by Ana Novak
“Business, huh? What do you do?”
I didn’t want to talk about my book, that damned New York Times bestseller list, or the fact that no one had ever heard of me. “I’m a writer. What about you?”
“Me? Oh, I work for the city.”
“Really? Which department?”
He laughed and slid an arm around my shoulders, his drink in his other hand. “Do we really want to talk shop?”
“No,” I said, feeling relieved. “Didn’t we come here to dance?”
He drained his glass in one gulp and thumped it down on the bar. “Follow me, my lady.”
I finished my drink and followed. We wove through the crowd, his hand hot against mine, until he found a place in the middle of the dance floor and turned toward me. His hand went to my lower back, pulling me close to him as he started to move. I turned my head aside when my nose almost collided with his shoulder, and his hips moved against mine.
You’re too old for one night stands now, my inner voice told me snarkily, and I ignored her, instead putting my hands on his shoulders and pushing, putting some distance between us. He didn’t move his hand from my lower back, so I turned slowly, rotating my hips and letting his fingers slide across my bare back. When I was facing away from him, his hands stopped roaming, but then I felt his hips bumping against my ass.
I wasn’t too old for one night stands, but I wasn’t interested in this guy, and I didn’t feel like playing nice.
“I need another drink,” I shouted, turning and putting a hand on his chest firmly.
“What?” He leaned closer, and I leaned back, teetering a little on my heels.
“I need a drink! I’ll be right back!”
Suddenly hands were on my shoulders, and a low voice behind me said, “The bar’s this way.”
I bit my lip, trying not to smile when I realized that Shane had shown up after all. Even with the throbbing beat of the music pounding in my eardrums, I heard him perfectly, almost as if he was speaking from inside my head instead of the middle of a loud, crowded dance floor. I put my hand over his and his fingers threaded through mine. He pulled me away from my dance partner and toward the bar in the corner.
Walking slightly behind him, I had an excellent vantage point, and I took full advantage. He wore jeans, a form–fitting shirt, and those black combat boots. The jeans were faded, clinging in just the right places and emphasizing his muscular thighs. This look suited him, I noted, thinking how different he looked in his slacks and button-down shirt the first night we’d met. His arms were just as beautifully defined as I remembered, and I fought the urge to touch my finger to the line of his triceps through his shirt, to trace them obsessively like I had that night a year and a half ago. My cheeks heated at the memory.
I looked up at the VIP area and saw Mel and Mistral looking down on me like a pair of well-groomed vultures. Mel said something to Mistral, and I worried that she was probably commenting on how I’d just unceremoniously ditched the guy Philippe had practically served me on a platter. But then Mel smiled and gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Mistral pointed to Shane and then fanned herself- a surefire indication that he measured up to her required level of hotness. I stuck my tongue out at her.
Unfortunately, Shane chose that moment to look back at me and caught me mid-tongue-sticking. He stopped and I bumped into him, my nose colliding with his shoulder. Hard. Ow.
“Sorry if I overstepped,” he said. “You looked like you could use some help.”
“I did- I do,” I reassured him, rubbing my injured nose gingerly. My tongue was stinging from where I’d bit down. “You didn’t overstep at all. It’s just…” How was I supposed to explain this? I nodded up at the VIP balcony, and he followed my gaze. Mistral and Mel both immediately struck casual poses, studiously pretending to be paying attention to everything but us. “Do you see those two insanely hot girls up there? The redhead and the blonde? Those are my best friends, and they told me that we’re not leaving until I find a guy to take home with me.”
The incredulity was obvious in his expression when he looked back down at me. “Your friends are forcing you into a one night stand?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that,” I said uncomfortably. “They just want me to be happy.”
“Will a one night stand make you happy?” He pulled me a little closer to him, helping me dodge a particularly vivacious trio of dancers sashaying their way past us. The hidden meaning in his question wasn’t lost on me, because we both knew that our one night stand had definitely not left either of us happy.
“Who says it has to be a one night stand?” I demanded. “Maybe he’ll like me so much he’ll want something more.”
“Yes, because all great relationships start with lame pickup lines and drunken grinding.”
“Shut up. I wasn’t grinding on that guy.”
“He was grinding on you.”
“Then you probably just yanked me away from the one guy in this club who could have made my friends back off,” I said crossly.
Shane looked up at the balcony again, and both Mel and Mistral squealed at getting caught staring before rushing back to their couch to hide. I sighed.
“What you need is someone who’s in on it. Someone who can win over your friends, leave with you, and let you go home alone,” Shane said, and I immediately knew what he was thinking.
“Are you offering yourself up as a martyr?” I asked, and the ghost of a smile that played around his lips nearly took my breath away. He was so gorgeous that sometimes it hurt just to look at him, to watch his perfect lips frame the whiteness of his smile and remember how his mouth had felt against my skin.
“Hanging out in the VIP area with you and your insanely hot friends beats going home to an empty house,” he replied. “Besides, you owe me a drink.”
“Oh gosh, don’t remind me.” I would have preferred to forget everything about that day, actually, including the mortifying non-kiss at the subway. But Shane’s proposal was a much more appealing idea than trying and inevitably failing to seduce yet another drunken club-goer. “Okay, you’ve got a deal, assuming your services don’t require any monetary compensation. I’m operating on a writer’s salary here.”
The look he gave me said he knew I wasn’t exactly in dire financial straits. “I’ll call in a future favor,” he said. “Something of equal value.”
Please, please, please let that favor be sexual, my inner voice piped up before I could slap a muzzle on it. Nodding my agreement, I smiled with all the innocence I could muster and let Shane lead me to the bar.
“Hi there,” I said, waving to get the bartender’s attention as I leaned over the counter. “Can I have cranberry juice and vodka, please?”
The bartender’s eyes flicked down to my cleavage, which was displayed prominently thanks to my pose against the countertop, before he winked at me. “Sure thing, gorgeous.”
I was mentally congratulating myself on initiating flirtation with the bartender, who looked barely legal, when I heard Shane’s voice in my ear again.
“Turns out you could have just picked up the bartender,” he said, and the gravelly rasp of his half-whisper turned my knees to jelly. By that point he’d moved up behind me, his hands planted firmly on the bar on either side of me. The smell of him, that same warm, spicy scent that had enveloped me the night we’d made love a year and a half ago, was all around me. Summoning my courage, I tilted my head back and pushed away from the bar just enough so that my body came into contact with his. The solid bulk of his chest was warm against my bare shoulder blades.
“My tastes run a little older,” I said, and he shifted behind me, letting the denim of his jeans scrape against my thighs through my skirt. I felt dizzy, remembering the feeling of his hands on me, the ecstasy of his body on top of mine.
I want him, I thought. Here. Now. My almost animalistic lust whenever he was with me was beginning to feel familiar. I turned, moving to face him within the cage created by his arms. Looking into his dark eye
s only made the memories of that night all the more prominent in my mind.
“How many times have you broken your nose?” I asked lightly, reaching up to trace a finger down its uneven bridge.
With a laugh, he ducked his head, uncharacteristically self-conscious. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Four times, maybe. I know it’s crooked as hell.”
“I love it,” I said. “It makes you real. God knows you’d be too perfect otherwise.”
“Right. Because perfect looks like a fucked up nose and these damn satellite ears.”
He was blushing so adorably I couldn’t help but smile. “I had no idea you were so insecure.” Encouraged by his vulnerability, I hooked my foot around the back of his leg, using my heel to massage up and down his calf.
His gaze met mine, and the heat in his eyes was enough to make me weak in the knees.
“Your drink,” the bartender said from behind me, and I heard the clink as he set down my glass.
Without breaking eye contact, Shane pulled a bill from his pocket and slapped it down on the bar. “Keep the change.”
He handed my drink to me and then grabbed my hand, pulling me through the crowd toward the staircase against the opposite wall. I tried unsuccessfully to catch the tiny straw in my glass so I could take a sip as I was pulled along. If I was going to spend an entire evening flirting with Shane Kruger, I would need all the liquid courage I could handle.
As we passed below the VIP balcony, I glanced up and saw Mel and Mistral watching us closely. They immediately pantomimed cheering when they caught my eye, and I smiled, shaking my head. I skipped forward and looked up at Shane, at his perfect jaw and the amazing breadth of his shoulders, and suddenly I didn’t want to share him with my friends.
“Wait,” I said, pulling on his hand.
He stopped, ducking close so that he could hear me.
“Can we find a corner for a minute?” I asked, and my lips brushed his ear. “I just want to talk without my friends interrogating us.”
“Whatever you want.”
He was true to his word, almost immediately finding a corner with a counter height table and three stools. Shane pushed one stool aside and helped me climb up onto another one.
“Thanks,” I said, the air squeezing from my lungs when he pulled up the other stool in front of me and sat, effectively shielding me from the view of other club-goers.
“Aren’t you worried?” I asked.
“Worried about what?”
“Somebody filming or taking pictures. You know. The same stuff that happened last time.”
“Why would I care if someone saw me with you?” He accepted my drink from me when I offered it and took a sip before handing it back. “You’re not exactly a charity case.”
“Recent divorcee and established homewrecker?” I said wryly. “I beg to differ.”
“Hey.” His expression was serious. “Don’t listen to that tabloid bullshit. My marriage was over long before I ever met you. And I know you and Merrick were separated when we met. I shouldn’t have left you there that morning.”
“It wasn’t your problem. I’m sorry you got dragged into it.” I looked down at the tabletop, trying to keep my breathing even despite his closeness. “And I’m sorry I didn’t text you back.”
“Ancient history. We’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
I was barely refraining from losing myself in his eyes and the sound of his voice. “You’re…you’re really easy to talk to,” I said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
He grinned. “Women tell me that all the time.”
“It’s not exactly what every guy dreams of hearing, is it? What is?”
“You already said it. That night in the hotel.”
Because I still remembered it too, I immediately knew exactly what he was talking about. “Not my shining moment,” I said ruefully. “I’m a writer. I should have waxed poetic in a Shakespearean sonnet. Or maybe, like, an epic series of Haiku, each one more poignant and meaningful than the last.”
“Or you could just say holy shit.”
I giggled. “That was pretty effective.”
There was a comfortable pause in conversation then, and I let my gaze slide unhurriedly over his face, re-memorizing the features that I’d forced myself to forget.
“So you want to be friends?” I asked.
His eyebrow quirked. “Friends?”
“Yeah. Friends. I’m trying to figure you out. You invited me here tonight, but I don’t know if you were just trying to promote the label or if you wanted to hang out.”
Shane pursed his lips, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Why would I promote the label to you? Your brother’s our highest-selling artist. I just thought you’d like this band since you’re into nu metal.”
He knew Van and I were related? And he knew I liked nu metal? “I don’t know what you mean,” I hedged, drawing a complete blank on how else to respond.
Shane gave me a look that said he knew I was playing dumb, and I ducked my head, trying to regain my composure. “So…you do want to hang out?”
Mercifully, he let the subject drop. “Well, yeah. Don’t you?”
I regarded him thoughtfully, trying to think of how to word my questions as he took another sip from my glass. “Of course I want to hang out. I’m just not sure if you want to be friends or…or fuck buddies.”
He choked on my drink and pulled it away from his mouth, narrowly avoiding spilling it on his shirt. “Shit, Taylor. Give a guy some warning.”
“I’m just trying to be upfront about it.” I knew I sounded defensive, so I tried my best to keep my expression neutral.
Shane rubbed the back of his hand across his chin slowly, looking pensive. “Friends or fuck buddies? Are those my only options?”
“I guess we could go our separate ways and never speak to each other again, but that seems infinitely less fun. Plus, it’d be awkward. Like you said, I have ties to the label. We’d see each other at some point anyway.”
“Mmm.” He nodded. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know! Help me figure it out!”
His grin was so wicked that my body responded in turn, heating in anticipation of his touch. I looked down, folding my hands in my lap, and tried very diligently not to think about sex. “Okay, well, I might know what I want, but I don’t know if I should want it.”
“What do you want?”
When I looked up, he’d leaned closer, so close I was in danger of drowning in his liquid gaze.
“I definitely know what I don’t want,” I murmured. “I don’t want my heart broken again.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He closed the distance between us, his lips feather-light against my cheek and sliding toward my ear. “Don’t break your heart. Got it.”
“I don’t…” I swallowed hard. Was this really happening? My heart was pounding so hard I wondered if he could hear it, too. “I don’t want you to try to control me.”
Our mouths collided, and his tongue danced against mine, making me light-headed.
“I don’t think I can control you,” he whispered when he finally pulled away. He placed gentle kisses along my jaw before moving to my neck.
“I want to be friends first. Maybe with benefits. But nothing serious…not right now.” My entire body was screaming at me to throw him to the floor and tear off his clothes, but this was the kind of establishment that would probably frown on that sort of behavior.
“Friends with benefits? Got it.” He bit my neck, gently, nipping at my tender flesh. I couldn’t keep my hands still any longer, and I clutched helplessly at his shirt, twisting the fabric in my fingers.
“Stop,” I gasped. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“You didn’t say I couldn’t.”
I fisted both hands in his shirt, hauling him back up so I could crush my mouth to his. “This…place…might be…too public,” I said breathlessly in between kisses. “Maybe we should stop.”
His answering growl of frustration had me melting against him, my arms wrapped around his neck as I pulled him closer. Somehow the stools were both suddenly pushed aside, and Shane had me up against the wall, his hard body grinding against me deliciously. My hands moved of their own accord, touching him everywhere, wanting more.
He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against my shoulder. He was breathing heavily, and I could feel the pulse in his neck hammering against my wrist.
“We should go upstairs,” he said. “I won’t be able to stop touching you if we don’t.”
“Okay. Do you…um, do you need a minute?” I asked, giggling but trying valiantly to keep still.
“Damn you,” he muttered, but I could tell he was fighting a smile, too. “Maybe if you just walk in front of me up to the VIP area.”
“I don’t know if you need to hide behind me. Mel and Mistral might appreciate the show.” I bit my lip, trying to stop laughing.
“Quit moving,” Shane ordered, “or we’ll never be able to leave.”
I leaned my head back against the wall and smiled up at him. There were butterflies dive-bombing each other in my stomach, making it impossible for me to tamp down my excitement.
Take it slow, the voice in my head reminded me. Nothing serious, those were your exact words.
Right. Slow. I tried to think of a safe topic. “Who told you I like nu metal?”
Shane frowned. “Don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but how did you know?”
He shook his head. “I don’t remember. I just knew.” Taking a step back, he ran a hand through his hair. “Ready?”
“Are you?” I said, glancing pointedly down at the bulge in his jeans.
“Smart ass.” He looped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side as he guided us toward the staircase. “You look sexy as hell in that dress, by the way.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell Edward- I mean, Anton.”
Shane’s tone was bemused. “You do that.”
Dolph nodded to me as I approached the staircase. I ascended in front of Shane, ignoring the way my body ached for his touch the moment he let me go. On the top step, I saw Mel and Mistral sitting expectantly on their couch. Mel’s face was like a kid’s on Christmas morning, and Mistral was sitting with her shapely legs crossed, one spike heel swinging languidly as she waited to pounce.