Hard Beat(39)

My dick’s hard in my pants, the taste of her kiss is on my tongue, yet again the niggling idea that she’s playing me hits me hard and causes me to tear my mouth from hers. My hands frame her face, holding tightly as I stare through the moonlit night into her desirous eyes, and our labored breaths reflect the restraint that’s nonexistent between us.

She came to me. She wanted a game. She kissed me first. Fucking déjà vu hits me and won’t let go as much as I want to toss it off the side of the damn building and forget all about it! But I refuse to be the next in her line of men here, refuse to be the pawn in her rigged game of chess when I can’t figure out the endgame.

“I want you,” she murmurs, voice thick with need, eyes coaxing me to believe her as she leans forward and brushes her lips to mine again.

And f*ck… I want to sink into her in so many ways, but I grab onto the slippery slope of my resolve, and my fingers tighten on her cheeks to push her away from me.

“I’d much rather f*ck you than the consequences. And believe me… I will,” I tell her, my voice strained, licks of desire snapping at my nerves trying to singe my senses into overriding my rational mind. “But it will be of my own volition. Not because you came to me with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and an agenda in your back pocket.”

“I’m not —”

I use my lips to cut off her retort and to satisfy the loud voice in my head telling me that I’m f*cking crazy for pushing her away. And I know it’s a mistake the minute I taste her, but I don’t care. As soon as I’ve branded my lips to hers, I tear them away just as quickly.

“Don’t lie to me to avoid giving me more reasons to dislike you. I don’t play dirty like you. I take what I want when I want it, and hell if I don’t want you, Beaux… but not like this. Not with some deceptive pretense wrapped around us like the sheets I want to lay you down on.”

“There’s no agenda,” she says, her voice soft and even with a tinge of disbelief that I’m reacting this way, yet there’s something in her eyes that tells me differently.

“I call bullshit, rook.” And this time I’m fully aware of the double entendre of her being a rookie and the chess game she’s playing with me. “You want something from me, and it has to do with whatever you’re hiding up your sleeve. So now we’re playing this game on my terms from here on out. How’s it feel to want something you can’t have?” My gaze flickers from her eyes in time to catch the quiver of her bottom lip before she shoves back from me, the sting of rejection clear on her face.

“I understand more than you’ll ever know,” she whispers. And I swear in the short glimpse I have of her eyes before she turns on her heels and walks away, I see tears glistening.

Her footsteps resonate off the rooftop until I can’t hear them anymore when she enters the stairwell. I’m left in the darkness of the night with my unsettling thoughts.

Alone.

Defeated, I flop back on the mattress behind me and put my hands behind my head as I try to make sense of what just went down. Was I justified in rejecting her? Because if the ache in my balls is any indication, they aren’t too happy with my decision.

“Fuck.” I blow out a breath as I scrub my hand over my face before staring at the stars above me. The certainty I had that she was playing me is no longer there. And I always trust my gut, so why is it twisting right now from pushing her away and accusing her of using sex when she’s denied it over and over in regard to the first time we slept together?

And I think the part that’s getting me the most – that little f*ck-you lift to her chin, the one that says she’s being defiant and defensive, never showed its face. Instead, I was granted a glimpse of a woman hurt from unexpected rejection with a touch of insecurity and vulnerability thrown in there.

The look on her face runs through my mind in loops, confusing me and calling to me all at once.

Guess it’s time for this pawn to move past its zone of protection and face the queen.





Chapter 10





T

his is so f*cked up.

Once again I find myself searching Beaux out to… what? Apologize? Make sure she is okay? Spend more time trying to figure out what’s hidden behind that tough facade that I catch a glimpse of every once in a while?

Damn woman is going to drive me insane.

My knuckles rap on her door and the sound echoes in the quiet corridor, but this time I can hear music on the other side of it, so I know she’s in there.

“Go away.” Her voice is muffled, but I can still make out what she says.

“C’mon, Beaux… We need to talk.”

There’s no response this time, and so I rest my head against the door. I’ve got to try to fix whatever the hell I need to fix here, because not only have I gone from needing to break in a new photographer, but now I’ve added to that trying to figure out the irrefutable connection we have.

What’s causing me to blame Beaux for tugging on those strings inside me that at the end of the day I want left knotted and impenetrable because once they start to unravel, I can never seem to stop them? Even though I know that about myself, I can’t seem to control it.

I used to try and convince Stella that it was this environment, as well as the experience of being on location for extended periods, that caused everything to be expedited: feelings, reactions, a sense of urgency. Adrenaline becomes a new aphrodisiac when you meet someone against this backdrop. She’d just laugh at me and call me a paradox: the alpha male who loved the thought of falling in love.