And that just makes Haddie struggle more, fists pound harder, and me laugh louder. When I clear the exit, I keep on walking though. Down the sidewalk, the whole two blocks to my conveniently and centrally located condo.
I hear her say Bastard and Put me down and How dare you? I get puzzled looks from passersby, and I am actually quite shocked that not a single one of them tries to stop me to make sure she’s all right and that I’m not some random psycho kidnapping her. Either the crazy-ass grin on my face tells them all is okay or that I am a lunatic and to back the fuck off. Regardless, I’m so busy trying to concentrate on not dropping her squirrely body that I don’t have a moment to think about this narrative on our society as I normally would.
Of course, by the time I walk up the front steps to my building, Haddie’s skirt has inched up so handily that my arm is touching bare flesh, meaning my only line of sight is toned legs and four-inch heels.
I work a swallow down my throat as I wait for the elevator. I debate taking the stairs—think it might be best to work off some of this pent-up lust, which makes me want to take her up against the elevator wall right now—but I know that she’s going to put up a damn good fight—already has—and I’m going to need my strength to make sure she hears me this time around.
Because I’m not letting her go until she hears what I need to say.
And I need to say a whole helluva lot.
Chapter 13
I can’t focus on much. But the few things I take in between my rage and my incessant pounding on his back is Becks being the ever-consummate gentleman as he carries me down the streets of Los Angeles.
Over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
All the while saying, “Good evening,” to people like he’s on a goddamn Sunday stroll.
I’m seething. Fucking bastard.
I’m tired—my head feels like it weighs fifty pounds as I try to lift it up again to work out where we are—and I’m about to succumb to the exhaustion and sag over him from the mixture of too many shots and expending too much energy when all of a sudden, I’m being thrown through the air.
I’m shocked into what I’d like to think is semisobriety—but really is probably far from it—when I land with a loud oof on the softness of a couch beneath me. But soft or not, the impact of my weary muscles against the cushions is jarring. The moment I hit it, though—the minute my mind catches up with my body—I’m scrambling to get up, to get in his face and ask him how dare he treat me like this.
Before I’m even standing, Becks is on me: knees straddling my hips, hands pinning my wrists on either side of my head. And God, I’m so fucking pissed at him, I want to knee him in the crotch, and at the same time, I want him to lean in closer so that I can devour that sexy-as-sin mouth of his, which is so temptingly close to mine.
I know I’ve had a lot to drink—the alcohol must be making me want him as desperately as I do—because as angry as I am at him right now, all I want is for him to release one of my hands so I can fist it at the base of his neck and force his mouth down to mine. I want to steal a taste of the man who’s been owning my thoughts.
Did he really think I didn’t see him sitting in the club across the dance floor? It was like an electric current buzzing through the room the minute my body became aware of his presence. A lightning strike to my libido. And yet he kept his distance.
The. Whole. Time.
It unnerved me.
Me, the girl who’s always on her game. I knew Cal was there observing how I ran things, but fuck, having Becks there was ten times worse. I tried to tell myself he was there with his friend—that it was merely a coincidence he was at the same club as the Scandalous event—but I don’t put that much stock in fate.
As the night wore on, I could feel his eyes on me the whole time. I knew he was watching and waiting, but for what? He had farmers’-market-what’s-her-name, didn’t he? And then I was hurt thinking about it—also confused—all the while trying to paint a damn smile on my face and make sure everyone was having a good time. Pretend to focus my mind on them when it was always fixated on him.
And with each shot I slung back, the nerves got a little less powerful, and the anger grew a little more. How dare he make me like him? How dare he make me like the idea he was sitting over there just to make sure that I was okay? And how do I know that’s why he was there? Because that’s just the type of guy he is. Fuck, I don’t want that. It’s just not a possibility.
And that made me even angrier.
So another shot down, a smooth line delivered by a decent-looking guy to my alcohol fuzzed mind, and I was so game to be a little festive. To lose myself in him and forget Becks. And then by the time I realized I was progressing from wanting to use sex to forget the grief of losing Lexi to wanting to forget the ache of not allowing myself a chance with Becks, it was too late.
I was kissing the guy except the problem was even with the shots and the high of kissing a different person, the thrill was nonexistent. He wasn’t what I wanted. And then what I wanted was there, all alpha and arrogance and sex on a stick. As Becks pulled him away from me, I was pissed at being caught, at what it looked like, at what he thought of me now. I turned the embarrassment into anger, and a lot of fucking good that did me.
Now the man I don’t want to want is tempting me in so many ways, it’s comical.
And arousing as all get out.
“Let. Me. Go.” I pant out the words as I struggle against him.
“Uh-uh.” He grunts with exertion as I buck beneath him, trying to escape. And of course, I can feel him thick and heavy against my lower belly, and that sets off warning bells to my staunch resolve not to have him, not to want him.
And a slow burn of liquid heat starts to spread from my core through my body, the ache coiling like a loaded spring waiting for its chance to spiral out of control.
“Goddamn it, Montgomery. Calm the fuck down, and I’ll let you go … but you’re not leaving until we talk.”
“Fuck. Off.” The words are out of my mouth before I can filter them. I don’t really mean them but damn if he’s not riling me up something fierce.
He laughs at me. Fricking chuckles at my assertion, and that irks me even more. I hold my head still and look up at him, the shadows and the muted light from the hall playing over the angles of his face. He leans in closer, his mouth a mere whisper from mine, causing my breath to emit a betraying hitch, and says, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to walk away without asking you a single question.” I furrow my brow as his slow, even cadence hits my ears. He licks his lips, and I swear to God, my nipples tighten at the sight alone and the memory of that tongue of his.
“Fuck you.” I grit the words out as I writhe beneath him, struggling within the confines of his thighs, my hips grinding up against his. My thoughts scatter momentarily when I feel him hardening against me. Damn if my desire isn’t surging through my body like the blood in my veins.
He emits a sliver of a laugh—the sound of a man on the edge of losing control—before he continues. “Oh, believe me, I’d love to do just that right now, to fuck you, but I prefer my women to be willing participants in the act … and you, sweet Haddie, are nowhere near compliant.”
Compliant, my ass. He thinks that he can throw me over his shoulder and force me to go wherever the hell we are, and I’m going to be a willing participant? Is he fucking crazy? Obviously. And he’s … he’s … My thoughts are lost as he lowers his mouth to mine.