by Sara Cate
Finally, she turns away for a moment, mumbling something about checking on her father.
Savannah and I each have a drink, staying quiet as we watch the crowd. There’s gentle music playing, and it takes me a few minutes to notice the live band playing on the other end of the room. Everyone is mingling, grabbing food from trays being carried by waiters.
Yeah, definitely not my scene.
We both notice some rich asshole on his way over to talk to us. Savannah ordered the same drink as me, and I have to admit the sight of her with a lowball in her hands and not some glass of wine makes her that much more sexy. I don’t even care what this dickhead is about to say to us because all I can think is that there will be nothing stopping me from taking Savannah as soon as we’re home.
“Frank Hamilton, Coast-to-Coast, commercial real estate,” the man says as he puts out his hand.
I grimace at him as I slowly take my hand out of my pocket to shake his, even though I really don’t want to. I’m here representing Hazel so I won’t be too much of a dick.
“Murph,” I answer. Savannah looks up at me as I say my name, quickly taking a drink of her whiskey and averting her eyes.
“Just Murph,” she mutters against the rim of her glass.
“This is Savannah,” I answer with a hard glare in her direction. He shakes her hand and I feel myself watching him fiercely, afraid of the fucked up thoughts in his head when he looks down at her dress.
“I sit on the board with your benefactress, and I have to say, I’ve always admired Ms. Whitaker’s fierce business behavior.”
“If you think she’s fierce...” I mutter, and Savannah laughs into her drink.
Hamilton laughs too, but his chuckle is forced and clearly uncomfortable.
“Well, I won’t beat around the bush then,” he says.
“Good idea.”
“There are a lot of eyes on that property on the strip, hopes of building a new shopping district on Wickett, and that means a major opportunity for you to become a very rich man.”
My arms cross as I stare at this guy. He has all the marks of a rich yuppy asshole. Perfect, young skin, fair features, no calluses on his hands. He wants to take something very important from me, and he thinks his money is enough to do it. I want to punch him in his perfect nose for even having the nerve to walk over here to talk to me.
“Not interested,” I say flatly.
“I had a feeling you’d say that,” he laughs, taking a sip of his drink. He smiles at me a moment, like he’s strategizing his next plan of attack. Then his gaze wanders over to the beautiful young girl standing next to me, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from swearing at him.
“Surely, you can talk your man into this,” he says with a wide smile.
“Oh, he’s not my man,” Savannah answers. Her tone matches mine, cold and colorless, but her words sting. I sure as fuck am her man, whether or not she knows it. At least for tonight.
Hamilton’s face brightens. “Is that so?”
He leans in, placing his arm behind Savannah, his hand drifting far too low for my comfort. Why did Hazel send me to this thing? Did she set me up to make a scene? Maybe even get arrested. She would do something like that.
“Well, if you’re not attached to this big party pooper, what do you say to a walk around the club? I’d love to show you the balconies. They have an amazing view, and it’s just about sunset.”
I could crush my glass in my hand as I wait for Savannah to elbow this asshole in the dick and tell him to fuck off, but she doesn’t. She keeps her eyes on me, the wheels in her head obviously turning. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking.
My face is stone cold as she looks up at him. “That sounds lovely.”
I’ve never felt so compelled to control a woman before, but at this moment, I want to tear her out of that douchebag’s arms and throw her over my shoulder without putting her down until we found a private part of this building.
As she walks away, I can only think about that first day, the day she clutched onto my body for dear life, desperate for affection. Is she headed up to some private balcony to do the same thing with Frank Hamilton? Is she destined to break my heart into fucking pieces? Does she even know that she has that ability?
I stick back for a minute, gritting my teeth and watching her walk away. I’m not going to make a scene, act like an idiot, but I will keep an eye on her, and as long as she’s staying at Hazel’s, Savannah is mine.
My eyes don’t leave her as she ascends the stairs, until that is, a face across the room snatches up my attention.
Colin-Fucking-McAffery.
I shouldn’t be surprised to see him here. He’s on the city council, has his hands in everything, I’m sure. If that blonde knew I’d be here, then I’m sure Colin knew as well.
To my pure luck, he spots me at the exact moment I’m glaring at him. He doesn’t look like he changed much. He was a selfish prick when we were kids, and I can guarantee he still is today. He walks over, but before he gets too close, I turn back to the bar and order another three fingers. I can’t deal with this shit sober.
“Is that...Murphy?” he asks, his voice too high and too tense. Colin and I have never been kind to each other. Not once in all of our years. When he has to come into the shop for anything, he treats me like the dirt under his shoes, and I spend the whole time wishing I could put him under my shoe.
“Murph,” I grumble into my glass.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself. Then, when he’s out of earshot from anyone else, he lets his guard down a little. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I’m here for Hazel Whitaker.”
“I know that, but why? You think because you’re one of her little cradle-robbing sex trips down memory lane, you can show up here like you belong? Owning a piece of real estate on the strip doesn’t put you on the board. She can’t pass that down.”
“Well, I do know that as long as I own my little piece of real estate, there’s nothing you can do to take it, you privileged asshole.” We’re keeping our voices so flat, that I’m sure people can tell there’s some animosity between us, but it would appear they are all ignoring our little fight.
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he sneers just before he walks away. I want to punch a few of those white teeth out of his face, watch him bleed all over this marble floor, and I’m not even a violent guy.
Frank has too much cologne on, and it’s burning the inside of my nose whenever he leans in too close. I wouldn’t be romantically interested in Frank Hamilton if he promised me a private yacht and a hundred years of solitude. Everything about him is fake, even his smile. It’s like he’s trying to sell me on the idea of sleeping with him, always a salesman.
The only reason I walked off with him is because I need a good connection to buy the shop. A thought that still makes my insides turn to stone whenever I think about it.
I have a running mantra in my head whenever I get overwhelmed with the thought of it.
Murph is just another guy. I have to take care of myself first.
Murph is just another Hugo, really. I could put all of my faith in him, devote myself to our relationship, and end up so desperate to get out that I drive my car off a bridge.
And I’m never going back to that shit.
So, I need a buyer. The market is competitive, and primed to make me rich enough for a fresh start.
“I thought you wanted to talk about real estate,” I say to Frank as he tries flirting with me on the upper-level balcony. His hand is glued to my backside, right where my lower back begins to curve into my ass. He’s drumming his fingers against my spine, leaning in too close for comfort. His breath smells like top shelf vodka.
I fucking hate vodka.
“Oh, the lady wants to talk shop, huh?” he says as he leans back. “What’s your stock in that shop? Why do you care?”
“Because I might be interested in buying it myself,” I lie.
Frank laug
hs, and I narrow my eyes at him. I couldn’t hate this guy more. When the time comes, I hope someone else outbids him so I don’t have to do business with him.
“Why would he sell it to you?” he asks, his words starting to slur.
“Because he sure as hell won’t sell it to you,” I laugh, teasing him. He snickers again, putting too much effort into the fakeness of it.
“Now let me guess. You want me to tell you what the going offer is so you can go in higher?”
I shrug. He practically took the words out of my mouth.
“You don’t have that kind of money,” he says, but he phrases it like a question. Suddenly, I just became a lot more attractive to him, and it makes me want to puke.
“A lady never tells,” I whisper, dragging him along like a stupid little puppy. I could say anything to him, as long as it includes the promise of sex or money, he’d follow.
“What’s in it for me?” he asks, squeezing my ass and pulling me close.
I grit my teeth as I look away, avoiding the overbearing smell of his breath. It’s clear Frank Hamilton is useless to me, and I’m done. “If you want to have a hand left to cash a check, you better take it off my ass,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
His reaction is delayed, like he can’t believe a woman put him in his place. “Whoa, honey.” He takes his hands off my body—smart man—and steps away. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
“I’m not your honey or your sweetheart. I’m Hazel Whitaker’s family, and you should really know better than to try to do business with someone while you have your hand on their ass. I’ll find another buyer.”
Then I walk away, and for the most part, I’m really unshaken. I watched Hugo do so many transactions that he bluffed his way through, I learned a thing or two.
Frank tries to call me back a few times, but quits before I get to the door to avoid the attention of the other partygoers on the balcony. I’ll give him credit though, the view was beautiful.
Just as I pass through the huge doorway back onto the top floor landing, I stop when I see Murph standing against the low wall, watching me intently.
Was he watching our entire conversation? The look in his eye says he either wants to tear someone apart or devour me whole, and I’m equally scared of both.
“You should have broken his hand,” he says flatly.
I let out a laugh. “You saw that? I was tempted, to be honest.”
As I join him against the low balcony, I notice the tension in his jaw. I’ve noticed he clenches it when he’s frustrated, and I can see the thick hair of his beard pulse when he clenches.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask with a smile. The whiskey is kicking in. “Did someone have their hand on your ass too?” Nudging him with my elbow, I try to make him smile, but it doesn’t work.
“I hate this shit,” he grumbles as we both turn and rest our arms on the low wall overlooking the party below.
“Me too,” I answer, which is mostly true. This is so different than the world I knew before, but also...sort of the same. These people bullshit the same way Hugo would bullshit with his connections. Hugo was ambitious. He wanted to rise up, get richer, gain power, and I see the same thing in people like Frank Hamilton.
I notice a younger guy, blonde as Tia, staring up at us. There’s a teasing smile playing on his lips. Next to me, Murph holds up a middle finger.
“Who’s that?”
“Some asshole I knew in high school.”
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. High school? It’s hard to even imagine Murph as a teenager, let alone collecting memories from those days. It’s not hard to imagine him making enemies though, and something about it makes me laugh.
The blonde guy won’t take his eyes off of us, and it takes me a moment before I realize he’s looking at me. With the way I’m leaning on the rail, it’s clear he has a solid view of my cleavage and probably doesn’t notice much else.
He winks at me.
My head turns to see Murph basically seething.
“Jealous?” I tease him.
He snaps, his eyes wide and aimed directly at me. Then, I lean in, pressing my lips to his, giving the guy—and everyone else on the first floor—a good show to watch.
Murph moves from shocked to ravenous in a heartbeat. His hands clutch my hips, digging the sequins into my flesh.
“Let’s go,” he growls as he turns and tries to head down the stairs.
“I’m not ready to go.”
Murph stops in his tracks at the top step. He turns and stalks toward me. “I’ll carry you out of here on my shoulders if I have to.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” I answer. Then, he moves toward me, his arm reaching for my hips. “Okay! Okay!” I call before he can actually get me off the ground.
His eyes glance toward the right, where a door opens leading to a hallway of some sort. Murph’s eyes move back to my face, and it’s like I read his mind because I know exactly what he’s about to do next. He grabs my hand and leads me gently toward the door.
Tearing it open impatiently, we find a quiet hallway that leads to a set of bathrooms and the coat closet. I kissed him so his little rival could see, but no one can see us here.
Before I can say anything or ask any questions, Murph pushes me against the wall. His mouth is on mine, and I gasp into the kiss, desperately stealing his kisses in return.
His hips press me against the wall so firmly that I let out a yelp. The taste of his kiss takes me back to the tattoo shop, the start of something we didn’t finish. I wrap my hand around his neck and pull him closer. I can’t get him close enough or squeeze him tight enough. It’s like I want to absorb him.
“You’re driving me crazy in that dress,” he growls against my neck. His mouth moves down my chest, kissing along my neckline, his thick beard sending chills through my body.
If he lifted my dress, I’d give myself to him right now. I’m that far gone for him. I’d let him fuck me against the wall of this hallway, and I wouldn’t care if anyone walked in or watched us. And I honestly think if I didn’t stop it, we would.
“Let’s get out of here,” I pant, digging my fingers into his thick hair, messing up the perfect curl he had when we walked in the door.
Just as I say it, the door opens and a waitress pops in, stopping when she sees us. She’s hovering in the doorway in shock.
“Get the fuck out of here,” he says in a deep, gravel-like bark.
I can’t help but laugh into his neck when the woman, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, turns and scurries out. As soon as we’re alone, his lips return to my mouth. He pulls up my dress in a rush, and I feel the cool air on my exposed backside. His fingers dig into the flesh as he lifts me off my feet.
“I thought we were kissing so that guy thought I was yours,” I breath against his mouth.
“They better fucking know you’re mine.”
My heart flutters. Just hearing him say the word mine sends chills through my nerves. This is bad, but I can’t seem to stop it.
The front of his pants are consumed by the hardness beneath, and he grinds it against the perfect spot between my legs, causing me to whimper. It’s everything we did before, but this time I want more. This time I’m not going to run away.
I can’t get enough of his mouth, the texture of his beard against my lips. The gentle softness of his tongue as it caresses mine.
He grinds against me again, and I’m suddenly desperate for him to peel away the thin piece of fabric between us. I want him inside me in this hallway right now. The thought of him slamming home over and over, the two of us fogging up the windows of the door to the ballroom, gasping and panting so others can hear, has me purring with pleasure again.
“Let’s finish this at home,” he says, putting me down.
I groan my complaint as he pulls down my dress and drags me out the door before I can even fix my hair. His hair is still sticking in ten different directions. All eyes are on us, and I know my cheeks are still bright red as we mak
e our way to the valet desk.
There’s not one thought in my head about deeds or wills, but the warning still lurks in the back of my mind. I shouldn’t be doing this. Murph is the last person I should be getting emotionally involved with at the moment, but I have myself convinced—it’s just sex.
I refuse to take my hands off of her in the car on the ride home. One hand is reaching across the console as I drive, squeezing the inside of her thigh and just thinking about the moment when I get to tear away that dress and lose myself in that perfect body of hers.
We don’t say a word in the car, but we steal hot kisses during the long red lights. I don’t know what this thing is between us. I’ve never felt this way before. The most intensity I’ve ever felt has been alcohol-induced, late night bar encounters. But this thing with Savannah...is different.
I don’t normally want to claim girls. But I want to claim her. I don’t want anyone else’s eyes or hands on her again.
When we pull up to the house, we both freeze at the sight of an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Instinct says it must be the hospice nurse...until I notice the Nevada plates.
“Is that Shelby?” she asks quietly.
“No,” I growl. My hand leaves her leg, and I notice her slump in her seat when it does. She can feel the change in the air.
“Do you know who it is?”
I don't answer her. I have to confirm before I get angry over nothing. After parking the car in the garage, I open her door and walk her inside with my hand at home on the back of her spine. If this is who I think it is, I don't want Savannah leaving my side for even a second.
His deep voice echoes through the foyer as we walk in the door. The heat I felt a few minutes ago with the prospect of having Savannah is gone now. I’ll still have her, I tell myself. After I deal with this mother fucker.
He must be talking to Ruby because I can hear her murmur an affirmative to his every statement. “I drove all day,” he says. “It was a long drive, but I couldn’t miss this. Thanks for calling.”
“I told her not to,” I bark as I walk into the living room.