Rogue

by Katy Evans

  “What? What the fuck? When’d you ask for more time?”

  “Last time I came to see Brooke. It’s okay. Really! I just sold my car and can buy more time if I maybe give them half the payment.”

  “No you fucking can’t, they’ll take it as interest and demand you pay fully before you can even walk out the door! Don’t ever approach men like these alone. Jesus, just trust me and get out of this, Mel. I paid my debt and I want to pay yours, and if you won’t let me, then at least promise me you’ll let your new boyfriend help. If you’re too proud to ask, just pretend you lost those diamonds on your neck and get rid of this debt; trust me.”

  I guess I look as hopeless as I feel, because he adds, more direly now, “I vow, Melanie, if that debt isn’t gone before you leave, I’m telling Tate and we’re taking care of it for you, him and me.”

  I gasp in outrage. “I will not let you or my best friend’s husband step into this, do you hear me? And I will not involve my boyfriend either. This necklace means something to me.” I touch my diamonds with an awful wrenching sensation in my chest as I wonder—Is this the only way I’m going to be free, letting go of the only thing the man I want with all my heart has given me?

  “Riley,” I whisper, almost plead with him, “I’m just not this girl who swindles her boyfriends out of expensive things to turn them into money.”

  He glowers at my precious necklace, and my stomach starts to hurt just thinking about parting with anything that has to do with Greyson.

  “That gift didn’t mean to him what it means to you, I assure you,” Riley says with annoying self-confidence. “I’ve never seen a guy more in love than Remington, and he doesn’t need to throw dollars at Brooke to show it.”

  “Well, Grey has a different style, so what? The end is the same. I feel pampered and taken care of and he gets a look in his eyes when he sees me wearing them that I absolutely adore.”

  I can’t stand having another person in my life criticize Greyson to me! So I stare at him narrow eyed and add, so that he at least gets the true depth of my feelings for my man, “When he looks at me like that, I swear it’s all so perfect I sometimes have nightmares that I dreamed it all, that he’s too good to be true.”

  “Maybe he is, Melanie. Maybe he’s two-timing you right now, meeting with some chick in secret as we speak.”

  “Ha!” I lift my glass and sip my drink. “He’s a workaholic. If I have anything to worry about, it’s that mistress of his called Work Myassoff.”

  Riley smiles at me, a chilling smile, a very unfriendly smile, and he nods to the entry of the restaurant.

  I turn about ninety degrees to get a look . . . and that’s when I see him walking into the restaurant.

  Him.

  Grey-fucking-son.

  All my recognition flares into disbelief, excitement, and then, anger combined with a bolt of nearly blinding lust.

  It feels as though an energy source clings to his skin, for the entire air shifted the moment he materialized in the room. Over six feet of pure male perfection. Greyson. Fucking. King. My hormones burst awake when he starts walking forward, following the mâitre d’, his eyes directly on a table at the far end.

  I can’t believe it. My eyes run up and down his form. There is no word for the way Greyson walks, with a hand in his pocket, his face somber, his cheekbones chiseled, his jaw smooth and tan, his mouth perfection, his dark hair carelessly tousled; I swear that awesome hair is the only thing careless and playful about him. The rest of him is Bond 007 perfection, even those narrowed, hazel-green eyes, which seem beautifully self-contained and remote. Even now, two months after going out with him, I can sense he’s still holding back the most crucial part of him, but I can visualize an “us” and what we can be so perfectly, and I’m determined to make it happen. Greyson and Melanie, living Happily Ever After.

  Then I see the woman at the table. Waiting. A redhead.

  My blood pools at my feet when Greyson bends to kiss her cheek.

  Riley and I only stare.

  And I’m certain it’s not him. He’s working . . . somewhere. It can’t be him.

  But it sure looks like him.

  He’s wearing all black, his hair shining under the light, and he settles down in his chair, leans back in that self-assured way of his, and starts talking over a fucking candle to a redhead. A fake redhead. One who looks older and expressionless.

  Mrs. Botox.

  OMIGOD!

  It cannot be Greyson!

  I never get cheated on, I’m the one they cheat with.

  My belly muscles are rigid with anger as I try to breathe and force my lungs to expand. I scan the restaurant around me for something to throw, but the best thing I can think of is throwing myself at that no-good whore.

  My eyes blur and ache with the sudden urge to cry. It’s almost midnight. In fifteen minutes, I am twenty-five years old and my boyfriend is sitting at another table with another woman. I really, really want to cry now.

  No. And let him see me snivel and cry like a hurt baby girl again? My mind churns with ways to make this hurt go away. How does it go when he’s in your veins? How?!! I laugh out loud, hard, and grip Riley’s hand, but Greyson’s not even looking in my direction, he’s not within hearing distance. He and his elderly whore are deep in conversation in their own little world. Their own Melanie-less world. A part of me still refuses to believe he would do this to me.

  An idea occurs to me and I grab my phone and text him an angry face.

  Then I tell Riley, “If it’s him, he will at least look at the text. He’s a slave to his phones.”

  As if on cue, the man at the table edges back and slides his gloved hand into his pocket, looks at his phone, stares at it for a long, long moment, then he tucks it away and continues talking to the redhead.

  My heart just got quartered.

  I don’t know how long we sit there, Riley fuming in his seat, gripping it ferociously. They’d met briefly at Brooke’s wedding, and I could tell neither of them liked the other much. Now veins are popping up in Riley’s neck. “I’m going to go over there—”

  “And what?” Stopping him, I pull him back down by the sleeves of his suit. “She could be a client. He never did really tell me where he would be this week . . .”

  I trail off when she gives him her hand over the table, and he takes it and whatever was in her hand. Then he gives her a box with a bow and all. A blue box. She peers in, looks delighted, he smiles back at her, they have some wine.

  “Waiter!” I yell. “Another round, please!”

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  I’VE DOWNED A lot more cocktails by the time Greyson takes care of the check and they stand to go. Riley stands too. I foolishly turn around in my seat, my heart pounding as Greyson and the woman head for the door.

  And that’s when he sees me.

  A current, electric, runs through me at the way he looks at Riley, then at me, and I see a dozen expressions in his eyes until he shutters them, turns to the woman, whispers something and pulls her toward the exit as if he hadn’t just seen me.

  All this time lying his gorgeous ass off.

  All this time probably laughing at how stupid I am.

  As he walks off with her, I see him turn his head the merest fraction. Straight toward me, and our eyes catch again. He searches my expression for a moment, the remoteness in his eyes flickering for the briefest moment with . . . jealousy? Anticipation pulses through me like a live charge at the way his eyes darken in . . . fury? He tingles my extremities, and it’s just that, a stolen look, and then it’s gone and he’s gone, taking HER—another woman—with him, at exactly the stroke of midnight.

  Happy birthday, Melanie . . .

  Riley remains standing, then he looks at me with a what-the-fuck look. “Your boyfriend . . .”

  “Ex.” A sudden raw and primitive grief overwhelms me. “Ex-boyfriend. God, not even a text necessary. Not even a . . . Riley, please, let’s go. Please, please let’s get out of here.”

>   The tears are going to come whether I want them or not, and I don’t want them to be here. I grab Riley before he sits down again. “Please just get me out of here. Will you take me to your room, please—let’s just walk back to your hotel, please,” I whisper.

  He pays our tab and ushers me out of the restaurant, tucking me close as we walk the couple of blocks to the hotel. I’m cold, cold down to my bones. We get on the elevator and I’m grateful that no one else is in here with us. My throat is on fire as the feelings of being a fool swim in me, and the necklace—his necklace—feels like a steel weight around me, choking me with his lies. I tear it off me and press it into Riley’s hand. “I can’t see this anymore. Let’s just do it. Sell it, get anything, take it please.”

  My throat aches with defeat as I replay Grey looking at me, walking away . . .

  Looking at me . . . walking away . . . like I am nothing.

  Like we meant nothing.

  “Do you think he’s got a wife? A family?” My voice breaks and I can’t ask any more questions as we head to his room.

  “Dude, I don’t even know what to think. He didn’t look happy to see you, I’ll tell you that.”

  I continue fighting my tears, fisting my hands at my sides as my whole body starts shaking. “He can go fuck himself and that whore. That fucking liar, that . . . I hope she gives him crabs. In fact, I hope they both have alien babies together.”

  Riley ushers me into his room and shuts the door, and a sensation of intense desolation and betrayal sits deep in my gut. I’ve never in my life hurt like this. Never. I want the hurt to go away. I want the image of Greyson walking away with another woman to go away.

  Blinking back the tears, I grab Riley’s shirt and pull him to me. “Riley,” I beg. His eyes widen when I press my lips to his.

  “Mel,” he protests, but I can’t bear to hear it, so I press my lips harder.

  “Please don’t say no,” I beg. “Please don’t say no. I swear every man-whore in the world should be castrated. You said you’d punch him if he hurt me. This hurts, Riley. This really hurts and I’m so done. I am so done with him.”

  I kiss him. He kisses me back with only lips, soothing his hands down my arms. They feel warm, familiar. He holds me to his body and he feels good. Safe. I kiss him and wonder if maybe this is why one-night stands have been all I’m worth. Because I can’t deal. It hurts too much. And always someone else comes along, and for whatever reason, my guys stop seeing anything of interest in me. For some reason Greyson has lost interest in me. I lost him.

  No. I never even had him.

  The realization wrecks me, so I try kissing Riley on the mouth a little more and he lets me. His arms aren’t as thick, his lips aren’t as fierce, but I need them so much. Anything to try and stop thinking of . . . Grey pulling on my nipples with his teeth . . . tugging . . . sucking . . .

  There’s a knock on the door and I groan in protest when Riley sets me aside.

  “Pete could need me,” he explains, and I watch quietly as he heads to the door, his image blurry through my tears.

  I unstrap one of my shoes and wipe my eyes. One night with Riley and in the morning it won’t all look so miserable. I will realize Greyson King isn’t the only man in the world. My heart will still be broken but I’ll glue it back together any way I have to, and I will be happy again.

  I will be happy again.

  Sniffing, I am quickly starting to unbutton my top when I hear a low, familiar voice speak.

  “Where is she?”

  I have never, ever heard anyone speak so quietly and at the same time sound so pissed.

  My skin pricks and my gaze snaps up to the door.

  Greyson’s tall, lean, black-clad form covers the threshold, and I hate how my systems go haywire at the sight of him.

  I’m partly undressed in the middle of the room. Drunk. My hair a mess. My face a mess. Anger and hurt coil in my stomach as he comes forward with a blazing, territorial gaze.

  I grab the shoe I’d been removing and throw it at him. “Get away from me!” I yell.

  He ducks, and the shoe hits the wall and falls with a stupid thud to the carpet. Then, slowly, he straightens and comes the rest of the way over, grabs me by the arms, and hauls me up against him. Every inch of my body feels his. He looks at me with a fury I’ve never seen before as he starts to button me up, all the time those eyes looking at me until my stomach feels heavy as a rock. He jerks off his suit jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, forcing my arms inside and buttoning that too. Then he reaches for my strappy ankle boot lying across the carpet. Before I can stop him from putting on my shoe, he slips it on, efficiently straps it, and then he speaks to me in a low, cold voice. “Put your arms around me.”

  “Where’s your fucking redhead?” I demand.

  “I said put your arms around me.”

  I don’t obey.

  He doesn’t care.

  He lifts me in his arms, his coat huge on my frame, and I have no choice but to hold on to his nape. Suddenly, I smell him. I smell him on the coat he put on me, and in the scent of his hair, and on his skin. Forest and leather and mint. The pain in my heart becomes a fierce and fiery gnawing as the stinging in my eyes returns.

  As we pass Riley at the door, he flatly says, “Stay away from her.”

  “If you fucking hurt her—” Riley starts, but Greyson cuts him off.

  “No, if you touch her again, I’ll kill you.”

  Greyson’s words—if you touch her again, I’ll kill you—send a chill through me.

  Riley takes a step forward but I lift my hand to stop him and shake my head in a frantic no. I can’t bear to risk Riley and I’ve never—ever—seen Greyson like this. His whole body crackles with unleashed energy as he carries me to the service elevators, holding me in one arm as he murmurs into his phone, “Back service entrance,” and then he tucks the phone into his slacks and presses me even tighter to his chest.

  Tighter than ever.

  We’re alone in the elevator, and though he’s quiet, he’s wearing an expression I’ve never seen before.

  I think I’m going to vomit.

  We exit into the underground parking lot, the cool air biting into my legs and cheeks, and I close my eyes and duck against the cold, feeling utterly miserable when the heat of his body rises up to warm me. I wonder if she licked his skin. Slid her fingers into his hair. If he calls her princess too.

  I briefly hear a car motor start nearby, and when I look up, Greyson is looking at me. When our eyes lock, my nerves sizzle down to my toes. My body is screaming possessively for me to claim this man from any other woman. But no. Greyson might drive my body crazy, but I just realize he can never, ever be the man for me.

  He’s a cheater.

  A liar.

  And he’s very, very mad right now.

  A car pulls over in front of us and he yanks open the back door and as he guides me into the backseat, all this confusion rears up in me, and all the alcohol in my system isn’t helping.

  He climbs in behind me, settles to my right, and slams the door, then a gloved hand cups my face and forces me to turn, where he looks at me with frustration carved on his hard jaw. “Sometimes I won’t be able to tell you everything about my work. I do it to protect you.”

  “Fuck you! I saw you holding her hand. I saw you—”

  “You saw me working, Melanie. That’s all you saw.”

  “I saw you giving her a present, motherfucker! How on earth would a security job involve that, huh?” I push him away and he curses under his breath. “Do you feel like a big man, having lots of women panting after you? All of them deluded? Thinking they’re special to you?”

  “Jesus, listen to you!”

  “That’s right, and hear me well, Greyson, this is the last time I’m played! Do you hear me?” I rap on the limo ceiling, hoping Derek hears, but he doesn’t stop the car.

  Greyson laughs in dark disbelief, then he rakes his hands through his hair and stares outside, his hands i
n fists, and I stare unseeingly out at the passing storefronts, stubbornly clinging to my anger and insecurities.

  “I’m on to you, Greyson. What’s in your secret steel room? Porn? Is that where you Skype with . . . who the fuck is she?”

  Until he interrupts, softly, “I saw your lipstick on another man’s mouth and I can still go back and break it until he can’t find his fucking teeth. Hell, I want you to watch me break it if only so you know, once and for all, that you’re my fucking girl and the only lucky bastard getting a piece of my girl is me.”

  “Was!” I drunkenly correct. “Was your girl.”

  He laughs more darkly. “You are so fucking mine you don’t even know how mine you are,” he says in a soft, threatening voice, and in my drunk brain, I suddenly register that he’s trembling with rage. He’s not worried about me having just caught him cheating. It seems all his thoughts are on his selfish jealousy. But I can’t even remember what happened in Riley’s room, all I keep remembering is Greyson and that bitch.

  “You walked past me like you’d never seen me before!” I cry, hitting his chest.

  He catches my wrist and squeezes. “Because I don’t want a woman like her to use you against me—anybody to use you against me. Do you understand me? Do you, baby?” he asks, lowering his voice, tender, almost pleading.

  “I understand you are a liar and a cheater and you didn’t want HER to know you also had ME waiting on the side!”

  “Fuck! Seriously? You were in another guy’s fucking room, stripping for him! Were you trying to drive me insane?” Suddenly the vivid pain in his eyes is real. The pain in his voice is real, so real my chest cracks open like glass. “Were you really intending to go through with it? Were you honestly going to let that motherfucker inside you?” he asks, every word like a shard inside me.

  “YES!” I cry.

  He shudders as if he’s breaking, and I start sobbing for real.

  He releases me like he needs some distance, his voice trembling with more than anger. It’s pain, and it wrecks me. “Do you think you can fuck someone to replace me? Do you think he’ll make you feel the way I do? Was I nothing special to you, Melanie? Do you fall in love with every asshole you date?”