Collide (Collide, #1)(34)

“You think I’m having sex with you right now?” she asked, her eyes bulging. “There’s a shitload of people downstairs.”

“Get in the shower, Emily,” he commanded simply.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Dillon? I said no.”

“Come on, Em. It’s just hard for me to see you looking like that and not want to f*ck around,” he calmly replied as he got out of the shower. He walked over to where she was leaning against the vanity. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you while I was gone.”

Pressing his body against hers, he quickly dipped his hand into her bikini bottom, making sure to slide his fingers inside her.

A faint moan escaped her lips as she tried to push him away.

“See, you like that.” His voice notched down huskily as he grazed his lips over hers. Sliding his fingers in and out, he used his other hand to glide her bikini bottom down past her thighs. “This *’s mine. No one else’s, Emily. Mine,” he groaned against her cheek.

As she pushed him away again, a knock came at the bedroom door. Shooting Emily a hard glare, Dillon yanked a towel from the rack, tossed it around his waist, and leisurely strolled over to answer it. It was Trevor, letting him know that a potential client eager to speak with him regarding a commodities plan was downstairs. Within five minutes, Dillon was dressed and out the door to go talk business. Emily was left alone in the room, wondering what the man—whom she desperately loved—was really morphing into.

By the time Emily calmed her nerves, showered, and got ready, it was a quarter past seven, and the party was in full swing. True to Dillon’s words, there had to have been at least 150 people scattered throughout the property. She wove through the crowd of unrecognizable faces as she searched for him. When she couldn’t find him among the masses, she took a seat at one of the bars set up on the patio.

After downing a shot of tequila, a slight pang of guilt for not giving Dillon the little he had asked from her hit the pit of her stomach. He’d emotionally taken care of her through the most difficult time in her life, constantly complimented her on a daily basis—whether it be about her physical or educational attributes—and made her want for nothing financially. Sex in someone’s home—be it crowded or not—shouldn’t have been an issue in her mind.

Before the shortcomings she felt about herself regarding their relationship cut deeper into her heart, Emily caught a glimpse of Gavin from across the pool, talking with a group of women. As he made conversation with them, he used his hands in intimate ways—a slight touch on the nape of the neck to get their attention, a casual brush on the arm as they spoke, or a light press against the small of the back when he would laugh—and the women fell all over themselves when he did. Emily swallowed hard when he glanced in her direction, essentially catching her staring at him. She watched him excuse himself from the eager wannabe-future-Mrs.-Gavin-Blake group as he made his way toward her.

Casually dressed in a white linen shirt and khaki shorts, he approached her with a smile and leaned against the bar. “I find it impossible that a woman as beautiful as you look this evening is sitting here alone.”

Without missing a beat, Emily laughed. “You’re truly a connoisseur of knowing what to say and do to women.”

He cocked a smug brow and smiled. “I don’t know about that; however, I am a connoisseur of making the world’s most delectable ham sandwiches,” he laughed and so did Emily. Holding her gaze, he took a long pull from his beer. “But, really, where’s the man that should be sitting by your side at this very moment?”

She surveyed the crowd again. “He’s around here somewhere.”

As Gavin’s eyes roamed over his guests in an attempt to locate Dillon, his eyes locked on Monica Lemay. She was making her way over to him and Emily, a malicious grin smearing across her face. He hastily excused himself from Emily, letting her know he’d be right back.

Monica rolled her eyes as Gavin approached. “Have you come to give me a warning as well?” She pushed up on her tiptoes and nipped on his earlobe. He recoiled, pulling away from her. “Because there’s no need to do so. I’ve already been thoroughly warned by Dillon to act as if I don’t know him for the evening and to also stay away from his little girlfriend over there, too.”

Gavin glared at her, angling his head to the side, his eyes hard. “Oh, have you? Then why did it just appear as though you were going to say something to her?”

“Can a girl not get a drink from the bar?” she asked, affecting a venomous sneer.

“Go to one of the other bars, Monica.” He leaned down to her ear, lowering his voice to an icy whisper. “You’re a f*cking snake. Don’t think I can’t see through you.” He took a step back. “You stay the f*ck away from her. Do you understand me?”

She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms as she looked away.

“Monica, look me in the eyes and tell me if you see a man who’s easily deterred from ripping your whole world to shreds.”

She drew up a brow, her hazel eyes wide. “What the f*ck is that supposed to mean, Gavin?”

“It means that Blake Industries is a major benefactor in your father’s company. I hold more than seventy-five percent of its stocks. I’ll sell off every single one of them on Monday with a quick phone call.” He leaned in closer, and she took a step back. “Wall Street will have a field day, and by Tuesday, you and your family will be scrounging for scraps in the alleys of Harlem.”