Fueled (Driven, #2)(121)

“It’s okay,” he says wistfully. “Whoever he is…he’s a lucky man.”

I look over at him. “That obvious, huh?”

“Been there, done that before.” He chuckles as he takes a long sip of his beer. “All I’ll say is the man must be an idiot if he’s willing to let you walk away without a fight.”

“Thanks,” I resign, a flash of a smile lighting up my face for the first time since I’ve met him.

“Wow! There’s a smile,” he teases, “and a beautiful one at that!”

My cheeks flush as I avert my eyes and take a drink of liquid courage. We talk idly about nothing in particular for a while as the lounge slowly fills up and the night progresses. At one point Parker scoots his stool closer to mine as we’re having trouble hearing each other over the increased noise. He’s easy to talk to, and I know that if we were in another place and another time, I’d enjoy his casual attempts at flirting with me, but my heart’s just not in it so his harmless attempts remain unreciprocated.

I’ve had a couple of drinks, and a slow hum is buzzing through my system—not enough to stifle the hurt from the day but just enough to allow me to forget for sporadic moments of time. My attention is drawn to loud laughter outside the open entrance to the lounge, and when I look up, I stifle a gasp as my eyes meet Colton’s. We stare for a beat, and then I see his eyes narrow in on Parker and the angle of his body leaning in to hear me over the noise.

I hear Beckett and Sammy shouting in the background over the noise, and I pull myself away from Parker when I hear Colton growl. I search through the shifting crowd and see Beckett in front of Colton, hands pressed against his chest as Sammy stands behind him, restraining him by the shoulders. Colton is not looking at them at all. His eyes are boring holes into mine as he works his jaw back and forth on gritted teeth, muscles straining in his neck.

I look back at Parker, who has heard the distraction in the hallway but can’t see anything with his line of sight. He looks to me and shakes his head. “Let me guess,” he says with a resigned laugh. “He’s come back to fight for you?”

“Something like that,” I murmur.

I hear more shouting as I look back toward the door and the rest of the patrons have taken note of the chaos ensuing. The noise level has hushed some as all of the onlookers stare and I hear Beckett shout, “No! You’ve got other priorities, Wood!” before I see Colton break free from his grip and stalk through the crowd that parts for him without hesitation.

Parker has since taken note of the scuffle in the hallway, and when he sees who is bearing down on us, I hear him suck in a breath. “That’s the guy?” he says incredulously, with a mixture of fear and astonishment filtering through his voice simultaneously. “Colton f*ckin’ Donavan? Christ, I’m dead!” He groans.

I stand up from the stool and step in front of him. “Don’t worry. I can handle him,” I tell him confidently, but when I catch a glimpse of the unadulterated rage reflected in Colton’s eyes, I question if I can.

And I’m sure it’s the numerous cocktails under my belt and buzzing through my system, but the thought sends an unexpected thrill through me regardless of the events of the past couple of days. Something on his face besides his anger pulls at parts deep within me. It’s that look in his eye. The one that says he’s had enough. That says he’s going to waltz into this room, pick me up, throw me over his shoulder, and take me somewhere to have his way with me. In those few seconds before he reaches me—as I watch the muscles bunch beneath the fitted fabric of his shirt—every part of me below the waist coils with desire. I am so not into the cave man thing, but damn if the man doesn’t make a woman want like no other.

And then when he stops in front of me, those cold, calculating, emerald green eyes visually pin me motionless, and my mind regains control of my traitorous body, pushing my libido to the wayside. “What the f*ck are you trying to pull, Rylee?” he growls, low but it resonates above the chatter of the bar.

I hear Parker shift restlessly behind me. Without looking, I reach my hand back and pat his knee to tell him I’ve got this. “What business is it of yours?” I respond flippantly, the alcohol allowing me to reflect the courage that I really don’t feel.

I’m ready for his hand as it reaches to grab my arm, so I yank it out of his reach before he can grasp it. We stare at each other, both seething for the same reasons. I see Beckett approach us with trepidation in his eyes and Sammy not far behind him.

“I don’t like games, Rylee. I won’t tell you that again.”

“You don’t like games?” I laugh with disgust. “But it’s okay for you to play them?”

He leans in, his face inches from me, his alcohol laced breath feathering over my face and mingling with mine. “Why don’t you tell your little boy toy he can run along now before things get even more interesting?”

Knowing that we have both been drinking and should stop this little charade before we can’t turn back should make me walk away—but rational exited the building a long time ago, leaving crazy and scorned to reign. I shove against his chest as hard as I can to get him out of my face, but he just grips my hands and pulls me with the momentum that I’ve caused. “You. Arrogant. Conceited. Egomaniac!” I shout brokenly at him, unconsciously giving him the meaning behind his nickname, but I know he doesn’t catch it. I fall against him and the action draws even more stares from the crowd around us. Our chests rise and fall with our angry, harsh breaths as we both clench our jaws in frustration.