by Colet Abedi
What the hell?
I can’t believe I thought about Wylder’s tits while staring at a set of very expensive—and I’d bet anything on paid-for-by-a-rich-benefactor—black-card-grade breasts.
I can tell the hostess wishes it would be different. You and me both, honey.
“Keep it coming.” I keep my voice polite and neutral, not wanting to give her any hope I might want something more.
She doesn’t take the hint. Instead, she gives me a sexy, let’s-go-fuck-anywhere-you-want smile.
“I’m here to serve you in every way,” she says, in case I have any doubts. “All you have to do is ask.”
“Thanks, beautiful,” I reply before settling back into the couch.
I know Gabriel watched the entire interaction, but he’s remained uncharacteristically quiet. He must think I’ve had a lobotomy.
I glance over at him and take in his knowing look.
“No shit?” he says with wide, shocked eyes, shaking his head. “It is the chick.”
Fuck.
“It’s not the chick.” My voice is cold.
“Right.” Gabriel laughs and swallows the rest of his drink. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself to help you sleep at night.”
No, Gabriel, no amount of talking to myself helps me sleep at night. The sexy witch has kept me up and hard every night. I spare my friend the details.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks curiously.
“Does this look like an episode of Dr. Phil?”
Gabriel gives me a knowing smile and shakes his head. “I didn’t think so.” He looks over at the curvaceous hostess.
“Mind if I try to entice the lovely lady to take a spin with me?”
“By all means, take as many spins as you’d like,” I tell him graciously. “She’s all yours.”
Gabrielle throws his head back and laughs in pleasure. “The night is young, Jamie,” he says. “And we’re in the perfect place to forget about her.”
I nod at him before blindly looking around the club. “That’s why I’m here,” I mutter under my breath.
“It’s just P, man.” Gabriel continues talking, not hearing me through the noise of the club. “And you are in a unique and lucky position. You can have the best in the world: whatever you want, whenever you want, and let’s be honest, whomever you want.”
Not really whomever, but I keep my mouth shut. Gabriel doesn’t need to know his friend has turned into a whiny, sappy douchebag from a Hallmark movie.
“Take a look around, Jamie,” he says, motioning to the women surrounding us. “There are beautiful women everywhere you look, and they all want to have fun. Just fun, nothing else. I promise you won’t remember her name by tomorrow. It always works.”
My gaze focuses on a group of scantily clad women, and for a second I think he could be right.
Then it all goes to shit in a hand basket.
Because right in front of me…
Maybe only ten feet away…
Stands Wylder Alma Buchanan. And she looks as good as she does in my fantasies.
She’s dressed in a short gold dress barely covering the bottom of her ass. Her perfectly shaped legs are toned and accentuated by the fuck-me heels she has on. Her hair is wild like her name, almost windblown, tumbling in waves around her face and down her back in a way that looks like she just got fucked.
Like she just got fucked.
And not by me.
Rage, like I’ve never known… Rage and goddamn jealousy practically choke the breath out of me. I try to calm down, but what the fuck? She’s here, isn’t she?
She’s not yours, I tell myself.
She. Is. Not. Yours.
Logic works for half a second, then I notice how she’s talking to some guy who’s staring at her like he can’t wait to hit that tight, perfect ass of hers. Like he knows she’ll be as good in bed as she looks. And why wouldn’t he be thinking that? Look at her. She’s some delicious-looking lamb in the middle of hungry wolves—horny men—looking to fuck her in every which way.
The thought makes my blood turn to ice.
I’m fucking furious.
I have no right to be.
I stand abruptly, drawing attention to myself, not knowing if I’m going to grab the fucker by the collar and throw him the hell out of the club or if I’m going to throw Wylder over my shoulder and take her to a private room and fuck her senseless.
But then I remember the goddamn text.
She hates me.
Right when sanity takes over again, and I’m prepared to get out of the club and as far away from her as possible, Wylder looks my way.
Makes eye contact.
And low and behold—
She doesn’t look at me like she hates me.
She looks at me like she wants to suck my cock.
Ho. Fucking. Ho. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Chapter Two
Wylder
Horny.
For two weeks, I’ve lived in a perpetual state of horniness.
And some depression.
Okay. As much as I hate myself for it, a lot of depression, but what can I say? The man I continually fantasize about, dream about, and want to have sex with again—and again and then some—more than anything I’ve ever wanted, happens to be an asshole.
A cheating asshole.
He’s also a famous director.
Super famous.
He’s funny, like really sarcastic, smart-as-shit funny. And he’s ridiculously generous, even with perfect strangers. And his body and face are hotter than sin, sexier than anyone I’ve ever laid eyes on. The best and only real lay of my life, and—
Oh. My. God.
He’s here.
Jamie Donovan is standing right across from me, and he looks as good as I remember. His tall, lean, muscular body is mouthwateringly yummy. His emerald-green eyes sparkle like bright gems out of his ruggedly handsome face. He looks too good to be true, and after denying myself of his deliciousness for just over two weeks, he’s like a much-needed, tall, cool glass of water.
More than that, Jamie Donovan is just what the doctor ordered.
My body is ready for sex in less than two point five seconds. I feel like I’m seeing an In-N-Out burger with fries after Kerri’s forced me to run the horribly painful Santa Monica stairs, and I have to say no.
I. Have. To. Say. No.
Why did I come back to this club again? Right. Kerri. My best friend, roommate, and co-worker all bundled up in one beautiful, albeit sometimes annoying, package.
She made me.
I admit she didn’t have to try too hard because I kind of wanted to come. Not to meet anyone else, as Kerri wished was the case—because I don’t know if I’m ready to go there yet—but to possibly run into Jamie. Yes, I was secretly hoping I’d see him here. You know, the kind of hope you have even though you know deep down inside there’s no way it could really happen because honestly, when does it ever, so it’s just this safe fantasy you play out in your head with different scenarios?
All my scenarios end in sex.
Dirty, hard, fast-and-furious sex.
Of course I didn’t actually think he’d be at the club. I really didn’t. And now, here he is, really truly here and not some figment of my horny imagination. He’s staring right at me. What the hell is he doing back here? I mean, there’s the obvious reason: he’s here to get laid. But after his sappy and nausea-inducing “I’m looking for a girl who rocks my world” speech tonight on the Craig Williamson show, you’d think he’d be at church.
P.S. I’ll never admit to anyone I watched his segment on my iPhone as soon as it went up on the network’s website, but I totally did. Three times. Back to back. No, I’m not some crazy stalker fan. I’m just… Well, now I’m just—
I’m pissed he’s here.
I have no right to be. Seriously. Like, no right. The logical side of my brain knows this, but the crazy side is definitely stronger in this situation.
>
But God does Jamie look good.
That’s the rub.
He’s so damn hot. Even the way he is now—dressed in worn, faded jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair messy and perfect, and those green eyes of his shooting daggers at me like he wants to kill me.
Like he wants to kill me.
Not that he has any ground to stand on, but I can’t say I’m surprised by the blatant hate radiating from his eyes. I did manage to get the upper hand, and he was the one who got dumped—not me. It’s not like we were in a serious relationship. We weren’t. We were testing the waters and dating. If I’m honest, it did feel like it was something else or it was going to be something more. At least to me it did. That’s right, call me Wylder Buchanan, the world’s biggest moron. I totally deserve it, and I’ll take it because I should know better, especially after the way I grew up.
That’s why when Tony told me about Jamie’s lunch rendezvous with Stacy, I acted swiftly and stealthily. Tony says I’m gangster. Who knows, maybe I am?
Even though the god-awful pain I felt from being used—and looking like a complete asshole—was almost unbearable, I managed to pick myself up, pack a bag, and get the hell out of Dodge. I charged money I didn’t have on my credit card and checked into the Sunset Marquis. I splurged because it was my birthday, and let’s be honest, it turned out to be a pretty shitty one, so I let myself have it.
Once settled in, I texted Kerri and filled her in on the situation. She met me at the hotel in no time. She then proceeded to order up a storm, all of which she charged to her father’s credit card. It was the night I learned that sometimes a really rich friend can make you feel better in ways you didn’t know possible, like book an in-room massage for me, have an entire to-die-for meal delivered from Craig’s, then have a cart of ice-cream sundae assortments brought up by hotel staff and watch me binge eat and drink myself into a food- and alcohol-induced sleep with nonjudgmental eyes.
If you ask me, that’s a pretty perfect friend.
When I woke in the morning, hungover and completely wrecked, Kerri let me in on the big secret: Jamie had requested I get two vacation days from the studio so he could surprise me and take me away. He’d even gone to my boss for permission. I could have been even angrier with him for being so presumptuous, but then I didn’t have to worry about going into work and facing anyone, so I was actually grateful.
Hearing what his plans had been for me only made the situation even worse. It made me feel sicker than I already did. If Jamie had taken me to Cabo, I would have been done for. I know it. I’ve never experienced the level of attention or pampering Jamie kept showering me with, and coupled with his personality, or what I had believed his personality to be, it would totally have been game over.
I’d have become Jamie Donovan’s bitch.
Hook, line, and sinker.
I also probably wouldn’t have found out about Stacy, or anyone else for that matter, until I was firmly trapped in his deceitful web. My fate would have been dismal. Basically, I’d be my mom, part deux.
No thank you.
And now this: Jamie fucking Donovan less than ten feet away.
God, it’s hot in here.
I break Jamie’s primal gaze and ask the guy—I can’t even remember his name—if he would go get me a bottle of water. Thankfully, he’s more than willing. I wish Kerri were here, but she disappeared down some dark hall as soon as we arrived. I don’t know where she went, but from the look of excitement on her face, I know she was off to have some serious fun or trouble—the good kind. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look like that before, the entire time I’ve known her.
Lucky Kerri.
Since I can’t take the idea of Jamie being in my peripheral vision—I don’t need him in any part of my eyeline—I turn around and give him my back… and what I know is a good portion of naked legs and practically my whole ass. The dress Kerri made me wear is so damn short. If I bend over, my privates will be visible to the whole world. I only felt good about putting it on because I’ve lost some I’m-sad-about-my-love-life weight, the kind that comes back with a vengeance as soon as you get an appetite back and put a fry in your mouth, which I hope to have the desire to do soon.
I look through the crowd of people at the bar and see I Forget His Name flagging the bartender down for my water. I want nothing more than to leave the vicinity, to get away from Jamie’s view, but I don’t want to look weak, like I can’t handle seeing him. Like I can’t be a big girl. Though, I did send him a text this evening, telling him I’d talk to the press—like I’d seriously ever do—if he contacted me again. It wasn’t very mature of me, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.
That’s the thing.
He hasn’t stopped trying to talk to me. I blocked his number. He called from others. He even showed up to the studio one day for a “meeting.” I don’t know if I really believe he had to come in because he pretty much calls all the shots on his movie. It didn’t matter though because Tony spotted him and warned me over text, so I was able to escape. He tried to reach out to Kerri. She told him to get lost, but it didn’t stop him.
He just kept texting and calling, wanting to know why. And I really don’t feel like I need to tell him, or to even talk it out. I grew up watching my father weasel his way out of too many indiscretions to count, while my mother became weaker each time.
Been there, done that.
I know it’s colder, brutal, but he deserves it.
And if there’s one thing I’m pretty damn good at, it’s freezing people out.
“Back for more?” Jamie’s sexy voice whispers through my hair as he leans into my body from behind, invading all my space. His hand cups my ass, his fingers lightly skimming the tops of the back of my naked thighs.
I almost fall over from shock, but he doesn’t let me.
His other arm slides around my waist, his hand moving to rest right under my breasts. My heart rate goes a mile a minute. I can’t even find words.
Or oxygen.
“Is he your appetizer this evening?” He sounds angry and unpredictable. And for some inexplicable reason, it turns me on.
I tell myself he’s still an asshole.
He’s thrown my own words back at me. I’m just having many appetizers before the main course. I told him something along those lines the first night we met when he asked me why I had been at the club. What a load of crap that was. He’s the only meal I crave right now.
And I have to get as far away from him as possible.
I push myself away from his embrace and spin around to stare up at him. This might be a bad decision on my part. Now I have to see his rugged, gorgeous face up close and personal. He looks tense and powerful as fuck—a lethal combination.
Why does he have to be so yummy?
“What he is or is not is absolutely none of your business.” I try to sound as apathetic as possible.
“So formal.” Jamie folds his arms and stares down at me with an indecipherable look on his face. “Let me guess, you’re back to calling me Mr. Donovan.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I mutter.
“I might prefer the formality,” he says sharply.
“Then to your face, I’ll call you Mr. Donovan.” My voice is cold.
“And I’m assuming behind my back you’ll have a much more colorful name for me?”
I shake my head. “No, it’ll be simple.”
Jamie cocks a brow.
I smile widely. “Just asshole.”
Jamie’s lips twitch, and I have the distinct feeling he’s trying hard not to laugh at me. I don’t know why he would find what I said funny, considering he’s the one I’m insulting.
The guy returns with the water bottle. I totally forgot about him, but I’m grateful he’s back. Before I can take the water, Jamie inserts himself.
“If you don’t mind, the lady and I need to speak privately.” Jamie’s stance is aggressive and territorial.
The guy looks over at me and shakes
his head. “I kind of do. I’ve got first dibs.”
It takes me a second to process what he said. “Dibs?” I ask in disgust.
The guy shrugs.
“I’m not some car you get to take for—” I stop myself. “Okay, that’s the wrong analogy for where we are, but you know what I mean.”
“Baby, I think it’s the perfect analogy,” the guy says as he creepily checks me out. “You’re a fine-ass Ferrari I’d love to take for more than a few rides around the block.”
That really comes out of his mouth. Seriously.
At first, I’m speechless. Then I wonder if I should be mad or offended. I realize I’m neither and then…
I can’t help but laugh. He looks dumbfounded, like he has no clue how lame his words were. I wish I could look at Jamie’s face to see what he’s thinking. I’m pretty sure it’s similar to what I am, but he’s now suspiciously quiet.
I decide to break the news to Don Juan.
“Just so you know, that was the cheesiest pickup line I’ve actually heard out in public and not in some bad romantic comedy,” I tell him, fighting back laughter.
He looks baffled. I feel like he might be the kind of guy who just never gets it.
“Seriously,” I say, hoping to dissuade him from repeating something so lame to a woman again. “I wouldn’t ever use that line, like ever, ever again.”
I cushion the blow with a sweet smile before taking the bottle out of his hand.
“Thank you for the water,” I say.
I take that moment to turn and walk away, letting him stand there still a bit dumbfounded until the next woman comes along. I’m pretty sure he’ll try the same line—or another gem he’s got tucked away—on his next target. With my grand departure, I’ve also walked away from Jamie.
I have absolutely no desire to have a private talk with the cheater.
More importantly, if I’m caught alone with him in a room, who knows what will—
Jamie’s strong arm encircles my waist, pulls me up against his side, and the next thing I know, a bouncer opens some private door I didn’t even see. Jamie pulls us both inside and shuts the door with his foot behind him. He sets me down once we’re in the center of the room, and I’m a good distance away from the door.