by J. C. Grant
He paused the movie on the opening credits.
“You wanna go?” he rasped, tilting his head back to look at me. He seemed surprised, judging by his tone and expression. That expression... it was a curious mix of disappointment, confusion, and concern. There was a vulnerability in that expression, a hurt boyish quality that broke my heart.
Fuck, that’s hot.
Why did I love seeing him like that?
Combing my fingers through his dark strands, I gave his question serious thought. “Mmm... kinda not. I’d rather stay here with you,” I admitted, still holding his gaze. “But I haven't seen her since the whole Kelsey thing. So... I think I should.”
I hated reminding him of the Molly fueled bachelorette party, but it was the truth, and I wasn’t going to lie to him. Not when he looked at me like that.
As he watched me, his expression softened to something close to understanding.
“Okay,” he relented easily, reaching up, squeezing my thigh gently before rubbing back and forth. It was a comforting, reassuring gesture, and just a tiny bit sexual.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I get final say in location, though.” Before I could respond, he explained, “Privacy... security.”
“Okay,” I agreed readily, still running my fingers through his silky hair. He didn’t need to explain why he wanted final say. I'd always been a private person, but the situation with Kelsey magnified that tenfold. His expression shifted as he glanced over at the clock. It was only five, and we had barely spent any time home together—with him awake anyway. And our time tonight was going to be cut short.
He stood suddenly.
“Where are you going?” I asked, concerned he was mad.
“Getting our dinner.” He paused, turning to me, his tone and expression unreadable. “We're still eating dinner together, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
After he returned with our food and started the movie back up, I texted Tara back.
Austin: We're good to go, but I need to know
where before we leave.
5:09 PM
Her response was immediate.
Tara: Warwick cool?
5:09 PM
“Is Warwick okay?”
Pausing between bites, he looked over at me. “That’s where she wants to go?”
“Yeah.” My voice was hesitant, unsure what his tone meant.
“She get a table?” he asked gruffly.
My gaze caught on the thick vein running up his bulging bicep. I didn’t know what it was, but whenever he was shirtless, I wanted to rub up against him like a cat.
Or a bitch in heat.
“Austin?” David’s voice pulled my gaze up.
“Let me check.” I texted her and asked. It only took a second to get her response. “No.”
I looked up to see his disapproval.
He held his hand out. “Give me the phone.”
Reluctantly, I did and helplessly watched as he took over. To my horror, he turned it on speaker as it started ringing.
“Hello.”
Relief flooded me as I heard Aaron's voice. I thought David was calling Tara to tell her no and explain to her all the reasons why.
“Get Austin a table at Warwick tonight.”
“Just her?”
“Her and Tara.” He paused and looked at me. “Just you two, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Aaron agreed, sounding as unsure as I felt.
“Thanks, man.” David ended the call and handed my phone back to me.
“Thank you, babe.”
“Of course. I’d never let you go there without having a table. It’d leave you far too accessible. Now, eat.”
He didn’t seem mad, but he certainly wasn’t happy. And I couldn’t figure out why he was agreeing to let me go without a fight or argument or something.
We ate in relative silence before he stood, took our plates to the kitchen, then, to my surprise, went to the coffee beast.
“What time do you want this to start?” he called, not bothering to turn from his task.
“Eight?”
“Sounds 'bout right.”
His muscles shifted and rolled under his golden skin as he made his way back over to me with a lazy swagger. He flopped down and pulled me over him, positioning me between him and the back of the couch.
Ten minutes later, he was asleep.
He slept the entire evening. It was a deep sleep. He didn’t even stir when I left his side briefly to get my coffee. What was surprising to me was that, even asleep, having him next to me, pressed against me, was enough to satisfy that gnawing craving I’d had since Tuesday night. I had never been a hugger or cuddler, but with David I needed the physical contact. It wasn’t something I’d ever really thought about before, but my craving for him was far more than sexual. And that knowledge was a little scary.
I stayed on the couch cuddled up with him, enjoying the comfort his mere presence provided until nine, when I finally got up to get ready.
Deciding to keep it simple, I put on eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick, then slipped into my Hervé Leger black fringe dress and pulled on my four-inch, black, strappy sandals.
I loved that dress. The fringe hit a modest inch above my knee, while the actual dress ended three inches below my butt. It was an edgy twist on the classic bandage dress, with the black beading arranged in a corset style. It wrapped around me like a glove, magnifying my curves.
I gave my hair a good toss back and forth, making it a little messy, then checked my makeup one last time before I grabbed my silver clutch, tossed my essentials in, and made my way into the living room, where David was still lying on the couch.
Wide awake.
When I came to a stop in front of him, his gaze slowly raked over me, pausing on my breasts peeking out of the deep V neckline.
“That's what you're going to wear? For a pity girls’ night?” His sleep-rough voice went straight to my core.
“Yeah.” I looked down my body, checking my dress, slightly self-conscious about his comment.
“Holy fuck,” he muttered as his brows pulled together, making that “W” I loved. “What do you wear when you actually want to go out?”
“Well, I can’t dress like shit just because I don't really want to go out with her—it’d be rude.”
He reached out, his fingers trailing along the fringe of my skirt. “Where's this thing been?”
“In the closet. You brought it over,” I reminded him. “I just never get the chance to wear it. I've only worn it like...” My gaze drifted toward the ceiling as I tried to remember. “Once.”
“Don't you think that's too dressed up?” His tone was sexy and flirty as his fingers grazed my inner thigh.
Truthfully, it was too dressy, but that was the point. My wardrobe was intended to deflect attention from my lack of enthusiasm about going out.
“David, stop it,” I admonished halfheartedly, taking a step back before he distracted me from leaving altogether. “Okay, you have our location, so we’re all good, right?
“Yeah, we’re good,” he rasped, his eyes darting between my chest and hips. “Make sure you keep your phone on you.”
“I will.”
“Come ‘ere.” He sat up partway, doing a sit-up, making his stomach muscles bunch as he reached his hand out, easily catching my wrist.
“Babe, I don’t want to mess up my lipstick,” I complained as he pulled me down to him.
“Mess up your fuckin’ lipstick,” he growled as he claimed my lips in a possessive kiss. His tongue slipped into my mouth with long, aggressive licks that had my sex clenching.
When he let me go, his hand landed on my ass with a hard smack. Then he warned gruffly, “Have fun. Be good.”
“Of course,” I murmured, feeling a little dazed. Intoxicated by his kiss, his taste, his dominance.
Dear God, that man’s addictive.
As I entered the garage, I was overwhelmed w
ith emotion I couldn't quite place. It was an intense urge to turn around, go back in the house, change my clothes, and curl up on the couch with him.
It felt wrong going out without David. It felt wrong that he didn't make a bigger fuss about it. And I felt bad. He'd just returned from Italy and was exhausted. I knew he wanted to stay home and had expected me to as well.
Unenthusiastically, I climbed into my car.
CHAPTER SIX
A laugh bubbled up out of me.
Tara was in front of my car, doing an over dramatic disco twill from the seventies, wearing a cropped metallic top with high-waist pants. Despite her antics, it was sophisticated and sexy, making me wish I’d opted for something simpler.
“How you like ‘dem moves,” she greeted, getting into my car.
“Sexayyy.” I laughed, pulling out of the driveway.
“Damn, I need to get a nicer ride,” she said, taking in my RS 7 for the first time.
“I love it,” I gushed. “But I can’t take credit for it. David picked it out and paid for it.”
Barely two minutes later, she said, “Sorry about Kelsey.”
Confused at her abrupt change in demeanor, I looked over at her. “You didn't know. It's not your fault.”
“I don't think David agrees,” she hedged. “He was pretty mad on our call.”
“What call?” I pulled onto the highway, easily navigating through traffic.
“He didn't tell you?” She sounded surprised. “We had a conference call. With our lawyers.”
“When?” I tried to keep my voice casual, and failed.
“Almost three weeks ago.”
Stunned, it took me a moment to process what she was saying. I knew David was handling the Kelsey thing, but he hadn’t mentioned talking to Tara about it since it happened.
“So is that done? Is it settled?” My words were cautious, afraid of the answer.
“Almost,” she sighed. “She settled for four hundred thousand.”
I felt like the air had been knocked out of me. I knew exactly why David didn't tell me. He knew I would stress out about it. Feel guilty.
Settled…?
That was ridiculous.
I couldn't imagine what amount she had asked for in the first place.
When I pulled up to the valet, it was almost eleven. And I couldn't help wondering what David was doing. Was he asleep? Sitting up, worrying about me? Would he send Fergus to watch me?
For some reason that last thought was comforting.
As soon as we entered the familiar space, we were greeted by a hostess. She wasted no time leading us across the dimly lit lounge to the far-left corner and up to a private table.
The roomy, elevated area was a decadent living room design; two long, dark leather couches faced each other with an oversized coffee table in the middle. Four matching leather chairs completed the square seating area. It was dark and cozy.
As was the rest of the lounge. Black and red brick walls, dark hardwood floors. But what really set the tone were the chandeliers and sparse lighting. They created a sexy, intimate vibe while providing a great deal of privacy, making it a favorite spot for Tara and myself. I could barely make out Tara’s features from four feet away.
“Your waiter will be right with you,” the hostess informed us over the loud music before she walked away.
“I want to get a drink at the bar,” Tara shouted as she headed back down the stairs.
I couldn't help but roll my eyes as I followed her, I knew why she wanted to go to the bar; there was no point even mentioning it.
The place was crowded. Really crowded. Thursday night was the night to go out in Hollywood. It was the party night, and it was in full-effect. Within seconds of arriving at the bar, we were surrounded by men. Recognizable men—models, actors, athletes—up close and personal.
Quickly feeling uncomfortable, I reached for my rings. Some girls bit their nails, some twirled their hair, I spun my weddings rings. And that's when I realized I hadn't put them back on after washing my face.
Suddenly, I felt very naked. Unprotected.
While Tara flirted shamelessly, I tried to be polite but not encouraging to our quickly growing group of admirers. I was certain the attention was because of Tara. I couldn't imagine any man in his right mind trying to flirt with me. But when Pitbull’s “Timber” came on, my body started moving, subtly rocking to the beat, unintentionally encouraging the growing crowd around us.
This was one girls’ night I was quickly regretting. I felt trapped, cornered, surrounded by male bodies, and there was no way to get Tara’s attention without drawing more attention to myself. So I decided to play it cool, wait it out, and kept moving to the beat.
It wasn't long before I felt it.
That familiar electric-like hum coursing through my body. Immediately, I was flooded with relief, quickly followed by excitement.
A hand landed on my lower back, but it wasn't the large possessive hand I was expecting.
Then I felt warm breath at my ear and heard, “Is that girl with you Tara Mann?”
Just as I turned to the personal space invader, the unwelcomed touch was gone.
“She's taken.” David's deep voice rumbled behind me, making my heart flutter.
I turned, finding Tara's fan holding his hand up in surrender, trying to explain, his other wrist trapped by the broad hand I'd been expecting. That’s when I saw the sea of men David had to part to get to me.
Oh, no...
When David didn't immediately let go or make any attempt to pull me close, I knew he was expecting a fight. Or wanted one.
Gripping his bicep, I stepped into him, pressing my body against his, trying to refocus him. His shirt did nothing to hide the tense, powerful muscles underneath. He was pissed. He was nearly vibrating with rage. My hips shifted against his as my lips moved to his ear and I explained, “Babe, he was asking about Tara.”
When he didn't respond, I slid my hand down his hard stomach, under his shirt, tucking inside his pants, my fingers just grazing the head of his cock.
“I was hoping you were going to do something sexy and possessive, like the first time,” I hinted. “Not beat up some random guy.”
David let go of the man's wrist but didn't take his eyes off him and didn't say a word.
It felt like an eternity, but it was probably only a few seconds since Tara's admirer had initially approached me.
When David's dark eyes slid to me, his expression was hard, jaw clenched, eyes cold. He was clearly unmoved by my blatant attention. Worried he was about to cause a scene, I awkwardly slipped my hand from his pants and took half a step back.
Before I could say anything, he ducked down, eye level with me, holding my rings up between us. “You forget these?”
Ignoring his accusation, I took them, sliding the eternity band and ten carat rock into place. When I looked back up, he was studying me, his expression unreadable.
I watched him watching me, waiting to see what his next move would be.
Next thing I knew, he was wrapping a strong arm around my lower back, pulling me flush against him, his lips grazing my ear, his breath warming my skin as he growled, “You wanted me to do something like the first time?”
I nodded, his stubble scratching my cheek.
My hands slid up, roaming over his neck and shoulders, feeling the tense swells of muscle there. His possessive hand settled on my hip, squeezing, pulling me tighter to him as he took a deep breath. I felt my nipples tightening, stimulated by the rise of his hard chest and honed body pressed to mine.
“Is that why you left the rings? Hoping I would show up? Is that why you were letting that guy grind against your ass?”
His harsh tone doused my arousal.
Pulling back, I asked, “What guy? No one was touching me.”
“I fucking saw him.” He looked around, then pointed across the bar. “That motherfucker right there.”
I shook my head, holding his gaze and shouted over the music
. “Nobody was touching me.”
He stared me down, still suspicious.
Leaning in, I asked, “Are the rings the only reason you showed up?”
“No, I found them when I started getting ready.”
“Good.” I was far too pleased that he followed me.
“Good?”
I pulled back and nodded.
Entwining our fingers, I led him through the thick crowd of bodies and over to our table.
“This is your table?” David asked, taking the couch in the far corner. He pulled me down with him, placing me between his sculpted body and the arm of the couch, all but hiding me, which was unnecessary. Aside from how dark it was, our seating area was surrounded by a privacy railing, blocking us from view.
“Yeah, Aaron did good.” I tried to adjust to my confined space, while David’s heavy arm settled over me like a seat belt, his hand latching onto my thigh.
“He better—if he knows what's good for him,” David muttered, leaning into me. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Abruptly, he added, “Lemme guess, Tara wanted to go to the bar to get a drink?”
I gave him an apologetic smile. We both knew she only did it to get attention. We had a table; we didn't need to go to the bar.
Just as I was about to explain, the guy walked up the stairs to our table.
"Dude, she's married." David held my hand up, showing him my wedding rings. "To me."
“He really was asking about Tara,” I explained, again.
“N-no,” the guy stuttered. “I'm sorry. I'm Josh,” he introduced himself, extending his hand out for David.
“David,” I reprimanded quietly, elbowing him.
Reluctantly, David shook Josh’s hand. "David.”
I understood David's annoyance. We were at a private table, in a private elevated section, as in we were the only table at the top of the stairs, and the stairs were the only way in or out. And even at the regular tables, this wasn't the sit-wherever-you-want-to kind of lounge.
“Yeah, I know—I know—I'm a huge fan. Sorry about the mix-up. I shouldn’t have…I didn't know—”