by Kate Stacy
His hands work in practiced motions and as he places the last piece of tape on the edge of the plastic, I know it’s now or never.
“Adam…” His eyes flit to mine as he waits for me to continue. “Why do you hate me?”
I see a flash of something in his eyes and he chuckles. It’s dark, and deliciously sexy.
“I don’t hate you,” he says, removing his gloves with a snap.
“Then...why do you avoid me?”
Depositing the gloves in the waste bin, he stands slowly. Leaning toward me, he places his hands on the armrests of the tattoo chair, caging me in. His close proximity forces me to lean away from him, but he only leans in closer.
When he speaks, his voice is low and gravelly, sending shivers rolling down my spine.
“Because, Princess. Every single time I lay eyes on you…” He licks his lips. “Every. Single. Fucking. Time. I have to keep myself from throwing you down on the nearest surface and fucking you like both our lives depend on it.”
“Oh.” One word. One sound. Barely audible, but he hears it.
“Yeah. Oh.” He chuckles again, slowly pulling away from me.
“What’s stopping you?”
I’m not sure how I find the nerve to ask, but I have to know the answer.
“You’re not the kinda girl a man fucks for fun, Princess. You’re the kinda girl a man keeps.” He runs his hand across his jaw. “And I’m not built for that.”
He stalks from the room without another word.
He leaves me confused, speechless, and unable to catch my breath.
SIXTEEN
Adam
The bar is the last fucking place I want to be tonight.
After the way I spilled my truth today, I shouldn’t be here.
Knowing she is here is all the reason I need to know I should be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
The girls are here at 80 Proof celebrating their birthday. From what I understand, it was supposed to be a girls’ night, but they’re here, so it’s not like there was a chance in hell of the guys wanting to be anywhere else. Like these possessive motherfuckers would let the girls out by themselves. They’re crashing the party, insisting on being nearby in order to keep drunk assholes from making moves on their women.
I don’t have a woman, so how I ended up with this group of alpha assholes tonight is beyond me. And trust, they are alpha assholes, even the ones who don’t seem like it on the surface. Even Ryan, who comes off like a sweet, respectable guy, insisted on coming to protect what’s his. It’s ridiculous really.
I only agreed to come because I know Noah is working. I have no plans to tell him about our connection tonight, but I can at least strike up a conversation. Maybe getting to know him a little better will shine some light on the best way to tell him we’re brothers. All I want to do is order a beer, park my ass on a stool at the bar, and get to know my brother—even if he doesn’t know that’s who he is to me.
As we walk into 80 Proof, that plan goes up in smoke.
Presley...fuck.
She’s front and center in the middle of the floor looking completely fucking irresistible.
For the first time since we met, Presley isn't fully covered from the neck down. Not even close. No, for the first time...she’s wearing a dress. And what a fucking dress.
She looks fucking incredible in a white, off the shoulder number that has my dick hardening in my jeans. Her long, pink hair flows in loose waves over her bare shoulders. Her tits. Christ. There must be some type of magic at work for her tits to be so goddamn perky despite being so full and round. They’re accentuated even more by the design of the dress.
That motherfuckin’ dress.
It hugs her body, showing off all those smooth, delicious curves. It stops about mid-thigh, leaving my eyes to wander lower, down past her thick thighs, all the way to her feet. Cursing under my breath, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and bite back a groan. She’s wearing some type of pink, strappy heels that crisscross over her feet and lace up her ankles. Not your typical fuck-me heels, but I’ll be damned if I don’t want to fuck her in nothing but those heels so I can feel the points digging into my ass as she screams my name.
“Fuck me,” I mutter, making all the guys laugh.
Ryan slaps me on the back. “Welcome to the club. You’re so fucked, brother.” Shaking his head in laughter, he walks away with the rest of the guys, heading straight for the girls.
I don’t follow.
If I get close to her right now, there’s a good chance I’ll throw her over my shoulder and haul her sexy ass out of this bar. Instead, I revert to my original plan and take a seat at the bar.
Nothing stops my gaze from drifting back toward Presley. She really does look beautiful.
Simple. Understated. Sexy as fuck.
Perfectly Presley.
I won’t lie, I’m still caught up on her damn dress. It suits her.
Pretty and feminine, not at all revealing. Not like the slutty shit that most females squeeze themselves into in attempt to grab attention.
That’s the thing about Presley.
She doesn’t look for attention.
But she damn sure has mine.
Unable to take my eyes off the siren in the center of the bar, I barely register Noah asking if I want my usual. I muster some type of grunt in response. He must speak the language because he chuckles and places a drink down on the bar.
Somehow breaking the hold Presley has on me, I turn to grab my beer and thank Noah, but a glass of whiskey sits in the space where my beer should be. Lifting a brow, I look at Noah, who only shrugs.
“You looked like you could use something stronger,” he says, drying glassware with a crisp, white towel.
The bright white is an instant reminder of Presley’s dress and the ache in my cock that hasn’t dissipated.
“Yeah,” I grunt. “You might be right.”
I take a sip of the whiskey, enjoying the smooth burn as it travels down my throat. My eyes automatically move back to Presley.
“You’re so fucking sunk, man.” Noah laughs. “Don’t bother wasting your time denying it.”
I don’t.
Now that I know I was seriously fucking wrong about Presley’s personality and attitude, my attraction to her has grown to boundless levels.
I want her.
Even she knows that now.
But I meant what I said when I had her caged in my chair at the shop.
She’s too goddamn special to fuck around with, and I can’t—I won’t—keep her. For that reason, this attraction, this fucking pull I have to her...it pisses me off.
I shouldn’t want her.
Nothing good would come of anything happening between me and Presley.
One of us is guaranteed to get hurt.
Her. When I unintentionally break her heart.
Me. When her brother breaks my face.
Or me again. When the inevitable happens and she leaves.
They always leave.
Nursing my whiskey, I move away from the bar to join Ryan, Jaxson, Holden, and Drake at the table. Once I have a seat, I don’t pay the guys much attention. I’m still too caught up watching Presley as she interacts with her sisters and friends. She’s not in her usual place on the sidelines. She’s front and center, right in the thick of things. Fitting. She’s right where she belongs.
My eyes drift to her tattoo and it brings a smile to my face to think that the new ink might have at least a little something to do with this change. My ego gets a little stroke to think I might have had something to do with her happiness tonight.
I watch as she downs another shot and absently wonder how many she’s had.
When a random guy comes up to her and she smiles, laughing at whatever he said—I get my answer.
Too damn many.
Unless Presley has multiple personalities, there’s no way she went from the quiet loner to sassy flirt over
night.
She’s fucking drunk.
My grip on the glass tightens as I watch the douchebag’s friend join in on the conversation. My muscles tense when the two of them start to pull her away from her girls. She’s laughing, not putting up any resistance and it only pisses me off more.
They start dancing and I grit my teeth.
When one of those slimy motherfuckers slides his hand down her hip and around to her ass, I see red.
That’s enough.
She’s too good for these douchey, frat-looking fuckboys.
I may not be able to have her in the way I want, but I’ll be damned if these assholes take advantage of her tonight.
Fuck. That. Shit.
I slam my glass down on the table, ignoring the laughter from the guys. I’m surprised I can even hear them through the rage pulsing through my body. My heartbeat pounds, vibrating through me like thunder.
I don’t think. I don’t fucking hesitate.
I push through the crowd, daring anyone to stand between me and Presley.
I’m putting a stop to this shit.
Right now.
SEVENTEEN
Presley
My heart stalls in my chest and an ear-piercing shriek slips through my lips as a strong arm hooks around my waist, pulling me away from Cameron and Rick. Or was it Rich? Maybe Rhett.
Focus, Presley!
It takes my booze-soaked brain a hot minute to catch up and by the time it does, I find myself in the air, staring down at the dark floor of the bar. No, not in the air. Over a shoulder. A large, muscular shoulder.
Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I look from the floor up the length of the back side of the tall man carrying me.
And what a fine backside it is.
I start nibbling my bottom lip, eyes locked firmly on...wait a minute! I’d know that ass anywhere!
“Adam!” I shriek. “What the hell are you doing? Put. Me. Down!”
Ignoring the fact that he just slung me over his shoulder like it was nothing, I pound on his back, writhing and kicking, trying to free myself from his hold.
What the actual fuck is happening? Why is no one stopping him from manhandling me this way? Where’s Holden? He’ll put a stop to this nonsense.
I lift my head to search for my brother, but before I get a chance, a hard strike sends a stinging pain across my ass.
“Calm.”
One word. A single syllable. A direct order.
Too shocked to move, I put up no more resistance as he hauls me across the bar toward the exit. Realizing I’ve obeyed his command, he speaks again, massaging away the sting.
“Good girl.”
His hand slides down from my ass, gripping the flesh at the top of my thigh, in the space right below where the two meet. His touch sends a surge of heat through the rest of my body, but I manage not to squirm.
Next thing I know, I’m swiftly deposited into the passenger seat of his big, black Tahoe.
Adam leans in, reaching across my body and I suck in a breath. It’s not until I hear the “click” that I realize he was only buckling my seatbelt. Eyes locked on mine, he gives the seatbelt a tug before releasing it—and me—from his hold.
The door shuts and I close my eyes, slowly releasing the breath I’ve been holding.
I may be drunk and a little slow, but even through the haze of alcohol, I’m smart enough to know that nothing I say or do right now will take away the dark and dangerous glint in his cool gaze.
Why is he so angry? What did I do to make him so mad?
The other door slams shut, and I flinch.
I sit in silence, waiting for him to explain himself, but he says nothing.
I don’t speak as he turns the key in the ignition and puts it into gear.
Taking a slow, deep breath, I finally strike up the nerve to open my eyes. Instantly recognizing the route to my apartment, disappointment washes over me. Of course he’s taking me home. It’s not like he’d be taking me anywhere else. Not after what he admitted earlier today.
Those words have been on repeat in my head all night.
The grit in his tone as he spoke, the tightness of his muscles as he caged me in, the raw need in his eyes as they burned into mine. Not something I’ll easily forget.
Every. Single. Fucking. Time. I have to keep myself from throwing you down on the nearest surface and fucking you like both our lives depend on it.
A shiver races through my body, though heat pulses in my core.
Fidgeting in my seat, I watch Adam from the corner of my eye, wishing he’d take me anywhere but home.
Minutes later, he pulls into the lot in front of my apartment building and parks.
For an incredibly long minute, everything is silent and still.
I chance a glance at Adam.
He’s staring straight ahead, hands in a tight, white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.
I open my mouth to break the silence, but every question I want to ask dies on my lips when his gaze turns toward me. His dark eyes swirl with indecipherable emotions. Closing my mouth, I worry my bottom lip between my teeth and wait for him to speak.
After another impossibly long minute, I begin to wilt under his stare.
I don’t know what Adam’s problem is tonight, but I’m losing my patience. I was having a really good night until he slung me over his shoulder and hauled me out of the bar, away from my family and friends, away from my birthday celebration. He owes me an explanation, but it seems I’m not going to get one.
I have my theories. I could guess the reasons for his actions, make assumptions. But I don’t want to do that anymore. My assumptions have led me to believe he hated me for the better part of a year.
I was wrong then. I don’t want to be wrong now.
I’ve only recently started gaining a little confidence in myself, and the longer we sit here in dead silence, the more the fucked up little voice inside my head wants to lash out.
Shaking myself out of whatever trance he has me in, I break eye contact and unbuckle my seatbelt. Reaching for the door handle, I hesitate with a sigh. I want to storm out, slam the door behind me and let him see how his actions have affected me tonight. I feel like I’m losing my mind.
Though I have every right to do exactly that, I can’t bring myself to show my frustration. Instead, without turning to look at him, I use the manners my mama taught me.
“Thank you for the ride home.”
Not that I asked for it.
Opening the door, I slide out, not thinking about the height of the vehicle. Stumbling as my feet hit the ground, I grab onto the door to balance myself. As I shut the door, I hear Adam curse under his breath. In what feels like a heartbeat, he’s out of the Tahoe and at my side, guiding me toward the front door.
“Keys,” he says, holding out his hand.
I stop dead in my tracks.
I don’t have my fucking keys. They’re in my purse. At the bar. Where I should still be.
My last bit of patience vanishes, and I pull away from Adam, needing some distance. Despite some wobbling and teetering in my heels, I make it inside the building and to my front door without his help. Bending down, I lift the corner of my welcome mat.
I feel Adam’s presence at my back, but I ignore him, grabbing the shiny silver key from its hiding place beneath the mat.
“Gotta be fucking kidding me,” he growls. “That’s the worst fucking place you could put your spare key, Princess.”
At this point, I’m fuming, but I refuse to let him know.
Shaking my head, I bite back the words sitting on the tip of my tongue and unlock my door, making my way inside.
“Are you listening to me, Presley?”
I whip around, facing him where he stands just inside my door. Our eyes lock once more.
Adam doesn’t speak. Neither do I.
There are no words, no movement, only the sound of our heavy breaths.
&
nbsp; Tired of silence, I take a few careful steps, closing the distance between us. Even in my heels, Adam towers over me. I tilt my head back, my eyes never losing contact with his. Taking a page from his book, I open my mouth and utter one single word.
“Why?”
Adam closes his eyes, inhaling a deep breath through his nose. When his lids lift and his eyes meet mine again, I do something I would never have the guts to do if not for the anger and alcohol currently coursing through my bloodstream.
I place my hands on his chest.
Stretch up onto my tiptoes.
Lean in.
And I press my lips to his.
Seconds.
I know it’s only seconds that pass, but it feels like eternity.
He moves first, or maybe I do, but the next thing I know, I’m wrapped in his arms, surrounded by the scent of leather and ink, overwhelmed by the feel of his body pressing against mine.
Adam takes over the kiss.
Controlling my mouth.
Stealing my breath.
Marking me as his, even if he doesn’t know it.
As fast as it starts, it ends.
Adam wrenches himself away from me, leaving me dizzy and unsteady.
“No. This can’t happen.”
His words gut me.
We stand staring at one another for the millionth time tonight, both panting for breath, and my heart sinks. The dejection I felt earlier in the car is nothing compared to the complete rejection I feel in this moment.
Tears begin to fill my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let him see them fall.
Lowering my head, I take a step back and allow a mask to fall over my face.
Adam will not see how much I hurt.
“Thank you for seeing me home,” I say in a monotone voice.
“Princess…”
I hear the regret in his voice, and it threatens to break me. Refusing to give him a reaction, I turn away. His hand wraps around the back of my neck and he forces me to turn around and face him.
Cradling my face in his large palms, he tips my head back.
Lowering his mouth to mine, he nips my bottom lip and presses his forehead to mine.
