Hard Rules (Dirty Money #1)(14)

“Bathroom?” Susie asks.

“Yes,” I say. “Please.”

“Behind me and all the way to the back and left.”

“Great. Thanks.” Following her directions, I cut left, away from the exit, relieved Shane hasn’t shown up, and actually thankful I haven’t made it out the door. If I’m to start a new life, I can’t hide in my apartment out of fear. I have to pay the bills, which means navigating Shane and every other person, and situation, I might face. This is my life now and I have to learn to cope with questions I don’t, and won’t, answer.

I pass through the dimly lit dining room that is far too long, giving me way too much time to think and yet I can’t think. I reach a long hallway that cuts left. I’m almost at the bathroom door when suddenly my wrist is shackled, and another second later, I’m against the wall, with Shane’s big body crowding mine.

My hands land on the hard wall of his chest, his legs framing mine. “What are you doing?” I demand.

“You’re upset.”

“You just shoved me against a wall in a hallway,” I say. “Yes. I’m upset.”

“That’s not why you’re upset.”

“I’m a very private person.”

“Good. So am I.”

“You have me shoved against a wall,” I repeat. “In a public place. And you kissed me. In a public place.”

He cups my face. The act is possessive, a claiming driven home by the way that autumn scent of his teases my nostrils. “That wasn’t a kiss,” he declares, his mouth closing down on mine, his tongue pressing past my lips. The instant it finds mine, the taste of spiced cognac fills my senses. Another lick and I moan, my fears, the public place, and my secrets fading away, for the first time in an eternal month. This, him, is what I craved this night. Not brown butter ravioli and fancy wine. I don’t fight to remember the privacy I’ve declared I value. My fingers curl around his shirt, and suddenly I am kissing him back, my body swaying into his, the warmth of his seeping into mine, but it doesn’t last.

As if he was waiting for my total submission, he tears his mouth from mine, denying me his kiss, and I’m left panting. “That was an appetizer,” he declares, his voice a low, sultry rasp. “And you were right. Alone is better, which is exactly how I planned to spend this night. Until I saw you and alone wasn’t better anymore. And now I know why. You want what I want.”

“Which is what?”

“No complications.”

Relief and the promise of the escape I now know I’d hoped for rushes over me. “Yes. Yes, but you keep—”

“Thinking about kissing you. That’s all I could do sitting at that table. And I should warn you. When dinner is done, I’m going to do my damn best to convince you to go somewhere else with me where we can be alone.” He covers my hand with his. “Come. I’m going to feed you, because if I have my way, you’re going to need your energy.”

He starts walking, taking me with him, and I grab his arm. “Wait.” He pauses and turns to look at me, those intense gray eyes of his stirring a giant dose of nerves in my belly that I shove aside. “I don’t want to go back out there.”

He narrows his gaze on me, his big hands settling on my shoulders. “What are you saying?”

“I prefer somewhere else,” I say, and my voice is remarkably steady considering I’m so out of my comfort zone with this man and my actions tonight that I don’t know what I’m doing. But what I do know is that I don’t want to spend the one night I have with this incredible man at a dinner table.

He stares down at me, his expression unreadable, seconds ticking like hours before he asks, “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” I confirm, and it’s a relief that I mean it, that nothing dictates this choice but my own wants and needs. “I’m sure.”

Again, his reply is slow, and he seems to weigh my words before one of his cheeks presses to mine, his breath a warm tease on my ear and neck as he whispers, “I want you to leave with me, but be clear. That means I will f*ck you every possible way, with the full intent of ensuring that I’m the man you compare all others to.”

Every nerve ending I own is suddenly on fire with the bold words that I know are meant to test my resolve. I do not intend to fail. Not this night. “You can try,” I whisper.

He eases back to look at me, the gray of his eyes now flecked with pale blue fire. “You, Emily, are a contradiction I cannot wait to explore.” I don’t have to ask what he means. I am a contradiction, and in ways he can’t begin to understand. He takes my hands again. “Let’s pay the bill and get the hell out of here.”

“Yes,” I agree, barely speaking the word before he’s walking again and this time I let me lead me forward.

Together, we enter the dining room, side by side, walking through the rows of tables toward the hostess stand, and I am more affected by my hand in his than anything else before this. It’s the unity I think, the sense of being with someone, a fa?ade of course, and that alone cuts deep. I am not with him. I am not with anyone at all and yet tonight I am pretending I am. Maybe that’s the appeal of one-night stands. You get to live the fantasy, experience human touch. Pretend you matter to someone, and them to you, until it’s over.