by Geneva Lee
I must be responding too subtly, because instead of giving me space, he yanks me back again, pressing himself harder against my butt.
I pull away, pushing sweaty strands of hair out of my eyes. “Maybe we should go outside. It’s hot in here.”
“No, that’s just you,” he says, his eyes hooded. He reaches for me and pulls me back into his arms. “Let’s keep dancing.”
“I really need air.” How much clearer can I be?
“In a minute.” His face angles down, and I realize a second too late that he’s aiming for my lips. They close over mine, and my palms flatten against his chest, shoving him. He breaks away and turns confused eyes on me.
“Stop!”
“Fine,” he says, grinning like this is all a misunderstanding. “We’ll keep dancing.” The hands on my hips tighten their hold on me.
“I need to find my friends.” I look around, squirming against his hold, hoping that I’ll spot Poppy or Kai in the crowd. I’d even settle for Cyrus.
“They’re around. Don’t worry.” Jeremy is not getting the message.
“I really need to go find them,” I repeat more firmly.
“Adair,” he starts, but before he can finish the thought he is thrown backwards like he’s a yo-yo.
Jeremy crashes against the wall, knocking a few people over along the way, before I process what happened. He slides to the floor, but as soon as he tries to scramble to his feet, Sterling is there.
Someone arrives at my side, and I look over to see Poppy. She clutches my arm, but before she can ask what happened, Sterling lifts Jeremy up by the collar of his shirt and slams him against the wall again, knocking loose dusty plaster.
“She said she wants to go,” Sterling says, dropping him on to his feet, only to shove him hard in the chest.
“Who the fuck are you?” Jeremy brushes off his shirt.
“Her boyfriend,” Sterling roars.
“Oh!” Poppy’s fingernails dig into my arm. That’s the moment I decide to intervene.
“Enough.” I grab the back of Sterling’s shirt, and he turns toward me.
“He was touching you.” His eyes blaze with unrepressed fury.
“That’s none of your—”
Before I can finish. Jeremy grabs Sterling by the collar, spins him around, and lands a right hook square on his jaw. It stuns Sterling, but only momentarily. He recovers and slams into Jeremy, and the pair crash onto the ground. A few seconds later, more guys jump in to pull them apart.
“Get that asshole out of here,” Jeremy shouts.
Two of his friends drag Sterling out the front door. I’m torn between following and staying.
“That’s your fucking boyfriend?” Jeremy comes over, wiping blood from his lip.
“No. I mean, yes. I…” I say, then realize he’s the last person I’m going to explain this to.
“Well, it’s not going to matter much longer.” Jeremy stalks out the door after him.
I rush after, arriving in time to see his friends holding Sterling by the arms. Jeremy moves to hit him, and I scream. The porch light goes on at the neighbor’s, and someone opens the front door.
“Hey, we called the cops. A party is one thing, but I draw the line at this shit!” A disembodied voice calls out.
Instantly, it’s chaos. The guys drop their hold on Sterling and he stumbles forward, taking another swing at Jeremy but misjudging and landing on the ground.
“Christ,” Cyrus says, tearing out the front door and skidding to a halt next to me. Everyone else at the party comes streaming out behind him as the distant sound of sirens pierce the night. “Should we leave him? A night in jail might sober him up.”
Sterling can’t afford bail or a fine, and I know it. I square my jaw and shake my head. I can’t believe I’m saving his ass.
“Come on. Let’s get him back to your place,” I say to Cyrus.
“Are you sure?” Poppy asks, as Kai and Cyrus go over to gather Sterling off the grass.
I stare at him. Boyfriend or not—and it’s definitely not at the moment—I owe him. “He wouldn’t leave me here.”
“That’s not the same,” Poppy points out. “Someone drugged you.”
“Yeah,” I say in a hollow voice. Sterling did this to himself, but that didn’t make the idea of leaving him to get picked up by the police any more appealing. “I guess sometimes you help people even if they don’t deserve it.”
And Sterling Ford doesn’t deserve it. I know that. That’s why I’m going to make him pay for his mistakes, just as soon as he sobers up.
11
Sterling
Present Day
It’s not the first time Adair has shut the door in my face. It probably won’t be the last. Ten minutes later, I’m still standing in the hallway when a harassed-looking bellhop scurries down the hall, heading in my direction at breakneck speed. He stops a foot from me and his eyebrows knit together as if I’m some sort of puzzle. After a few seconds of silence, it’s clear I’ve fried some circuitry in his brain.
“Can I help you?” I ask, leaning casually against the doorjamb.
“Miss MacLaine requested a screwdriver.” He peeks around my shoulder to check that he’s in the right place.
“She’s changing,” I explain.
“And you are…” he fishes.
“Waiting.” Jesus, I’ve seen less interrogation sitting at an Afghani prison. I hold out my hand. “I’ll give it to her.”
He looks like he’s trying to decide if that’s a good idea. “Maybe I should…”
“Do I look like I’m going to steal a fucking screwdriver?” I slip a hand from my pocket so he can get a view of my Breitling as I reach for my wallet. Drawing out a fifty, I hold it out. “For your trouble.”
His attitude improves predictably. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
I wave off the apology and tuck the bill next to the pocket square on his uniform. Then I hold out my hand. He drops the screwdriver sheepishly into my palm, and I slide it into my pocket.
“I’ll make sure she gets it.” It’s not like I would deprive Adair of a good screw.
He disappears back to the elevator, and I’m left wondering what’s taking her so long.
Finally, she emerges in the dress she wore last night. Her hair is still loose around her shoulders, artfully mussed from where I held it minutes ago. I stare for a moment at her full lips, which look even more inviting than usual. It only takes me a moment to see what she’s been up to.
“Sorry,” she says, smoothing down her dress, and I see she’s artfully pinned it to the side. “My dress is torn, and I don’t have anything else to wear.”
I tore her dress last night. I also tore her underwear, but I hadn’t given those back to her to fix. If she doesn’t have anything else to wear…
Backing her against the door, I run my hands over the soft curve of her hips. There’s definitely nothing more than one silky layer of fabric between my hand and her skin. “Fuck, Lucky. How am I going to concentrate knowing you’re walking around without your panties?”
“Maybe it will teach you not to rip them,” she says.
The argument continues down the hall, and as I press the call button on the elevator.
I arch an eyebrow. “That’s what you think I’m going to learn? Hate to break it to you, but knowing you’re bare down below only provides an incentive to keep ripping your panties off you.”
She swallows, a rosy blush painting her cheeks. “Don’t get ideas. I’m hungry.”
“Me, too,” I say meaningfully, trailing a finger across her stomach.
She shudders, her eyes closing for a second, before shaking her head. “Food, Ford, unless you want me to waste away.”
“I don’t want that.” There’s always dessert, I remind myself. “Do you want to eat here or go somewhere else?”
“I’m starving,” she says. My eyes glint mischievously and she holds up a finger in warning. “Don’t even think about it, Ford.”
/> The elevator doors open as soon as I press the call button, and I hold my arm across the threshold. “After you, Lucky.”
“How did you find me?” she asks.
“Luca is staying down the hall from you,” I explain.
“So much for privacy,” she grumbles. Adair presses against the far side of the elevator, holding the rail like a life raft, as if the small distance can protect her from wanting me. I can’t have that. I run my tongue over my lower lip before biting down on it, hoping she can read exactly what I’m thinking in my eyes. She manages to look unfazed, but I can’t help noticing her knuckles are white.
Maybe she needs a little break before she implodes from self-denial. “I accepted a delivery on your behalf.”
“A delivery?” she repeats in surprise.
I pull out the screwdriver. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I think they have a maintenance staff to fix things.”
She hesitates, staring at it. I can tell she’s torn between explaining why she needs the screwdriver and wanting to punish me more for the misunderstanding about Sutton. Now who’s keeping secrets? She tries to take it from me, but I hold it back. “What do you need this for?”
“I have things that need screwing.” She crosses her arms defiantly.
“I can help with that.” I don’t try to hide the suggestiveness of my tone. She walked right into it.
She snorts but won’t allow herself to laugh. She swats at the screwdriver, but I hold it higher. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Ford. There’s a stuck drawer in the suite.”
“That’s all? Disappointing. Of course,” I say thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t mind helping you unstick your drawers.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Her mouth twists with the effort of holding back a giggle. She knows better than to reward this behavior, especially since she’s planning to grill me with questions over dinner. I know when Adair is on a mission.
The elevator comes to a stop and I glide out, screwdriver still in hand. “All you have to do is ask.”
“I don’t need your help,” she repeats.
I lean closer and whisper, “Bullshit. If you need help with a screw—”
“Well, you are a big tool.” She manages to keep a smile off her face, but her lips twitch at the corners.
I’m about to remind her about the size of my tool and its many uses, when we pass a man in a suit at the front desk. His head turns just enough for me to see his profile. A jagged scar runs from his temple to his cheekbone. I stop.
He doesn’t belong here. Noah Porter.
I know it’s him without bothering to get a good look. Some faces you don’t forget, especially the ones with scars you gave them. Instantly, my training kicks in. I know where all the exits are, exactly where to duck for cover, and how many bystanders are likely to die if weapons are drawn. But there is one new variable I never considered—never needed to consider—before today.
Adair.
I can’t calculate her reaction. I don’t have a plan that includes her. Partly because, until this moment, I thought I was a step ahead of my problematic acquaintances. But also because I hadn’t planned on needing to protect her.
There’s only one option. I need to get her out of here without drawing attention to us.
“Let’s go out,” I say, taking her elbow and steering her back in the direction we came from moments ago. “Or, better yet, let’s order room service.”
“I think we should stick to neutral territory.” She tugs free of my grip, shaking her head. Of course, she thinks this is about getting her back into bed.
Actually, that might be exactly what I need to distract her and get her moving. Grabbing a handful of her dress, I pull her gently toward me and angle my mouth to hover over hers. Adair sinks her teeth into her lower lip, staring up into my eyes uncertainly. For a single moment, I’m lost to her. I kiss her and everything fades into the background. There’s only her taste on my lips and a fleeting feeling of calm.
Then I remember and my head snaps up, the spell broken, and I see Noah is gone. One lapse—one critical moment of distraction—and I lost him. Now we really need to get out of here.
“Sterling?” Adair says my name before her head swivels to see what I’m staring at. She turns back, confusion furrowing her eyebrows. “What is it?”
“We need to go.” I can’t wait around to see if he spotted me. It’s not a coincidence that he’s here. Nashville is a big city, but Noah Porter is here because we’re here. The question is: who tripped his snares?
“What are you—”
“For once, don’t fight me on this,” I say gruffly as I guide her across the lobby.
“Let go of me.” She yanks her arm free and stops in her tracks. “What is going on?”
“We need to go somewhere private before I can tell you that.” There’s not a chance in hell that I’ll actually tell her who I saw or what’s going on. Not until I know whether he spotted me with her. The less she knows, the less trouble she’s in. I doubt she’ll see it that way, but apparently I’m becoming an optimist.
“I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me—”
I don’t wait for her to finish the sentence. Instead, I pick her up and carry her the last few yards to the elevator. She’s too stunned to put up a fight. It must look like I’m carrying her off to bed because a few drunk college students coming from the hotel bar catcall us as I haul her inside the compartment. I grin, playing the part of the dashing groom, and punch the button to her floor with my knuckle.
Adair glares up at me, her plump lips smashed into a thin line. That line of effort is all that stands between me and an explosion. If I were smarter, I’d put her down and run in the opposite direction. I know to get as far from a blast radius as possible. The trouble is that her trigger is linked to me. One wrong move and she’ll blow.
“Put me down,” she orders.
I release her slowly and brace for impact.
As soon as she’s on her feet, she reaches to press the lobby button. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I’m hungry.”
I move between her and the control panel. Her nostrils flair, and I swear I can hear an actual countdown to detonation.
“Order room service,” I say tersely, slipping my cell phone out of my pocket and pretending not to care that her glare radiates fury.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“In a minute.” I dial Luca’s number as we arrive on the sixth floor. He answers on the second ring.
“Find her?” he asks.
“Yeah, thanks for the tip,” I say.
Adair’s eyes narrow, and she points to the phone. “Is that Luca?”
“That’s not why I’m calling.” I ignore her. Right now my priority can’t be her feelings. “I just saw an old friend of ours in the Eaton lobby.”
“Yeah. Who?” His voice is muffled, like he’s chewing something. I wonder if he’s in his room. That would be convenient.
Adair clears her throat, we’ve made it to her door, and she stands there tapping her foot.
I shift the phone.
“Open it,” I mouth.
“If you think I’m letting you in—”
“Open it,” I growl, leaving no room for interpretation.
“Sterling, who was it?” Luca repeats, sounding more alert. He must have heard the alarm in my voice.
Adair slams open the door, and I step inside, pulling her along with me. As soon as we’re through, I throw the deadbolt and pace to the end of the room.
“Noah’s here,” I tell Luca.
“Noah Porter?” Luca asks in disbelief.
“No, the guy with hundreds of animals. Prepare for a fucking flood,” I snap. My free hand rubs my temples as I feel the first pangs of a headache. “Find out why he’s here.”
Luca doesn’t argue with me. He already shifted to our contingency plans. “Will do. You sticking around?”
I turn an analytical eye on Adair. She hasn’t moved
from the door. Her arms are crossed, and I can almost swear actual smoke is coming from her nostrils.
“Unclear,” I mutter, pivoting away from her.
“I’ll let you know when I have something,” he promises.
Ending the call, I take my time pocketing my phone while trying to come up with an excuse for my bizarre behavior. The trouble is that Adair isn’t like a lot of women I know. The few other relationships I’ve had were purely transactional. Sex. Dinner. Conversation not encouraged. They didn’t care who I did business with or if plans changed. Adair? She cares, and conversation is definitely mandatory. It’s why I’m in love with her. It’s why I don’t know if we’ll ever work.
“I’m waiting,” she reminds me.
“It was just an old friend. I was surprised to see him, and I wanted to make sure Luca caught him,” I say. I’m trained to withstand enemy interrogation, but I’m no match for Adair MacLaine.
“Do you always run from your old friends?” she asks flatly.
“Lucky, this is complicated.”
“Actually,” she storms, “it isn’t. It’s simple. Tell me the truth. Who is he? Why is he here? Where have you been the last five years?”
This is spiraling out of control so quickly I’m not sure there’s a way to reverse course.
“Those questions might seem simple, but the answers to them aren’t,” I say, searching her face for some sign that she’ll let this go, but I know Adair better than that. She’s too stubborn to let anything go, especially when it comes to our relationship.
“Let me put it another way,” she says, “that’s the door.” She points to it. “Why don’t you go catch up with your friend? Come back when you’re ready to be honest with me.”
“I can’t tell you everything,” I say, adding quickly, “not yet.”
