He tastes of whiskey. His confidence exudes rebellion. His body evokes a straight punch of lust to my sex. A heady combination hinting he’s a bad boy that this good girl should stay clear of. His urgency and adept skill hint at what could come. Images flash through my mind of back-arching, toe-pointing, sheet-gripping sex that no doubt would be as dominating as his kiss.
Despite my submission, I know this is wrong. I can hear my conscience telling me to stop. That I don’t do these kinds of things. That I’m not that kind of girl. That I’m betraying Max with each caress.
But God, it feels so incredibly good. I bury all rationality under the surmounting desire that rages through my every nerve. My every breath.
His fingers stroke the back of my neck while his other hand travels down to my hip, igniting sparks with every touch. He splays it on my lower back and presses me into him. Laying claim to me. I can feel his erection thickening against my midsection, sending an electric charge to my groin, making me damp with need and desire. His leg slightly shifts and presses between mine, adding pressure to the apex of my thighs and creating an intense ache of pleasure. I push farther into him, softly mewling as I crave more.
I am drowning in the sensation of him, and yet I’m not willing to come up for the air I so desperately need.
He nips my lower lip as his hand moves down to knead my backside, pleasure spiraling through me. My nails scrape the back of his neck in reaction as I stake my claim.
“Christ, I want you right now,” his husky voice pants between kisses, intensifying the ache in the muscles coiling below my waist. He moves the hand from the back of my neck and traces it down my ribcage and over until it cups my breast. I cry out a soft moan at the sensation of his fingers rubbing over my hardened peak through the soft material of my dress.
My body is ready to consent to his request because I want this man too. I want to feel his weight on me, his bare skin sliding on mine, and his length moving rhythmically in me.
Our entangled bodies bump up against the small alcove in the hallway. He presses me against the wall, our bodies frantically grabbing, groping, and tasting. He skims his hand down to the hem of my cocktail dress, finding purchase when he touches the lace tops of my thigh-high stockings.
“Sweet Jesus,” he murmurs against my mouth as he runs his hand at a painstakingly slow pace up my outer thigh to the small triangle of lace that serves more as decoration than as panties.
What? Those words. When they finally register, I recoil as if whiplashed and push on his chest trying to shove him away from me. Those are the same words that I’d heard earlier in the darkened alcove. They hit me like cold water to my libido. What the hell? And what in the hell am I doing anyway, making out with some random guy? And more importantly, why pick now to do this while I’m in the midst of one of my most important events of the year?
“No. No—I can’t do this.” Staggering back, I bring a trembling hand up to my mouth to cover my swollen lips. . His eyes snap up to mine, the emerald color darkened by desire. Anger flashes through them fleetingly.
“It’s a little late, sweetheart. It looks as if you already have.”
Fury flashes through me at his sardonic comment. I’m intelligent enough to infer that I’ve just become another in the line of his evening’s conquests. I look back at him, and the smug look on his face makes me want to hurl insults at him.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Touching me like that? Taking advantage of me that way?” I spit at him, using anger to ward off the hurt I feel. I’m not sure if I’m more upset at myself for my willing submission or the fact that he took advantage of me in my frenetic state. Or is it that I feel ashamed because I succumbed to his mind blowing kiss and skilled fingers without even knowing his name?
He continues to observe me, his anger simmering, eyes glowering. “Really?” he scoffs at me, cocking his head to the side and rubbing a hand over his condescending smirk. I can hear the rasp of his stubble as his hand chafes over it. “That’s how you’re going to play this? Were you not participating just now? Were you not just coming apart in my arms?” He laughs snidely. “Don’t fool your prim little self into thinking that you didn’t enjoy that. That you don’t want more.”
He takes a step closer to me, amusement and something darker blazing in the depths of his eyes. Raising a hand, he traces a finger down the line of my jaw. Despite flinching, the heat from his touch reignites the smoldering craving deep in my belly. I silently castigate my body for its betrayal. “Let’s get one thing clear,” he growls at me. “I. Do. Not. Take. What’s. Not. Offered. And we both know, sweetheart, you offered.” He smirks. “Willingly.”
I jerk my chin away from his fingertips, wishing that I were one of those people who can say all the right things at all the right times. But I’m not. Instead, I think of them hours later and only wish that I’d said them. I know that I’ll be doing that later, for I can’t think of a single way to rebuke this overconfident yet completely correct man. He has reduced me to a mass of overstimulated nerves craving him to touch me again.
“That poor defenseless crap may work with your boyfriend who treats you like china on a shelf, fragile and nice to look at. Rarely used...” he shrugs “...but admit it, sweetheart, that’s boring.”
“My boy—” I stutter, “I’m not fragile!”
“Really?” he chides, reaching up to hold my chin in place as he looks in my eyes. “You sure act that way.”
“Screw you!” I jerk my chin from his grasp.
“Ooooh, you’re a feisty little thing.” His arrogant smirk is irritating. “I like feisty, sweetheart. It only makes me want you that much more.”
Prick! I’m just about to make a retort about what a manwhore he obviously is. That I know about his “getting acquainted” with someone else down the hall not too long ago before moving onto me. I stare at him, the thought rattling around in the back of my head that he vaguely reminds me of someone, but I push it away. I’m flustered, that’s all.
As I’m about to open my mouth, I hear Dane’s voice calling my name. Relief floods me as I turn to see him standing at the end of the hallway, looking at me oddly. Most likely perplexed by my disheveled state.
“Rylee? I really need those lists. Did you get them?”
“I got sidetracked,” I mumble. I glance back at Mr. Arrogant behind me. “I’m coming. I just … wait for me, okay?”
Dane nods at me as I turn to the open door of the storage closet and quickly grab the scattered paddles off of the floor as gracefully as possible and shove them in the bag. I exit the closet and avoid meeting his eyes as I start to walk toward Dane. I exhale silently, glad to be heading toward more familiar ground when I hear his voice behind me. “This conversation isn’t over, Rylee.”
“Like hell it isn't, A.C.E.,” I toss over my shoulder, the thought at how perfect the acronym fits him passes through my mind before I continue hastily down the hall, keeping my shoulders squared and head held high in an attempt to keep my pride intact.
I quickly reach Dane, my closest confidant and friend at work. Concern etches his boyish face as I loop my arm through his, tugging him back toward the party. Once we’re through the backstage door, I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and lean back against the wall.
“What the hell happened to you, Rylee? You look like a hot mess!” He eyes me up and down. “And does it have anything to do with that Adonis back there?”
It has everything to do with the Adonis, I want to confide but for some reason hold back. “Don’t laugh,” I say, eyeing him warily. “The closet door jammed shut, and I was stuck inside.”
He stifles a laugh and looks toward the ceiling to contain it. “That would only happen to you!”
I playfully push his shoulder. “Really, it’s not funny. I got panicked. Claustrophobic. The lights went out and it brought me back to the accident.” Concern flashes in his eyes. “I freaked out, and that guy heard me yelling and let me out. That’s all.”
> “That’s all?” he questions with a raise of his eyebrow as if he doesn’t believe me.
I nod. “Yes. I just really lost it for a minute.” I hate lying to him, but for now it’s my best course of action. The more adamant I am, the quicker he’ll drop the subject.
“Well, that’s too bad because damn, girl, he’s fine.” I laugh as he wraps his arm around me in a quick hug. “Go on and freshen up. Take a breather. Then we need you back out to mingle and schmooze. We’re about thirty minutes out from the start of the date auction.”
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. Dane’s right. I look like hell. I’ve ruined the hair and makeup my roommate, Haddie, helped me with. I take a paper towel and try to blot at my makeup to repair the damage. The tears have left my amethyst eyes rimmed red, and I need not wonder why my lipstick is no longer perfectly lining my lips. Pieces of my chestnut color hair are falling out of its clip, and the seam of my dress is horribly askew.
I can hear the dull bass of the music on the other side of the wall. It plays background to the hundreds of voices—all potential donors. I take a deep breath and lean against the sink for a moment.
I can see why Dane questioned what had really happened and if Mr. Arrogant had anything to do with it. I look completely disheveled!
I shift my dress so its sweetheart neckline and my more-than-ample girls sit properly. I smooth my hands over my hips where the fabric clings to my curves. I start to put the wisps of hair that have escaped back into my clip but stop myself. The tendrils have returned to their naturally wavy state, and I decide that I like the softened effect the curls have on my overall look.
I reach into my purse, which Dane has brought me, and freshen up my make-up. I add some mascara to my naturally thick lashes and reapply my smudged eyeliner. My eyes look better. Not great—but better. I pucker my lips, tracing my lipstick over the full M shape of them, rub them together, and then blot.
Not as good as Haddie, but good enough. I’m ready to rejoin the festivities.
2
Jewels, designer gowns, and name-dropping are prevalent among the celebrities, socialites, and philanthropists who fill the old theater. Tonight is the culmination of much of my efforts over the past year—an event to raise the majority of the funds needed to break ground on the new facilities.
And I am way out of my comfort zone.
Dane discretely rolls his eyes at me from across the room; he knows I would much rather be back at The House with the boys in jeans and my hair pulled back into a ponytail. I allow a ghost of a smile to grace my lips as I nod my head, before taking a sip of champagne.
I am still trying to wrap my head around what I willingly allowed to happen backstage and the sting of knowing I wasn’t the first person Mr. Arrogant had made his moves on tonight. I’m dumbfounded at both my uncharacteristic actions and confused by how hurt I feel. Surely, I can’t expect a man looking for a quick romp to have any intention but to boost his already-inflated ego.
“There you are, Rylee,” a voice interrupts my thoughts.
I turn to find my boss—a bear of a man standing close to six and half feet tall with a heart bigger than that of anyone I’ve ever met. Appropriately enough, he looks like a big teddy bear.
“Teddy,” I say affectionately as I lean into the arm he’s placed on my shoulders in a quick hug. “Looks like it’s turning out well, don’t you think?”
“Thanks to all your hard effort. From what I hear, the checks are coming in.” His lips curve, the smile causing his eyebrows to wiggle. “And even before the auction begins.”
“Just because it’s a successful way to raise money, doesn’t mean I have to agree with it,” I reluctantly admit, trying to not sound like a prude. It’s a debate we’ve had countless times over the past couple of months. Even though it’s for charity, I just don’t understand why women are willing to sell themselves to the highest bidder. I can’t help but think the bidders are going to want more than just a date in return for the fifteen-thousand dollar starting bid.
“It’s not like we’re running a brothel, Rylee,” Teddy admonishes. He looks over my right shoulder as a guest catches his attention. “Oh, there’s someone I want you to meet. This is a cause very near and dear to him. He’s one of our chairpeople’s sons who—” he stops his explanation as whoever it is approaches nearby. “Donavan! Good to see you,” he says heartily as he shakes hands with the person at my back.
I turn around, willing to make a new acquaintance, but instead I meet the bemused eyes of Mr. Arrogant.
Well, shit! How is it that despite being twenty-six years old, I suddenly feel like a prepubescent, awkward teenager? The half an hour away from him has done nothing to dampen his scorching good looks or the forbidden pull he has on my libido. His six-foot-plus frame is covered in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that screams affluence, and my knowledge that beneath the jacket lies an obviously toned torso makes me bite my lower lip in unwanted need. And yet despite his magnetism, I’m still furious.
I think again about how he looks familiar, how he resembles someone I know, but the shock of seeing him again overrides the thought.
He smirks at me, his mirth apparent, and all I can think about is how those lips felt on mine. How his fingers, holding a tumbler now, felt traveling over my bare skin. About the length of his body pressed against mine.
And how he had licentiously acquainted himself with another woman moments before moving on to debase me.
Plastering a fake smile on my face, my eyes glare at Donavan as an unaware Teddy addresses him. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. She’s the driving force behind what you see tonight.” Teddy turns to me, placing a hand on my lower back. “Rylee Thomas, please meet—”
“We’ve already met,” I say, interrupting him, saccharine oozing from my words as I smile at them. Teddy looks at me oddly; it’s rare for me to be insincere. “Thank you for the introduction, though,” I continue, looking from Teddy to Donavan, reaching out to shake his hand as if he were just another potential benefactor.
Dragging his eyes from me and my abnormal behavior, Teddy focuses back on Mr. Arrogant. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Immensely,” he muses, releasing his too-long hold on my hand. I have to refrain from derisively snorting. How can he not be enjoying himself? Arrogant bastard. Maybe I should get on the stage and take a schoolyard poll of women here tonight to see whom he has not debauched already.
“Were you able to get some food? Rylee was able to get one of the hottest chefs in Hollywood to donate his services,” Teddy explains, always trying to be the consummate host.
Donavan looks at me, humor crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I had a little taste of something while I was wandering around backstage.” I suck in my breath, catching his innuendo as he moves his eyes back to Teddy. “It was rather unexpected but quite exquisite,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”
I hear someone call Teddy’s name, and he eyes me again with curiosity before apologizing. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere for a moment.” He turns toward Donavan. “It’s great seeing you again. Thank you for coming.”
We both nod in assent as Teddy leaves. Scowling, I turn on my heel to walk away from Donavan. I want to erase him and his memory from my evening.
His hand hastily closes over my bare arm, tugging me so my backside lands against the steeled length of his body. My breath hitches in response. I glance around, glad that everyone seems to be so absorbed in their own conversations that we’ve not drawn their attention.
I can feel Donavan’s chin brush against my shoulder as his mouth nears my ear. “Why are you so pissed, Ms. Thomas?” There is a biting chill to his voice that warns me he’s not a man to be messed with. “Is it because you can’t let go of your highbrow ways and admit that despite what your head says, your body wants more of this rebel from the wrong side of the tracks?” He releases a low, patronizing growl in my ear. “Or are you so practiced at being frigid that you always de
prive yourself of what you want? What you need? What you feel?”
I bristle, trying unsuccessfully to pull my arm out of his firm grip. Talk about a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I still as another couple walks past us, eyeing us closely. Trying to figure out the situation between us. Donavan releases my arm, and rubs his hand over it instead, giving the impression of a lover’s touch. And despite my fury, or maybe because of it, his touch triggers a myriad of sensation everywhere his fingers trace. Goose bumps ripple in their wake.
I can feel his breath rake over my cheek again. “It’s very arousing, Rylee, knowing that you’re so responsive to my touch. Very intoxicating,” he whispers as he trails a finger across my bare shoulder. “You know you want to explore why your body reacted the way it did to me. You think I didn’t see you undressing me with your eyes, enjoy you fucking me with your mouth?”
I gasp as he puts his hand on my stomach and pulls me tightly back against him so I can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing into my lower back.
Despite my anger, it’s a heady feeling to know that I can make this man react in such a way. But then again, he probably reacts this way to the numerous women who, without a doubt, throw themselves at his feet on a regular basis.
“You’re lucky I don’t drag you back in that storage closet I found you in and take what you offered. Make you cry out my name.” He nips softly at my ear, and I have to stifle the uncontrollable moan of desire that threatens to escape. “To fuck you and get you out of my system. Then move on,” he finishes.
I’ve never been spoken to this way—would never have thought I’d allow someone to—but his words, and the vigor with which he speaks them, unexpectedly turn me on.
Love in the Dark Page 43
