Grounded (Up in the Air, #3)(49)

Javier laughed. “Look at Stephan,” he said. “Us hugging has made his day.”

I pulled back to look.

Stephan was across the lounge, standing next to Jessa, grinning at us like he’d just been granted a wish.

Javier toasted him with the dark red martini that the bartender had left for him on the bar while we’d been talking.

“That looks tasty,” I told him, pointing at his drink.

His brows lifted. “Want me to order you one?”

I shook my head. “Alcohol doesn’t really agree with me. I don’t seem to have a spot between dead sober and crazy drunk.”

He held the glass out to me. “Just taste it. It’s a black raspberry martini. It’s Red’s signature cocktail. It’s my new favorite drink.”

I took the glass from him, sniffing it. It smelled good. “What’s in it?” I asked, taking a very tiny sip, and, tasting it, a slightly bigger one.

“Chambord, raspberry vodka, and blood orange juice.”

“It tastes awesome. What’s Chambord?”

“Raspberry liqueur. To die for, right? Best tasting drink ever.”

I nodded. “So good.”

I felt a hard body press against me from behind, and I stiffened. I handed Javier his drink.

“How many of those have you had?” James purred in my ear. He dug a hand into my hair, gripping a tight handful of it into a fist. His other arm snaked around my waist from behind, gripping a hip in his hand.

His tone was silky smooth, but I still heard the menace in it.

“None,” I told him calmly. “Javier just let me have a taste of his.”

“Are you going to drink tonight?” he demanded.

I hadn’t been planning on it, but his tone and his attitude almost had me changing my mind.

“I hadn’t been planning on it,” I said finally.

“That’s good,” he said, smooth as silk. “You know I don’t care for alcohol. And I won’t f*ck you mindless when you’ve been drinking.”

My eyes shot to Javier. James hadn’t bothered to lower his voice, but the other man hadn’t seemed to notice.

James turned me in his arms, his hold unbreakable. He tilted my chin up until I had a clear look at his tarnished eyes. “Tell me something,” he began in that silky tone. “Is it romantic or psychotic when I say that I’ll never let you leave me?”

I studied him. I just couldn’t tell if there was even a hint of humor to his words when he was in this mood. “I suppose that would depend on whether I’m trying to leave you or not. If I never tried, it’s romantic, and if I ever did, and you didn’t let me, definitely psychotic. Why are you trying to scare me, James?” My voice was steady and calm. I would cope with this. I would not run just because he was acting so strange.

His smile was a bitter twist to his pretty mouth. I didn’t like it a bit. It spoke of secrets and fears. “I’m not trying to scare you, Love. I mean to keep you. I’m just trying to gauge how badly you want to be kept.”

“I want you to tell me what’s going on. Is it something to do with that conversation you had with Roger?”

His brows shot up. “So happy you asked about Roger. I just finished having a meeting with him, and he’s dying to meet you, so he’ll be here shortly. You’ll like him. Very nice man.”

I traced a finger down the smooth plane of his cheek. I rubbed at a spot there where it dimpled when he smiled. “So you refuse to tell me? Is that how it’s going to be with us?” I asked him.

The mask he’d been maintaining slipped for an instant, giving me a glimpse into raw, desperate eyes.

“No, Bianca. I want us to share everything. I mean that. Will you just give me time?”

“Will you stop acting like the world is about to fall down around us?”

“Yes, of course. If I know that you’re devoted to me, and devoted to us staying together, it will help immensely.”

“I’ve told you how I feel. But you can’t make me depend on you so quickly, so desperately, and then close yourself off. I can’t take that, James. It raises all of my defenses—sets off all of my alarms, when you act scared and secretive.

He nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’ve been on edge with a crucial negotiation. It is a lose-lose type of scenario. I’ll try not to take it home with me anymore. Ah, here comes Roger.”

Roger was an attractive man, with slate gray hair and a face that looked like it had been lined and weathered with smiles rather than frowns. He was a fit man, maybe in his early fifties. His smile was big and sincere as he approached us.

“Leave it to James to drag me clubbing in my fifties,” he said by way of greeting.

I smiled at him. He held out a hand, and I pulled back far enough from James to shake it.

“I’m Roger, an old friend of the family. And you’re Bianca. I’ve heard so much about you. I begin to see why my young friend has turned over a new leaf.” His tone was rich and warm with sincerity.

A waiter approached our group, looking nervous and anxious. James leveled a hard stare at him that made the waiter’s anxiety understandable.

“Mr. Cavendish, sir. Jeff, the manager, needs a moment of your time.”

James watched the other man, his cold stare the epitome of intimidation. “Really? He needs my presence right now? Does he think that I’m here for business?”