by G. P. Ching
Chapter 1
Closer
Katrina Laudner ached to be noticed. Within the crowd of college students in the living room of Sigma Nu fraternity, she danced, careful not to spill the contents of her red plastic cup. Her denim skirt scarcely hit her upper thigh. Her cami scooped dangerously low. And the thump-thump of the music the DJ blasted from the corner pounded its way out of her body in a rhythm of invitation. No one noticed. Even half naked, she was wholly invisible.
“What are you drinking?” a velvet voice asked. He was close, close enough for her to hear over the deafening music, close enough to feel breath on her earlobe. Katrina stopped dancing and turned. A boy stood between her and the wall.
“The red juice from the back,” she answered.
He was exceptional in his stillness. The strobe light made the rhythmic mass of people to their left and right jerk with the illusion of disconnected movements. But like an inanimate object, the light had no effect on his image. Every flash was the same.
“Are you here alone?” he asked.
“Yeah. I was supposed to meet my roommate but she never showed.”
“You’re not alone anymore.” He stepped in closer. Navy blue eyes, almost purple, set off his pale skin and black hair. The overly confident smile on his lips did as much to entice her as did the hard line of the jaw it was attached to.
She took another sip from the red cup. The juice she’d scored from the man in the back was spiked with something that burned her throat on the way down. She hoped it made her nice and numb. Maybe then she could play it smooth. Guys could smell desperate a mile away.
“Do you know there’s alcohol in that?” he asked.
“Are you a cop?”
He laughed, a dark, hollow sound that caressed her ear like a lover’s kiss. “No.”
“Then I can safely say that if I didn’t know it was spiked before, I sure as hell know now. I’m pretty sure this stuff could remove nail polish.” She drank again, but couldn’t stop herself from peeking over the top of the cup. Wide shoulders, pierced eyebrow—he was rock-star, chiseled-by-the-gods gorgeous.
He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and pulled her forward, bringing his lips to her ear again. “It’s just … you look underage,” he said.
“I’m old enough.” The heat from the spot where his skin touched hers was almost too much to bear. She went back to dancing a little, breaking the connection.
“Hmm. A lawbreaker, I think. What should I call such a reckless and wild one?”
“Katrina.”
“Do you have a last name or am I to assume you’re so infamous that you don’t need one?”
She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “Laudner. Katrina Laudner. What’s yours?”
“Cord.”
“Cord like what you open the drapes with?” she teased.
“No.” His expression darkened. “Cord like what you strangle someone with.”
Katrina took a small step backward. She thought about leaving altogether but then his face relaxed into a teasing smile. He was trying to be funny.
She shrugged off a foreboding weight that had settled on her chest. That was the problem with growing up in Paris, Illinois. She wasn’t used to anyone different. She was too cautious. “Do you have a last name, Cord?”
“No,” he said. The corner of his mouth tugged upward as he looked over the bump and grind on the dance floor. “Infamous.”
“Nice. I’m beginning to think it begins with a B and ends with astard.”
The smile melted from Cord’s face, replaced with an intensity she’d never seen before—well, maybe in some wild animal show where the predator was about to eat the prey.
Katrina crossed her arms over her chest as if the position could deflect the raw power he’d turned in her direction. An intoxicating scent drifted over her, cinnamon, sandalwood, a dark forest. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply through her nose. She was about to compliment him on his cologne when Cord’s touch made her eyes flip open.
He’d moved in closer. While her eyes were closed, he’d stepped forward until the back of his hand brushed the bare skin above her elbow. The contact made her ache to close what little space was left between them. It stirred something deep within her. Every inch of her became super sensitive, her flesh reaching out for him, knowing he was the source of some unknown thrill.
A hot blush crept across her cheeks. She distracted herself by lifting her cup to her lips again, but it was empty. Had she drank it all so quickly?
“Can I get you a refill?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
He lifted the cup from her grip, never breaking eye contact. “I’ll be back in a moment. Don’t move, Katrina Laudner.”
She didn’t. He slid gracefully between the gyrating students toward the back, giving her a delightful view of the taper of his hair down his neck, wide shoulders, and dark jeans that hugged the curve of his hips. She wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, if he asked her to stand there all night, she might comply.
A new song thumped from the speakers and the crowd went nuts, throbbing to the industrial rhythm. She joined in, arms reaching toward the ceiling.
“I like this music. What’s it called?” Cord was beside her again.
Startled, she stopped dancing. “Oh my God, you scared me. Shit, you were fast.”
Cord handed her the red cup, full now. “Do you know this music?” he asked.
“I think it’s from the nineties. Um, ‘Closer’ I think. Yeah, it’s called ‘Closer.’”
“I like it.”
She sipped her drink, aware that his purple eyes scanned every inch of her as if he were trying to see under her skin. Unnerved, she shifted away from him.
“Hey is this the same punch? It tastes different … like cinnamon or something.” Katrina took another sip and felt the burn travel all the way to her toes.
Cord shrugged. “Where are you from, Katrina?”
The room began to sway and she reached out a hand to steady herself against the wall. “Paris, I’m from Paris, Illinois.”
“Paris?”
“Yeah, I know. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.”
“Oh, I like small towns. I’ve been meaning to visit Paris.”
“Really? Why?” A foggy weightlessness caused her to lurch forward.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I think I’ve had enough. I better quit while I’m still sober enough to find my way home.”
“That sounds ultimately responsible. Was I wrong about your reckless and wild ways?”
She laughed. “I have my moments.”
In front of her, his muscles shifted beneath the drape of his shirt. It was some kind of silky cotton, not too tight, not too loose. The gray fabric beckoned her to reach out and run her hand up his abs and across his chest. Thanks to the red cup, inhibition had packed its bags. On impulse, she rested her palm on his stomach. She swayed on her feet.
A hand caught her lower back. Cord pulled her into his body, effectively holding her up. Taller, he had to lower his chin to meet her eyes.
“You smell good,” was all she could manage. The room floated away. He was her tether to the Earth.
“May I walk you home, Katrina Laudner?”
There was no hesitation on her part. She wanted to fall into him, to press every part of herself up against his hard body. She wanted to cover herself in that delicious smell. “Sure, that would be nice.”
He reached for the empty cup in her hand, nesting it inside his own before setting it on the floor near his feet. Something about the action bothered Katrina and she found herself staring at the cup. A headache bloomed at her temple.
“Are you going to leave that there? I mean, I could find a garbage can. It’s rude.” Her voice sounded muffled, like she was hearing herself through a thick wall of glass.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s okay just where it is.”
Katrina was normally obsessive about neatness.
It bothered her that he wouldn’t pick up after himself. But at the moment, she had more pressing issues. “Whoa,” she said, weaving toward the door. “Whatever was in that drink went straight to my head.”
Cord half carried her through the crowd. Once they were out the door, the fresh air revived her. A moment of clarity came halfway across the deserted walkway of the quad.
“What was in that drink?” She shook her head and inhaled the crisp night air, stepping away from Cord, whose cologne suddenly seemed overpowering. Disoriented, she stumbled toward the gnarled trunk of an oak tree, planting her hand on the rough bark.
“Stay close to me, Katrina,” Cord said. “Girls shouldn’t walk alone. You never know who or what could be lurking in the shadows.”
Much clearer now, Katrina blinked her eyes and focused on Cord. In the lamplight, the black hair and purple eyes, so sensual at the party, looked menacing. The shadow of the tree she leaned against seemed to reach for him, like his presence was a magnet to the darkness. The silhouettes bowed and stretched, rippling under the illumination of the lamppost. Shadows weren’t supposed to bend that way. The air wasn’t supposed to ripple.
“I think I’m hallucinating,” she said from the harbor of the tree’s branches. “I think there was something other than alcohol in that drink.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head again. Had he drugged her? She’d heard of boys slipping things into girls’ drinks. Every college girl had. She was so stupid. What was she thinking, leaving the party with a stranger?
“Relax,” Cord said. His arm snaked behind her shoulders.
When had he moved so close to her? He’d closed the gap between the walkway and the tree in what seemed like the blink of an eye.
“Wait. I need to get home, Cord. I’m not feeling well.”
“Lie down right here, Katrina.” He lowered her slumping body to the grass.