen her in them, I’d forbidden her to wear them outside.

  She’d smiled, told me the things were ridiculously impractical anyway.

  “Well?”

  Her voice jarred me out of the past, and I looked up and met her eyes.

  She sounded different.

  Her voice was still high, almost girly, but the tone was new.

  It wasn’t the shy, tentative tone she’d used at the beginning, the one that had brimmed with love at the end.

  No, this voice was wary, suspicious.

  Hurt.

  I knew why, just as I knew it was stupid, selfish, of me to bring her here.

  But after ten long years without her, I wouldn’t be denied.

  “Well what?” I asked, not letting my eyes stray from hers, not wanting to risk looking at more of her, to get sucked in deeper.

  “You dragged me up here. Is there something you want to say to me?”

  “You were running from me.”

  Her eyes flashed, first with guilt then defiance.

  “What gives you that idea?” she asked, her bravado convincing, or at least it would have been if I’d been someone else.

  “Why were you running, Tru? You don’t want to catch up with an old friend?”

  She scoffed, her eyes blazing. “Is that what you are, Peter. An old friend?”

  The hurt, the rage, in her voice was impossible to miss, but I pushed aside the stab of guilt and pressed forward.

  “You tell me.”

  “I will tell you,” she said, her brows rising, her expression tightening. “You’re a no good, dirty, lying bastard.”

  “I am.”

  “You’re not even going to try to deny it?”

  “No, I’m not going to deny it because it’s true.”

  My agreement seemed to take some of the wind out of her anger, but not for very long.

  “Is your name even Peter Anderson?”

  “No.”

  She glared at me, her anger seeming to intensify by the moment.

  It made her so beautiful, I could barely stand to look at her.

  I looked away, noticed how close we were, how easy it would be to pull her into my arms, crush her soft body against mine.

  To once again feel complete.

  “What the hell?” she screamed.

  It was only when she spoke that I realized I had done just that, had pulled her tight into my embrace, realized that I could take a breath for what felt like the first time in ten years.

  “Peter, or whatever the hell your name is, let—”

  Whatever she was going to say was lost on my kiss.

  I moved on instinct, covering her lips with mine.

  And while her eyes were angry, like always, her body yielded to mine.

  She exhaled deeply and then opened to my kiss, her s
ilent request one I could not ignore.

  I slid my tongue between her lips, the first taste of her breaking something loose in my chest.

  I tightened my arm around her waist, crushed her to me even more closely, closing what had only been a millimeter of space between us.

  I wanted to touch her everywhere, taste her everywhere, fuck her everywhere, but to do that I would have to break the kiss.

  And I could do that just as soon as I could stop my own heart.

  I wanted so much more, but kissing her again was more than I’d ever dreamed.

  For years I had tricked myself into thinking I was getting along, that I was over her.

  This kiss proved that I wasn’t.

  That I never would be.

  I gripped her cheek, stroked my thumb along her soft skin, silently begging for something.

  I didn’t know what, or more accurately, couldn’t give voice to it.

  Because what I wanted was impossible.

  But at least for now, I had her in my arms again, and I would take the moment for everything it was worth.

  I deepened the kiss, stroked my tongue along hers, coaxing her to move.

  And she did, kissing me just as I had taught her, the anger I could feel simmering below the surface making her caresses that much more intense.

  I broke away, not for breath, not for distance, but because if I had kissed her a second longer, I knew there was no way I would ever let her go.

  But I wasn’t done with her, hadn’t even started.

  I ripped her shirt out of her waistband then moved my hands up her sides, allowing my fingers to graze her soft skin, up and over the smooth, warm expanse of her belly. Up further to cup her full breasts.

  She moaned when I squeezed, her nipples tight buds against my palms.

  I squeezed again, kneading her heavy flesh, wondering if I could hold on to my control.

  Knowing that I couldn’t, knowing that I had lost it the instant I had laid eyes on her.

  This was inevitable, something that I could no sooner stop than I could stop the earth from spinning.

  I kept my hands on her breasts as I stared into her eyes.

  Saw hurt, anger, but even more, saw my desire reflected back at me.

  She was angry with me, as she had every right—more—to be.

  But she still wanted me.

  I didn’t deserve that, but I didn’t question it either, wouldn’t let myself.

  Instead, I would do as I always did.

  Take.

  Later would handle itself.

  I kissed her, and at the same time, using a calm that I didn’t know I possessed, unbuttoned her shirt slowly, one button at a time.

  I could feel her impatience in the way she tightly gripped my biceps, see it in the huff of her exhale.

  I wondered if she was aware of how easily she was yielding to me, wondered if she knew how her submission, her trust, was still the most intoxicating thing I had ever experienced.

  Probably not.

  I’d worked hard to gain her trust, but I knew that all those years ago she had never believed me when I told her how beautiful she was, how much I wanted her.

  And leaving the way I had couldn’t have helped.

  But I did, and I was.

  My excitement was through the roof, but I refused to rush this, would savor each second, knowing I wouldn’t get to experience it again.

  I broke the kiss when I open the last button and looked down, the fullness of her breasts, her taut nipples begging for my touch.

  After tracing the scalloped edge of her plain black bra, I pulled the fabric aside and leaned forward and captured one of the dark berries between my lips.

  Sucked hard.

  She arched her back, tightened her grip on my arms, silently begging for more.

  More that I was happy, honored, to give.

  I teased one bud with my tongue as I worked the other between my thumb and forefinger, kissing, stroking, sucking.

  Her tits were sensitive, and I had always loved making her come by playing with them. Didn’t know if I had the patience for that tonight. Didn’t know if she did either.

  I hadn’t forgotten anything about her, and from the way she was reacting now, she was close to the edge, needy, just as I was.

  I kept my mouth latched onto her nipple, but reached down, smoothing my hands up her full thighs, back down again.

  I moved my hands up inside her thighs, trembling with the knowledge that her treasured heat was only inches away.

  I could feel her warmth, was sure I could smell her scent, could practically taste her cream on my tongue. And I would very, very, soon.

  I settled my hand against the seat of her panties and was rewarded by another deep arch of her back, an unspoken order that I continue.

  “Tru, what do—”

  A shrill alarm cut off my next words.

  Four

  Tru

  The buzz of the alarm was like cold water on my overheated body, but the momentary distraction wasn’t enough.

  Peter, or whatever his name was, had broken our kiss, stared down at me with eyes so fiery and intense I thought they would incinerate me.

  Or maybe that was my own desire.

  It was insane, more than, but in that moment, I had never wanted anything more than I wanted him. And not even that sound, one that I now recognized was a fire alarm, could stop that.

  I pouted, moved closer to him when he tried to pull away.

  His big hand on my shoulder stilled me, and though I was still near frantic with need, my mind and body solely focused on him and the feelings he stirred, I was conscious enough to study him.

  He was dressed impeccably.

  The crisp, white button-down and black suit were expensive, as were the handmade Italian loafers and gold watch.

  Not what I would have expected, since the him I had known back then had favored shorts and tank tops, but I guessed it wasn’t so surprising.

  Back then, he had been a boy on the cusp of manhood.

  Now he was all man, one with stubble on his cheeks a few shades darker than his brown hair, a body that had filled out and was solid with what I knew to be muscle.

  I could see traces of him, glimpses of what he had been.

  But he was so very different now.

  Back then, he had exuded danger, or at least what my sheltered self would have called danger.

  The him now was something else altogether.

  He was dangerous, and it rolled off him like the power he exuded.

  In fact, short of a ghost of a hint in his features, the playful boy who had so effortlessly captured my heart was gone, replaced by this man who simultaneously turned me on and made me want to run.

  “We should go.”

  It was only when he spoke that I was snapped out of my trance.

  It had only been seconds, but I had felt transported, pulled into him in a way that I’d sworn I never would be by anyone or anything ever again.

  I quickly began buttoning my shirt, a flare of embarrassment hitting me as I put my bra back into place, and by the time I was done, I managed to, I hoped, convey some sense of calm.

  “There’s a fire alarm.”

  “Yes,” he said, his simple response only underscoring how stupid my own statement had been.

  There was so much to say, but how could I?

  I didn’t even know how to begin, so I cleared my throat and then made my way toward the door.

  He followed not a step behind, but before I could open it, he lifted a finger to still me.

  When he finally pulled the door open, I watched him, trying to gauge his response.

  I’d thought nothing of opening the door or what might be on the other side of it, but clearly he did, and he glanced around quickly, taking in everything.

  “What happened?” he asked the man who stood closest to the door.

  He and the men who had flanked out toward the catwalk area seemed completely on alert.

&nb
sp; “Fire alarm, but there’s no fire.”

  There was significance in that statement, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was missing something.

  “Let’s go,” Not Peter said.

  Some part of me regretted that I wouldn’t get to finish that conversation, that I wouldn’t get to kiss him, take the moment to its natural conclusion.

  But maybe there was a benefit in that.

  As much as I thought I hated him, had told myself I never wanted to see him again—and that if I did, I would slap him and then walk away with my head held high—reality had proven to be much, much different.

  I’d been ready offer myself up on a silver platter.

  And that said something, something that shamed me, but something I couldn’t ignore.

  I might hate him, but I wasn’t immune to him, which meant I needed to stay away.

  I would do just that, push this night far into the back of my memory and pretend it had never happened.

  I took a step toward the stairwell but was stopped dead in my tracks by his hand on my arm.

  “This way,” he said.

  I glanced at him, doing my best to make sure my expression was incredulous, hoping at least if I could project anger, that might give me some measure of distance.

  I glanced at him, his jaw set, his eyebrow slightly drooped.

  Apparently not.

  “I’m not going with you,” I said, refusing to be so easily deterred.

  “You are,” he said, as though that was the end of the story.

  I tried to twist my arm away but to no avail.

  One glance at the men who stood by, seeming to look at everything in the room except for him and I, and I knew they would be no help.

  Physically overpowering him was a laughable prospect.

  I was no lightweight, but I also wasn’t a fool.

  I’d have a better chance of fitting into Melissa’s dresses than I would overpowering him, and that would never happen.

  “Fine,” I said, ripping my arm out of his grip.

  He didn’t protest at me pulling away, though I could see he didn’t like it.

  But he’d had no doubt that he was going to get his way, so he was willing to give me that much, it seemed.

  Two men went toward the opposite staircase, and he followed, as did I, obeying his unspoken command.

  The three others came behind me, and together they moved with an efficiency that told me this wasn’t the first time they’d had to make a quick escape.