Irresistibly Undeniable

by Zoey Derrick

  Despite the ten years since our last encounter, my anger toward him has softened. Maybe it’s because I tried like hell to move on, tried to be the bigger person? Understood there was no way in hell that I would ever see him again? I don’t know the answer to that question for sure, but I do know watching him interact with her, looking as fucking sexy as he does, sends butterflies to my stomach. Though I can’t tell if they’re the flutters of desire or the burning rage building in my veins.

  Despite his casual appearance, Dyson is the epitome of money and sex. It pours from his body in waves and any woman, even Becca, would be crazy to miss it. Despite my self-imposed celibacy, I can feel it. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans that are snug at the hips and flare slightly toward the bottom. I can see he’s wearing black boots, but on top he is wearing a black dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and it’s unbuttoned enough to see a grey undershirt peeking out. The shirt is much tighter than most men I’ve seen wear, but why shouldn’t it be? It completely outlines all his muscles and I imagine there’s at least a six pack under his shirt and then that sexy V leading into his jeans.

  Looking at him, really looking at him, and realizing he’s the Dyson Richards who broke my heart so many years ago gives me a new perspective on my choices. How dare he look so fucking good?

  Karma isn’t quite the bitch I’d always hoped she was.

  I straighten my shoulders. The alcohol I slammed burns my stomach and warms me up enough for my confidence to rise higher with each step I take.

  I watch as he turns, putting his back to me and I see him try and push Becca off of him. It’s not aggressive or even rude, but I get the impression that whatever he was trying to accomplish tonight isn’t working for him. Either that or he saw me coming and he’s trying to find a way to save face with me. Fucker.

  He turns back around, just in time to see me standing a couple feet in front of him. Tonight I was going for casual dressy. I’m wearing well-worn jeans, flared at the cuff, my black peep-toe pumps that make my five-seven frame just a shade taller. With the jeans, I’m rocking one of my favorite tops that hangs off one shoulder. It’s grey, but the tank top and bra underneath are both lime green. My hair, despite my better judgment, is pulled up and back at the sides and flowing down my back.

  I watch him closely and see a brief flare of panic in his eyes as he looks from me to Becca and back again. Becca looks at me in an inviting, come join us, kind of look. She’s oblivious and as much as I want to be angry with her, I have no reason to be. She has no idea she’s dancing with the love of my life.

  I can see decision in his eyes as he throws me a Dyson original megawatt smile. The kind that would have had my panties combusting under different circumstances. I smile sweetly at him. My anger falters slightly.

  I search for diplomacy. Playing up the innocent, I have no idea who you are card first.

  “Thank you for the drinks, it wasn’t necessary,” I tell him and Becca raises an eyebrow at me. I never told her the first round I’d grabbed wasn’t paid for by me.

  His panty melting smile morphs into one that’s more genuine. The act causes little crinkles to form in the corners of his eyes. The look is not lost on me and my body hums with a need I didn’t know I had buried deep down.

  “You’re welcome. The least I could do.” His voice has a deep timber to it, not at all like it was the last time I really listened to it in the barn. He’s grown up a lot, which is why I didn’t recognize him when I first saw him. Losing more than eighty pounds and ditching the nerd look is what threw him off, at least in the lobby. No doubt by the time I left that conference room, he knew. Though a small part of me wonders if he realized it before his compassionate side got the better of him in the bathroom.

  “Come here often?” I ask him, making small talk. Further attempting to play up the idea I have no idea who he is.

  He shakes his head. “First time, you?”

  “All the time.” His smile falters a bit. Like he senses something is up.

  “So what brought you here tonight?” I ask. Making small talk is getting old and I’m wishing like hell I had another Jack and coke to drink.

  “Just a random invite from a neighbor.”

  “Oh,” I say with some surprise, “are you enjoying yourself?” I let my eyes narrow a little, letting the frustration inside of me get the better of my facial expression.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, are you?”

  I smile sweetly at him. Becca is obviously confused by our exchange. She keeps looking between Dyson and me, back and forth, like she’s trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

  He’s actually being sweet but the idle chit-chat is getting old.

  I try to answer Becca’s unspoken question before she voices it aloud. I need to ask him something that would explain why it is I seem to know Dyson because I know that’s what she’s thinking. That combined with something along the lines of ‘why didn’t you tell me you know a hot as fuck guy’.

  I decide to try and work toward my third option. “So tell me, Mr. Cole, why don’t you want me working at Wellington?”

  Becca catches on to the conversation quickly and kind of backs away. There is an edge to my voice that only comes out when I’m pissed off and she knows it.

  “I just don’t think you’re right for the job,” Dyson answers.

  Well played, asshole. “So tell me something?” He nods. “Will what I’m about to do cost me the job you obviously don’t want me to have?”

  “What are you…”

  I toss Becca’s piña colada on him before he can finish, nailing him in the face and chest.

  “What the fuck, Ireland?” Becca shouts as she attempts to wipe away the part of her drink that got on her.

  A hysterical bubble forms in my throat.

  “That’s for not wanting me to have a decent job,” I snap at him and his dumbstruck expression.

  Then I walk up to him, place my hands on his shoulders, playing sweet as I lean up to whisper into his ear. “And this,” I bring my knee up into his groin and I hear his grunt of pain as I make full contact with his man-parts, “motherfucker, is for leaving me on a pile of hay ten years ago.”

  “Shit,” he grunts.

  I smile, release his shoulders and walk away from him, leaving Becca standing there with a completely dumbfounded expression on her face.

  “Where are you going?” Becca asks me as I’m walking away.

  I put my hand up, indicating that I don’t want to be followed. “I’ll take a cab.”

  The crowd parts for me as I walk toward the door of the bar. I can feel Dyson’s eyes burrowing holes into the back of my head as I walk away from him. Leaning against the door inside is a good friend of mine. “I’m sorry,” I mouth and he smirks at me. I approach him and whisper, “Play along for me?”

  “What are you-” I press my lips to his and kiss him. He stiffens, but I know the moment the actor in him kicks in because he kisses me back, wrapping his arms around me and holding me to him. There is no heat, no passion, nothing between us. I pull back from the kiss.

  “Tell Cami I’m sorry and I’ll explain later.” I wink at him and walk away. I catch Cami’s dumbstruck expression and I mouth, “I’m sorry,” with pleading eyes and she starts laughing and shaking her head. No doubt she’s already heard about what happened on the patio.

  No one stops me, some girls actually cheer for me, though I’m not sure if it’s because I kneed Dyson in the balls or because I kissed the ever gorgeous Tristan Michaels, and he kissed me back.

  I make it two steps from the door and the safety of outside the bar when the son of a bitch grabs my arm, spinning me around to face him. His touch is an electric shock straight to my heart. It reminds me of everything he’d said to me ten years ago on that nasty hay covered floor. It felt so raw and real and now with his hand on me, it solidifies I wasn’t crazy for thinking he meant all those things, or maybe I’m still fucking nuts.

  “Veevee, stop.�
� His voice is soft. Almost condescendingly so.

  I turn toward him and get in his face. “You lost the right to call me Veevee the day you walked out of that barn. Now, let. Me. Go.” My anger burns hotter now than it did when I kneed him.

  I need to get through the door. Then I can get out of here before I do something that will get me booted from the bar. Getting outside and flagging down one of the waiting cabs is my goal and when I clear the outside door, a sense of relief washes over me.

  I start to lift my hand to call attention to one of the cabs, but it’s stopped.

  “I’ll take you home.” I close my eyes. This is one battle he will not win.

  “Like hell you will,” I snap. “Where’s your friend?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Where’s yours?” His tone is almost humorous. I glare at him. “You shouldn’t run around kissing married men. Their wives might get the wrong impression.”

  I scoff at him. Fuck, he knew. All along, he fucking knew. That’s why he’s not mad at me for kissing someone else. I shake my head and turn again to leave, he stops me.

  “You shouldn’t go home by yourself.” His tone is softer but no less demanding.

  Where the hell is this Mister protective act coming from?

  “I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way home, fuck you very much.” No need to tack on the fact I don’t want him knowing where I live.

  “We need to talk.” His voice is softer, less arrogant and more defeated.

  “I’m not sure what we have to talk about, Mr. Cole. I’ve said everything I needed to say.”

  He sighs. “That doesn’t mean I’ve had a chance to say my piece, to explain myself.”

  I turn on him; he steps back slightly as if he thinks I’m going to hit him again. His hands are up in surrender but I don’t let the gesture get to me. I can’t let it bother me because I need to say all the words, get them out of the way. “You’ve had ten fucking years to make your peace and you’ve not done that or even made an attempt to, so why in the hell would I give you the time to do it now?” My voice betrays me, by the end, the fight I felt deflates within me and he sees it.

  Seeing his chance, he steps in closer, bringing his hands to my face, holding my cheeks. “Because until now, I couldn’t do this.” He pulls on me slightly, tilting my face up to his. I’ve stopped breathing altogether. I’m excited, nervous, anxious, pissed off, you name it, anything, but when he slants his lips over mine, that’s it. I freeze. The gentle stroke of his tongue along my lips and the nudge of his thumbs on my cheeks is his way of coaxing me to relax and open for him.

  I do.

  My mind slips into a deep fog of need and desire as my body gives into him. I breathe out and open my mouth. His tongue darts in along my own and I can truly taste him. He tastes of beer and something distinctively Dyson Cole. It’s a flavor I’ve been craving like a sober alcoholic craves alcohol and until it’s on my tongue, I didn’t realize I needed it so bad.

  I moan into his mouth and he pulls me closer, moving one of his hands from my cheek to the small of my back. Our bodies press against each other, his erection prominent against my belly, and desire explodes.

  The fog in my brain grows thicker until he pulls back slightly, giving me a chance for fresh, un-Dyson-tainted air and the haze in my brain clears.

  I pull back from him. His eyes are a blazing violet haze and he blinks slowly.

  “Goodnight, Mr. Cole.”

  “Say my name,” he tells me.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  I turn out of his hold and raise my hand, walking away from him. The cabbies all noticed me come out so it takes a heartbeat for one to pull up right in front of me. I open the door as soon as it comes to a stop.

  Don’t look at him.

  Don’t look…

  Don’t do it, Ireland, do not give him the satisfaction.

  Chapter 12

  DYSON

  “I Know You” - Skylar Grey

  Look at me.

  Come on, Veevee, look at me.

  Dammit, look.

  It doesn’t seem to matter how hard I will her to look at me, she doesn’t seem to do it. She opens the door to the cab that pulled in front of her the moment she raised her hand. She turns slightly, come on, look at me. She turns a little farther in my direction, hanging on to the door with her right hand as she’s about to slide inside and disappear.

  I smile wide when the bright green of her eyes meet mine.

  She pulls her hand away from the door and flips me off before sitting down inside and slamming the door shut.

  I burst out laughing.

  That’s my tigress.

  I watch as she pulls away and out of the parking lot before I go back inside. I need to calm down before I drive. Right now, I am ready to go knocking down her door and if I leave now, that’s exactly where I will end up.

  I walk back inside the bar and I see Tristan talking to Cami. They’re both laughing, so obviously there isn’t any jealousy between the two of them. Good thing, I’d hate to see a kiss based on rage and an insane need to piss me off ruin a good thing.

  I stroll up to the bar and take one of the stools. It’s pretty quiet inside since the band is playing outside. “What can I get you darlin’?” Cami asks me from behind the bar.

  “Are you mad at him?” I ask.

  She snorts a laugh. “I’ve known Ireland a long time. I saw what she did to you, so obviously you did something to piss her off and kissing my husband was exactly what she felt she needed to do in order to get back at you. Tell me, Dyson, did it work?

  I laugh. “No, I knew what she was doing. I used her friend to get her to pay attention to me, and that was her way of getting back at me.”

  She shakes her head in exasperation. “Good, then what will it be? Besides a towel.” She takes in my wet shirt. Raising an eyebrow she asks, “Maybe an icepack?”

  I smirk at Cami. My balls are fucking killing me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a raging hard-on from putting my lips on Ireland’s once again. Jesus, that was a fucking mistake. I’m having a hard enough time keeping her off my mind, and now I have the perfect physical feeling go right along with my own delusions of getting my VeeVee back.

  “No icepack, no towel, just a Sam’s,” I tell her and she reaches into the cooler to pull one up for me. She pops the cap and then sets it on the bar in front of me, but she doesn’t let it go when I reach for it.

  “That girl has been through hell the last couple weeks. I don’t know why she threw that drink on you or better yet, why she clipped you in your nuts, but I do know whatever you did to her, she certainly didn’t deserve it.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at home with that little boy of yours?”

  “Do you and Tristan conspire against me?” she questions, but she’s got a playful little smirk, much like Ireland. The idea has me looking a little closer at Cami and there is something similar in her eyes when compared to Ireland. I’ve never seen it before now, or maybe my mind is fucking with me. Or it’s the adrenaline from being kneed in the balls. “No, we most definitely do not.”

  “Good, and one of my girls called in sick. I mean it, Dyson, don’t fuck with her. She’s a good girl.” With that, she walks away, helping another customer at the end of the bar. I turn away from her and I can see Tristan standing in the doorway, watching over things. He gives me a raised eyebrow. I’m sure he’s curious too, but I raise my bottle to him by way of a salute and slam it back.

  The little firecracker is right. Ireland did not deserve what I did to her, but I don’t think Cami realizes the apology I need to make isn’t for tonight, but something I did nearly a decade ago. There’s a lot of built up rage inside that little tigress and if giving me a knee to balls is the worst pain she’ll dish out to me when I deserve so much more, I’ll take it.

  I stand to leave and nearly slam into the blonde I was dancing with earlier.

  �
��There you are,” she says, her voice a wanton purr.

  “I’m sorry,” I narrow my eyes at her. What is she doing?

  “S’okay. I knew I’d find you.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m leaving.”

  “Nooo, don’t go.”

  I roll my eyes and catch a glimpse of Tristan watching us. Though I don’t need a babysitter, I definitely don’t need a drunk hanging on me. “Sorry, on my way out.”

  “But we had a good time.”

  I lean down, “No, sweetheart, you had a good time.”

  “We did, didn’t we?”

  I shake my head. This isn’t going to go very well at all. “No, you’re drunk, I’m going home. Maybe you should do the same.”

  “Okay.” She wraps her arms around me.

  I pry her off me, my eyes finding Tristan, pleading with him to help me. He just shrugs. Fuck.

  “No,” I say a little more sternly.

  “Becca,” a female shouts behind me, it has to be Cami.

  “Yeah?” She pulls away from me, but her arms don’t let go She searches for the source of who called her name.

  “Leave him alone,” Cami calls.

  “But we were just leaving.” She gives Cami a ‘don’t fuck with me smile’. Even I’m a little taken aback by it.

  “No, he’s leaving, you’re staying.” I look over my shoulder and Cami sets down one of their signature blue plastic cups and like a moth to a flame, Becca releases me and stumbles over to it, climbing on the bar stool and picking it up. Cami’s eyes meet mine and she gestures toward the door.

  I mouth a silent ‘thank you’ and she smiles before returning her attention to Becca and I turn to leave. Tristan walks up beside me. “It’s just coconut juice,” he tells me. “Becca’s a regular in here. We know the drill.” He follows me toward the door.

  “Why don’t you guys lighten up her drink load?”

  He snorts. “We do, usually. If she orders, all the bartenders know to go light on the alcohol, but as you’ve probably guessed, she’s a gorgeous girl and there are a lot of drinks purchased for her.”