She gives me an incredulous glare, but her icy demeanor has melted. “You American men are such charmers.” She takes a sip from her drink, and when she licks her tongue over her bottom lip? Talk about melting. I’m so hot I’m a puddle of molten lava over this girl.
Somehow I manage to remain charming. “Oh,” I mock groan, clutching my chest as though she’s wounded my heart. “You’ve lumped me with the all the other ‘American men.’ That’s a real low blow.”
She laughs, and it’s so adorable that I want to sink my teeth into the sound and bite, want to mark it and claim it as mine.
“Perhaps it was a little crueler than necessary,” she says, then sobers quickly. “Let me ask you this—is being seen with me the only thing you’re interested in?”
No, it’s most definitely not at all. I’m also interested in fucking her. I’m interested in dragging her into a dark corner so I can feed her my cock. I’m interested in watching her ride me, her petite tits bouncing as she drives up and down the length of my shaft.
And now I am hard. So hard it hurts.
I don’t answer. Which is an answer in itself.
Damn, I need to get out of here.
I catch sight of the crowd that had earlier surrounded her and use it as my excuse. “Your entourage seems to be returning. I’ll let you attend to them.” I will myself to turn and walk away, but my feet don’t move, and before I know it, I’m leaning into her, so close I can smell her natural scent underneath her floral perfume.
“My offer stands if you want it,” I say quietly. “Come and find me. I’ll be here.”
Shit. Now I’ve done it. If she has any sense, she’ll tell me not to bother waiting around. It’s my only hope.
But when I straighten, her eyes lock on mine, and I can’t help but think she might be as twisted up over me as I am about her.
“Genevieve,” she says, holding her hand out to me.
I barely manage to mask the shock that runs through me when my hand clasps around hers. “Chandler. Chandler Pierce.”
Her brow rises in recognition, and for the first time in my life, I’m worried about my reputation. Usually, I wear my name like it’s a designer brand. My name gets me things I like. Gets me out of speeding tickets and into the arms of pretty women.
But I’ve never cared who the pretty woman was—this time I do. This time, I want the pretty woman to be this one. I want Genevieve.
Her expression is unreadable, and I can’t tell if I’ve just sealed the deal or if I’ve blown any chance I might have had.
Then she says, “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Pierce,” and turns to greet the gentleman who has just arrived at her side, also carrying two flutes of champagne.
Though she clings to the one I gave her, her dismissal is clear. Mr. Pierce, she said. So cold and detached. So utterly unimpressed.
I take the cue and slip away. I should leave the event entirely, but I can’t force myself to go. I told her I’d be here, and maybe it’s because I really am a nice guy that I can’t seem to bring myself to break my word.
Or maybe I just can’t bear to let her go yet.
I mingle. Some woman I’ve fucked in the past drapes herself over my shoulder and introduces her friend who drapes herself over my other arm. This is my audience. I could take either of them home right now. Both of them.
But as they fawn, my focus is on Genevieve. I watch as she excuses herself from her admirers. My gaze follows her as she approaches a group of men. She taps one on the shoulder, one old enough to be her father. He puts a finger up, telling her to wait, and I bristle at the gesture because it’s rude but also because it’s familiar. Just like I didn’t like the crowd that had surrounded her, I don’t like what this man might be to her. I have no right to care. I’ve only just met her, and every interest I have in her is carnal. Yet I do care. Very much.
Which is why, when I see her heading toward me a few minutes later, I already know I’m about to say or do something I shouldn’t.
Ignoring the women clinging to me, Genevieve looks me straight in the eye. “Does your offer still stand, Chandler? Because I’m ready to go now.”
I don’t hesitate even a beat. “Definitely,” I say, shucking off the women as though they were a well-worn jacket. I slip my hand in Genevieve’s. “Let’s go, shall we?”
Told you I’d do something I shouldn’t. Sorry, Hudson.
On behalf of 1001 Dark Nights,
Liz Berry and M.J. Rose would like to thank ~
Steve Berry
Doug Scofield
Kim Guidroz
Jillian Stein
InkSlinger PR
Dan Slater
Asha Hossain
Chris Graham
Pamela Jamison
Jessica Johns
Dylan Stockton
Richard Blake
BookTrib After Dark
The Dinner Party Show
and Simon Lipskar
Table of Contents
Book Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Falling Under You: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (1001 Dark Nights) Page 13