Under the table, I wrapped my leg around Weston’s.
He took my cue. Or else he had his own battle to win. “Sabrina,” he said, scooting his chair closer. “Have you tasted the seared pork and shrimp dumplings yet?”
“No. Where are they?” I had barely tasted anything, but that was beside the point.
“Have some of mine.” He lifted his chopsticks to my lips, feeding me a bite of the morsel. I made sure to groan.
“Donovan, the pan-fried lamb—” Elizabeth started to say.
“You can have it,” Donovan said, picking up the dumpling on his plate with his chopsticks and dropping it on her plate before she could ask him for a bite.
She frowned but quickly recovered. “Guess that’s better than swapping germs.” More importantly, she finally stopped playing with Donovan’s goddamned hair.
“Elizabeth’s a germophobe,” Weston said snidely.
“I am not.” She moved a dumpling around on her plate, apparently struggling with her chopsticks. “Just because I’m concerned about the diseases that come into my house doesn’t qualify me as a germophobe.”
“She’s asked for a report of clean health.” There was no doubt as to what kind of clean health report Weston was referring to.
Elizabeth shrugged, chopsticks poised in the air with the small bit of food she’d managed to wrestle between them. “I think that’s reasonable.” She lifted the bite to her mouth, dropping the dumpling just as it reached her lips. “Goddammit.”
“Guys,” Nate hushed them, trying not to laugh as he did. “Lovers’ spats are fun and all…” He trailed off, probably figuring that Weston and Elizabeth would get the hint and remember that there were other people around.
Apparently, Weston didn’t. “Why do you even care when there’s no way I’m sharing anything I’ve got with you anyway?”
Nate winced.
Under the table, Weston’s hand moved farther up my thigh, as if to spite Elizabeth.
Donovan remained stoic, his gaze on me, reading me. Watching me.
Elizabeth was the only one who seemed unfazed. Reaching over to steal the unused fork from Weston’s setting, she said, “Big words, King. Just remember the thing you want out of this relationship isn’t as replaceable as the thing I want.”
That seemed to silence Weston. In fact, it silenced our end of the table for a few thick minutes, but then Nate told a story and soon everyone was laughing and smiling like a bunch of people out for a celebration.
Weston’s hand stayed on my leg though, brushing up and down my skin every now and again. Then, when everyone around us was preoccupied with other conversations, he leaned close and whispered, “In a few, I’m heading to the back of the restaurant. Toward the kitchen. Wait five. Then follow.”
He shifted to joke with Nate, not waiting for me to answer. If I showed up, that would be my answer.
But what was my answer?
I turned to my drink and noticed Donovan watching. Again. He’d probably seen the whole exchange. He couldn’t know what Weston was saying, but he had to guess the nature. There wasn’t much he missed.
As if confirming my suspicions, Donovan narrowed his eyes, giving me what could only be called a warning glare.
Fuck him.
He’d wanted me with Weston. So he could fuck right off.
I threw back my shoulders and threw back my drink and five minutes after Weston disappeared from the table, I followed.
The restaurant wasn’t large, and the kitchen was easy to find. I headed in that direction, even though Weston was nowhere in sight. I’d almost made it when, for the second time in one night, I was pulled unexpectedly off my path, this time into a cubby filled with shelves full of linens and table settings, closed off from the public by a thin curtain. Firm lips met mine, asking permission, as my body was pushed against the narrow wall.
I opened my mouth, letting Weston’s tongue meet mine. It was easy to kiss him. It was familiar and safe. He tasted like gin and curry sauce and misbehavior. Not the fun kind of misbehavior, but the kind of misbehavior that left regrets in the morning, if not even the night before.
He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against mine. “I’m going to be completely honest, Sabrina—this is a booty call and nothing else. You have every right to slap me and walk back out there. But I hope you don’t. I’m sensing you need a release right now too.”
It was what I’d come back for, but now that I was here, it felt wrong. Weston’s body felt staged against mine, as if we were two mannequins propped up in a window display. He wasn’t even pressed up all the way against me. His hand was caressing my arm, but it was awkward and mechanical. And while I’d been wound up for weeks, aroused and restless, I didn’t feel turned on now. I just felt tired.
And Weston seemed tense.
Outside our hiding space, a rustling caught our attention. He leaned away so he could open the curtain and peek out.
“What is it?” I asked.
Weston shook his head, but I’d caught sight of someone in a suit. It could have been Donovan, I decided. Because I wanted it to be Donovan.
And because I felt more thrilled wanting it to be Donovan than I did hiding in a makeshift closet with Weston, I knew it wasn’t where I was supposed to be.
Now I just had to tell Weston.
I lowered my head and stared at the buttons on his sweater. He was solid and sexy and sweet, and still he wasn’t the guy I wanted, no matter how much I tried to want him. No matter how much I tried not to want someone else.
“I can’t do this,” he said.
My head snapped up. “I was just going to say the same thing.”
He let go of me and ran his hand through his hair instead. “I’m sorry.” My words registered a moment later. “You were?”
“Yeah. It’s not…” I’m not, was the better phrase. I’m not right for you. You’re not right for me. But maybe that wasn’t the kind of thing meant to be discussed in restaurant closets. “The timing,” I said.
“The timing,” he agreed.
“I’ll go out first.”
When I got back to the table, Donovan was gone. I didn’t bother pretending to myself that I didn’t notice. I was past that. After grabbing my jacket, I thanked Nate for the party, said goodbye and went home. There couldn’t be any more loneliness waiting for me there than there was here.
Chapter 18
I was exhausted by the time I reached my building, so I waved to the doorman instead of stopping to give my usual hello. Inside the elevator, I kicked off my heels and leaned against the back of the car and remembered the night I’d gone to Gaston’s with Donovan. Remembered being in an elevator with him. If I hadn’t pushed him away, would he have taken me home that night?
If he had, he’d have fucked me and been done with me. I’d still be alone tonight.
But maybe I’d be over him by now too instead of just finally realizing that I wanted him.
And, oh, did I want him. Like I hadn’t wanted anything in a long time. Like I hadn’t wanted anyone since I’d wanted him back then. Like I’d always wanted him but was too proud to admit.
Some fatalistic part of me was sure that it was a realization that made no difference. Whatever I wanted didn’t matter because I would do what was best, like I always did, and Donovan was not it.
The elevator opened on my floor before I’d reached any conclusions, not that there was anything to conclude, and I trudged barefoot out into the carpeted corridor and froze. Down the hall, standing by the door to my apartment, was Donovan.
For the smallest fraction of a second, less time than it took to inhale a full breath of air, I got excited. I didn’t care if he was there to tell me why Weston was the perfect guy for me or lecture me about not seeing him until he wasn’t engaged. I didn’t care if he was there to ask for my thoughts on Phoenix or the campaign. I didn’t care if he wanted to borrow a cup of sugar. He was standing at my door, and that was everything.
But then I remember
ed that I was mad at him, and the thrill faded. Donovan Kincaid had been an epic asshole. Not only that, but he’d been an epic asshole to me.
With a solemn expression and my eyes forward, I strutted toward my apartment. Even as I refused to look at him, though, I saw him. On the surface, he looked composed and put together like he always did, but there was something about his posture, something about the way his foot tapped and the way his jaw stuck out like it was flexed that suggested he was keyed up.
Well, that made two of us.
“That didn’t take long,” Donovan said when I stopped at my door and pulled my key from my purse.
So he thought I’d hooked up again with Weston. Maybe he actually had been the suit I’d seen outside the closet at Red Farm. Or he’d just put two and two together. He wasn’t dumb.
I wasn’t ready to admit anything, so I simply shrugged. Really, he had balls to bring it up. He had balls to even be here. The only reason he made it past the doorman was because he owned the building.
“You didn’t have your own key?” I asked, half joking as I stuck my key in the lock.
“I would have had to go home for that first,” he muttered.
I twisted my head back to look at him and found he was serious. He really had a key at his place? Wasn’t that something the building manager took care of? I felt twisted up inside to think that Donovan had the very real ability to walk into my place whenever he felt like it.
I felt even more twisted up to realize how near he was standing behind me, so near that another slight shift of my body would bring me into his arms. My eyes traced a path from his Adam’s apple up his throat and over his jawline to his mouth… Would he taste like sin and scotch, secrets and sweat?
What would it take to make me stupid enough to find out?
“Thank you, I guess, for waiting for me instead.” I pushed my shoulder against the door and stepped inside when it opened.
Surprise, surprise, he followed.
“By all means, come on in,” I said, switching on the light, not sure anymore if my irritation was feigned or real. I wanted him here—I just wanted him here for me, not for some other nonsensical agenda he’d concocted.
He closed the door with his foot and trailed behind me as I turned on lights and made my way to the coat closet.
“Are you going to tell me anything?” he asked while I hung my jacket on a hanger.
My eyebrows furrowed. “About Weston?” So that was honestly why he was here. I was irritated. And hurt, which was stupid. “You want all the details? Pictures too?”
I threw my purse on the dining room table and breezed past him into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I took a long cold swallow, imagining how good it would feel to throw the whole thing in Donovan’s face.
Correction—Donovan’s smug face. His shoulders had relaxed visibly in the past few seconds and his expression had gone from agitated to confident.
“Nothing happened, did it,” he said, like it was a statement, so sure he was of the answer.
Fuck him for being so sure.
And fuck him for being so ridiculously sexy while we were at it.
This was impossible. I was thirsty but not for what I was drinking. There was only one thing I wanted to taste on my lips, and if I couldn’t have that then I didn’t want anything.
I slammed the bottle on the counter, exasperated. “Why are you here?”
He crossed his arms in front of him. “Because I can’t not be. Are you going to meet up with him later?”
I considered dicking him around, but I was tired of the games. All of them—his and mine.
“I’m not,” I said. “But guess what. It’s not any of your business. None of this is. And yet you keep showing up, playing God like it’s your job. Thinking you know best what everybody wants.”
“You don’t want Weston.” Matter-of-fact. Plain light of day. No room for arguments. He said it like it was reality as we knew it.
And I about went off.
“Oh my god, I can’t…” With my hands to my heart, I pushed past him to get into the living room. I needed space. Did he even hear himself?
Spinning back toward him, I pointed accusatorily in his direction. “For weeks now you’ve been trying to convince me that I do want Weston.”
“Well, you don’t.” It was infuriating how calm he remained while both my head and my chest felt like they were going to explode.
“How do you know what I want?” My voice was louder than my neighbors would probably have preferred, but if they had a problem with it, they could take it up with the building’s owner. “You assume and assume and assume. You’ve never even bothered to ask!”
He came toward me so we were only an arm’s length apart. “What do you want, Sabrina?” he asked earnestly, his hazel eyes holding me captive. “Tell me.”
Weeks of torment and denial had built up inside me. Years of it. My skin itched on the inside, and the want of Donovan had grown so acutely sharp and specific. It didn’t even occur to me to try to lie or pretend that I didn’t know the answer. I could only think in terms of transparency and truth.
“I want you to touch me!” I cried, desperate and willing to lay it all on the line.
Donovan’s reflexes were quick. He grabbed one of my wrists in each hand and twisted one until it was pinned behind my back and bent the other until it was trapped between us.
“Touch you like this?” he asked brusquely, yanking my arms uncomfortably and pushing me until my back met the wall.
“No,” I said, meekly. Except I meant exactly like that.
It was just the way I’d been yearning for him to touch me. Like he controlled me. Like he owned me. My nipples were already tight knots.
He raised an eyebrow. “No? Because I can't touch you like Weston touches you.”
Jesus, I was so tired of hearing that name. Tired of that being the thing between us. Even now, Donovan had me against the wall but the only place we touched was where he held my hands. And everywhere around us, in the space between us, the imaginary being holding us away from each other was Weston.
“I don't want you to touch me like Weston,” I said, once and for all. “I don’t want Weston! I want you!”
Donovan let loose the smallest hint of a smile. “I know. I was waiting for you to know too.”
I had the impulse to slap him, but it was lost when his mouth crashed against mine. Then I couldn’t think about anything but him—his hands, his body, his victory over me.
It was such an easy surrender.
He took complete command. With the length of his body pressed against me, his erection pushing firmly at my pelvis, his lips molded mine. He sucked alternately on my bottom lip and then my top, leaving no part of my mouth untouched or untasted. When this wasn’t enough, he let go of one of my hands and grabbed a fistful of my hair in its place. Then he yanked my head back, opening my mouth wider. I let out a cry that he lapped up with a long swipe of his tongue.
I’d remembered this about him. I’d remembered that he’d been a kisser, and there was something validating about having the memory confirmed. Something surreal about living again a time that had only been lived through recollection for so long. Experiencing it for real with all of my senses fully engaged already had me wild.
And I needed more.
With my hand free, I urgently pushed his jacket over his shoulder and down his arm. Then I tugged at the empty sleeve until he let go of me long enough to finish taking it off. Now I had both hands free, and I stroked them up and down his torso, clawing at his chest through his shirt, frantically, wanting it gone, wanting to be able to scratch at his skin.
But Donovan was in control, and he had a free hand too, which he used to plunge inside my dress, inside my bra, and clutch my breast. It was painful, and I groaned into his mouth as he squeezed harder. Harder still.
Then he let go, and as soon as he did, pleasure vibrated straight down to my pussy.
“Oh my god,” I ga
sped. “Do it again.”
“No,” he said, pulling his hand from the cup of my bra and moving it lower to play with my belt sash.
He was an asshole even now.
It was such a turn-on.
Releasing his other hand from my hair, Donovan pulled the tie at my waist, and my dress fell open. He pushed it off my shoulders and took a step backward so that he could see my whole body.
I felt a blush run down my skin; his gaze was the sun and everywhere his eyes touched I got burned.
“Were you thinking of him when you put this on tonight?” His breaths were quick, his gaze feral. He was rabid and ready to bite.
I told him the truth anyway. “I was thinking of you.”
He practically groaned. Pressing in closer, he cupped my pussy. “You’re so wet, I can feel it through your panties.”
“Donovan...” I begged, bucking into his hand. This was torture. I’d wanted him to touch me, but I needed him to touch me in every way. I needed him to never stop.
Unexpectedly, he slapped my pussy. Hard. Then he slipped a finger inside the crotch of my underwear, gathered some of my wetness, and brought it to his nose and sniffed. “Just like I remember,” he said before licking his finger clean.
I couldn’t take it anymore—I lunged for him. Wrapping one hand around his neck, I brought his mouth down so I could kiss him while I rubbed my other palm along the outline of his dick. I could taste myself on him, and I wanted to devour every last drop.
He let me kiss him like this for a minute. Then abruptly he captured my hands again and drew them up against the wall above my head.
“You’re dangerous with your hands free,” he said then bit along my collarbone, marking me.
“Dangerous how?” I moaned as his teeth sunk into my skin, but if he hadn’t been biting me, I might have laughed. Me? Dangerous? He was the one who wore that warning in my book.
“Dangerous like you always are when I let you touch me.” He kissed me deeply, distracting me from the topic.
By the time he pulled away, I was dizzy and desperate for what words couldn’t provide. My eyes flicked to my room and back to him.
Need you Now (Top Shelf Romance Book 2) Page 16
