Whoa, epic shade. I hide my smirk, not that anyone’s looking at me. Hawthorne-Douglas might be thick, but he definitely gets her message loud and clear.
With an embarrassed nod, which makes him look like a fucking turkey, he turns to leave. His girlfriend, instead of following him, leans over the table to Violet.
“Congratulations, Vi,” she says in a breathy tone that for some reason makes my flesh crawl. “Not every girl gets a date with her teenage crush, whose face she used to plaster all over her bedroom wall.”
…
Violet
Monica gives me her die, bitch, smile before she swirls about, takes Geoff’s hand, and disappears back to their table.
Kill me now.
My face is burning, and I don’t need a mirror to know how terrible I look, especially compared to Monica’s classic blonde beauty.
So much for mentally patting myself on the back for letting Geoff know what I think of him—or, rather, that I don’t think about him anymore. I should’ve known Monica wouldn’t take that lying down.
I can’t look at Lucas, so grab the champagne bottle and pour myself another glass. My hand shakes, and a few drops splash onto the tablecloth. God, how much have I drunk?
Since I can’t remember, I slug down half the glass instead, and a happy buzz vibrates through my mind, temporarily dulling the excruciating humiliation pulverizing my entire existence.
My teenage crush. That’s so low, even for Monica. Hiding under the table is looking better by the second.
“Hey, Violet.” Lucas lifts my chin with one finger, and my reflexes are so shot to hell I don’t even pull back so I can keep staring at the tablecloth. At least he’s not laughing at me. Not that he would. But he might want to laugh inside. “Are you okay?”
There’s a soft note in his voice, and all I want to do is drown in his beautiful blue eyes and pretend the last ten minutes never happened. Except they did, and even if he’s too kind to throw the teenage crush comment in my face, it’s going to haunt me every moment we’re together.
“Yes, I’m…” I clear my throat and start again. “I’m fine.” My mouth is so dry it’s like I haven’t drunk anything for a week. I take another quick sip of champagne, and that happy buzz surfaces again. If Lucas can ignore Monica’s bitchy remark, then so can I.
It’s not going to spoil tonight. I finish my glass for Dutch courage because suppose all he sees when he looks at me now is a giggly teenage groupie?
A waiter appears by our table with a bottle of water and two glasses and I watch, faintly bemused, as Lucas places one glass by my plate, before drinking his own water like it’s nectar from the gods.
Stuff that. If I have any hope of making it out of here with my dignity intact I need all the alcoholic help I can get.
Where’s the bloody champagne bottle gone?
Lucas leans over the table and my stomach tumbles and all my nerves go on red alert. Please don’t ask me about the posters.
“Now I’m back in training, I have to watch how much I drink. The boss would fry my nuts if I got pissed tonight.”
I blink, but his face is still a little fuzzy. There must be some kind of filter on the lights. And of course! He’s been given the all clear. Relief washes through me that he’s obviously far more interested in talking about that, than the revelation I used to worship him from afar.
“Well, that would be a disaster.”
“Yeah, I’m quite attached to them.”
This strikes me as insanely funny, and I laugh. Then something occurs to me. “If they’d told you a couple of days earlier, you could’ve gone on tour. What a bummer.”
“But then I wouldn’t be here with you.”
He says the best things. I’m melting inside and have the overwhelming desire to crawl onto his lap and rest my head against his shoulder. From a million light years away, common sense tries to raise its head. He’s a born charmer, Vi.
I know that. But I still love the way his flirting makes me glow inside.
And outside, remember?
This time I manage not to laugh again.
After we order dessert, I need to excuse myself. “I won’t be a minute,” I tell him, as I carefully lay my napkin on the table, and wish I’d worn more comfortable shoes. I’ll die if I wobble on the heels and twist my ankle.
I glide between the tables and reach the bathroom without any heel catastrophe. The bathroom is all bright and glittery with way too many mirrors, but it does have a circular velvet sofa in the middle of the room, which is very film-starry.
When I emerge from the loo, my cocoon of warm smexiness shatters at the sight of Monica washing her hands. Our gazes clash in the mirror. For a second, I’m tempted to go to the wash basin on the other side of the luxurious room.
Sod that. I stalk over and stand next to her, which she clearly didn’t expect, and because I’m going to have the most fantastic sex of my life with Lucas tonight, I rake a disdainful glance over her, from her designer shoes to her salon-perfect hair. Yeah, it’s a little hard to be disdainful when someone looks so well put together, but I give it my best shot.
She sweeps her own glance over me, obviously can’t find any fault, so gives me another of her smiles that are designed to wither her opponent. “Lucas Carter?” There’s a fake friendly tone in her voice. “Where did you manage to find him?”
She might pretend she doesn’t care, but I know Monica from years back, and she’s consumed by curiosity. What a shame I’ve no intention of confiding in her.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Okay, it’s not the most original comeback, but I’m concentrating on applying more lipstick. On second thoughts, I might just leave it, as my lips are still pretty impressive, considering I’ve just eaten. It’s got nothing to do with my oddly uncoordinated hand and the fear I might end up looking like a clown.
Monica gives a tinkling laugh, which I happen to know she cultivated only after years of practice in her bedroom with me and the other girls as her audience. I don’t know why she bothered. It’s as fake as her bloody pledge of friendship was.
I sigh, not because I care any longer that she stole my boyfriend, but because we were good friends, once.
“Honey,” she says, and I steel myself for her inevitable put down, until I remember that I don’t care what she thinks anymore.
Go, me! Yay!
“Don’t get your hopes up. We all know what Lucas Carter’s like, don’t we? And he hasn’t changed much from when we were fifteen and you were so hot for him.”
Wow. She just can’t let it go. It shouldn’t sting, but it does, and what’s worse is it brings back the bitchy thing she said in front of Lucas, when I’d managed to push it to the back of my mind.
When I found out about Geoff and Monica, it was such a shock I was literally speechless. Our paths never crossed afterward, and I never had the chance to tell either of them how much I hated them.
Funny, I don’t hate them anymore. I just think they’re two horrible people who deserve each other.
And then I catch the satisfied smirk on her face. She always got the last word. It was her thing, and she always bragged how nobody could ever get one over her.
As we turn to leave I stop right in front of her, and in my heels we’re almost eye-to-eye. Maybe there is something I need to tell her, after all.
“Yes, I know about Lucas’s reputation. But we’re having fun. And at least I know he’s with me tonight because of me, and not because he wants to suck up to my dad.”
The blood drains from her face, and I almost regret my stabby words. I suppose they were a bit mean, all things considered, but when she draws herself up and looks at me as though I’m muck on her shoe, I’m glad I threw that in her face.
I toss my hair and stalk out, and any lingering nostalgia for the way things used to be die an indifferent death. Finally, the closure I’ve needed.
I drop my lipstick back in my bag. Monica and Geoff can have each other. I’ve got Lucas, even if it�
��s just for a short time.
Condoms, I so can’t wait to use you.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucas
Damn. Talk about the best laid plans…
My original idea of taking Violet onto a nightclub after we finished here is a nonstarter, as she can hardly keep her eyes open.
I stifle a sigh and as we stand up I wind my arm around her waist, not just because I love the way she snuggles against me, but because I’m a bit worried she might trip over. If I hadn’t been so fascinated by the way she drank champagne, I would’ve realized how much it was affecting her. There’s no way I’ll be snapping any strings tonight.
She wraps herself around me as we take the lift, and although my brain is one hundred percent behind doing the right thing, my dick, obviously, has a dirty agenda of its own.
“Lucas,” she breathes against my cheek, as her hips sway in a seductive dance. I grit my teeth. I know she’s not doing it on purpose. Christ, she can barely stand, and I don’t need to be a Nobel laureate to figure out why she drank so much. I send another silent, expletive-laden curse directed at HD into the universe.
I messaged Chad twenty minutes ago, and as we leave the entrance he’s driving up the road toward us. Violet’s clinging onto me and while I’m not complaining, would she be doing this if she hadn’t crossed swords with her ex?
As soon as we hit the pavement, there’s a flash of light from across the street. Instinctively my arm tightens around Violet. Not that the photographer would’ve seen her face, considering she’s nuzzling the base of my throat. Jesus, the hits just keep on coming tonight.
I’ll always give the paparazzi a smile, sometimes a wave. After all, they’re only doing their job, but tonight the only thing I want to give this jerk is a black eye.
Chad has the car door open, and I help Violet inside before following her. At least they won’t get any more photos through these windows, but that doesn’t improve my mood.
I virtually assured her we wouldn’t get hassled tonight. Fucking famous last words.
“I had a wonderful time tonight.” She gives me the most angelic smile as she hugs her bag to her waist, and inside I’m dying. I should take her home, but the house is empty, and what if she’s sick during the night?
Pathetic. Why don’t I admit that I don’t want to leave her alone tonight? Just because she comes back to my place doesn’t mean we’ll end up sleeping together.
Damn fucking right, it doesn’t. I’m not that much of a prat.
“Good.” We link fingers, and she rests her head on my shoulder. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve invited a girl back to my place, but this is Violet, my intentions are totally honorable, and the words lock in my throat.
Dating has never been so complicated. I don’t want her assuming I expect anything from her.
She slides her other hand along my chest, and I kiss the top of her head. Her hair is so soft, I want to bury my face in her red curls and inhale that elusive scent of coconut and cherries.
Not tonight, mate.
It physically hurts to pull back.
“I could stay all night, if you like.” Her whisper hits me right where it shouldn’t, and I gingerly shift my arse in the hope that’ll ease my hard-on.
It doesn’t.
How many times have I wanted her to say this? But even if she’s over her ex, tonight still feels too much like a rebound to me.
Sex isn’t on the menu. I know that, except that’s what Violet’s offering, and for all I know, it’s only because she drank more than she meant to tonight.
Not a great feeling. And not just for my ego, either.
She’s all sleepy-eyed and irresistible, and I steal a lingering kiss. Hell, I’m not a saint, and she tastes like fucking heaven.
“I do like.” I sound feral. Not that she seems mind, as she cups my jaw and tugs me close for another kiss.
Which I take. It’s only a kiss. We’ve kissed before. I’m not crossing any line.
By the time Chad pulls up in the underground car park, I can hardly think straight. Somehow, I manage to get us into the lift, although I don’t remember walking from the car, and as soon as the door closes, she winds her arms around my neck and backs me up against the wall.
Holy shit. Before I can stop myself, I cup her butt, and she melts against me. She’s soft and hot and everything I’ve wanted since the day I met her.
Back off. It’s a faint command, and I don’t even know what it means anymore.
We stumble from the lift to my penthouse, and I kick the front door shut behind me. Violet staggers and laughs, and every reason why this is the worse idea ever slams through my brain.
I rake my hand through my hair and exhale a ragged breath. I’ve never experienced the blue-ball phenomena, but I reckon right now mine are turning purple.
“Do you want a coffee? Hot chocolate?” I back toward the kitchen, and she follows me. Might’ve been a good idea if I’d released her hand first. Unfortunately, I can’t find the motivation.
“No, thanks. I couldn’t eat or drink another thing. Have I told you what a fabulous night I had? Thank you so much.”
“Yeah.” She’s told me several times what a great night she had, which reinforces the whole back the fuck off, Carter, demand. “You’re welcome.”
She sways her hips, as though she’s dancing to music only she can hear, and with every step she makes toward me, I back up a corresponding one. If my body wasn’t burning up in frustrated agony right now, it’d be funny.
I come to a grinding stop against the worktop, and she circles my ear-stud with the tip of her finger, as though it’s the most fascinating thing ever. I swallow a groan. Since when has a girl touching my earlobe been so sexy?
She abandons my stud and grips my shoulder, before kicking off her shoes and dropping about four inches. There’s no reason why that should be such a turn-on, but I’m way beyond rationalizing anything tonight. Even her sigh of relief and look of bliss that washes over her face is bloody irresistible.
“That’s better. My shoes were killing me.”
I grunt something unintelligible, because my brain’s given in and migrated south. My fingers plunge through her hair and tangle around the chain of tiny flowers threaded through her curls.
“Ouch.” She winces, pulls free of my other hand and with more luck than skill we manage to free the chain from her hair.
“Better?” I drop the flower chain on the worktop and then grip the edge of it so I’m not tempted to pull her back in my arms.
“Mm, much.” She’s gazing at me as though I’m the only guy in her world, but her eyelashes keep fluttering, as though she’s on the point of falling asleep standing up. “I’m finally going to see your bedroom tonight, Lucas.”
And I won’t be in there with you. How many times have I wanted her to see my bedroom? Talk about being specific when you make wishes.
“Yep, you are.”
“It’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this.” She hooks her fingers into my belt, and while that’s usually a sexually provocative move, I have the feeling she’s doing it more to keep herself upright than anything else.
“Okay,” I respond to her comment, because what am I supposed to say? I don’t want to know about her sex life with that creep. “Bed, then?”
She sinks against me, her fingers wedged beneath my belt. So near, and yet so far. I swallow a groan and focus on…fuck, I have no idea what to focus on, when right now Violet fills my entire universe.
“I thought you were never going to ask.”
This is torture in its purest form. She’s saying and doing everything I’ve fantasized about, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.
“Right.” I swing her into my arms, and she gives a breathless laugh and buries her face against my neck. Did I really think carrying her was a better idea than walking?
Yeah, sure. But not for any altruistic reasons.
Her breath is hot and uneven against my skin, and
I grit my teeth against temptation. She drifts feather soft kisses along my throat, and her fingers trail across my jaw. I can’t even remember my own bloody name.
I don’t switch on the lights when I enter my room. It’ll be hard enough leaving when I can only see her outline in my bed, but unfortunately the light spilling in from the hallway gives more than enough illumination. Somehow, I manage to rip back the covers enough so that I can lay her down. She stretches like a contented cat, and her gorgeous tits almost spill free from her tight dress.
Jesus. I break into a sweat and take a hasty step back.
“Lucas.” It’s a soft, seductive invitation, and my mouth dries. Get out of here.
“Yes?” Maybe she needs some water. Or the bathroom.
Maybe she needs me.
That’s not fucking happening.
“Where’re you going?” She sounds so sleepy it makes my chest ache.
“Just, uh, into the kitchen.” To put my head in a bucket of cold water.
“Don’t be long.”
“I won’t.” I linger by the door, as she curls onto her side. After a minute or so, when she hasn’t moved, I risk checking up on her.
Her breathing is even, her body relaxed. She had no problem falling asleep.
Holding my breath, in case I accidentally wake her, I carefully drape a sheet over her. Her hair is spread across my pillows, her cheek is cushioned on her hand, and she’s so damn beautiful it’s hard to breathe.
Although I haven’t brought a girl back here, as I haven’t wanted anyone else from the day I met Violet, plenty of girls have slept in my bed, and not once have I ever left them alone in it.
Sure, I could sleep next to her without touching her. It’d kill me, but I could do it. Except I don’t think she’d ever forgive me. It’s like taking advantage, even though all I’d do is breathe in her scent and share body heat.
Because I’m clearly a masochist when it comes to Violet, I stealthily crouch beside her, and brush a soft kiss on her cheek. She doesn’t ever stir.
Just leave, already.
It’s gonna be a long night.
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