Bait: The Wake Series, Book One(64)

His mind and silly personality drew me to him, but this new persona said no more f*cking around and that ignited something deep within me.

The man I stepped onto the elevator with made me both boil with serious desire and want to run. His shoulders were set firmer, his spine straight. He changed into a different version of himself. I didn't want the old Casey to go, but in a way I'd pushed him into this. Playful Casey had a menacing air about him now that called to some part in my body that knew it deserved punishment.

I would try once to get back my friend, get back the smile I daydreamed about. If he didn't accept my plight, I would let him have it his way.

Or maybe he was just giving me my way. Only I knew that hindsight would tell me soon enough.

“You are my friend, Casey,” I offered as soon as the blurry reflection in front of us mirrored a mercurial man and a nervous woman.

He didn't answer.

The elevator began to move with almost no sound. We were alone. Just me, Casey, and a tension that made me sweat.

I wanted to look up at him, but anxiety froze me, eyes straight ahead. My index finger toyed with a piece of skin that framed my thumbnail; I itched to bite it.

“Why don't you keep saying that, Blake? You're only trying to convince yourself.” His unwavering timbre vibrated my bones and every molecule in my body heard his message.

He didn't like being called my friend.

The lift slowed its climb as it approached my floor not stopping to let anyone on or off on our ride up. When the doors opened the sun almost blinded me. The hallway in front of us was long and at the end of it was an all glass wall. Through it was the sun setting over downtown Atlanta, the flaming dusk setting precisely in the center of our view. He didn't hesitate to walk straight out of the lift and then he paused, waiting for me to do the same.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

His expression was blank, but I could see a hurricane brewing in his eyes. If I were being honest with myself, I would have admitted to feeling the tiniest bit of fear. The facts told me that I'd only met this man a handful of times and had some long-distance conversations with him. Yet there I was taking him to my room, even though he didn't seem familiar.

He wasn't drunk, neither was I.

I didn't know what was going to happen. It was adventurous and scary as hell. My instincts told me Casey wasn't malicious and that I wasn't in any real danger. It was thrilling. It was arousing. It was fascinating seeing a new side of him, even though I didn't like the reason for its appearance.

“What's your room number?”

“1128,” I said and walked straight past him and into the sun.

He followed close behind and I, for once in my life, didn't have to dig for my room key. It was in the pocket of my jacket, which was slung over my purse. I slid it into the card reader and the green light flashed and the lock clicked.

The tension made everything more vivid. The beep of the lock. The smell of the recirculated air-conditioning that hit me in the face as soon as I stepped into the dark room. There were black-out curtains, which were closed, blocking out the fiery sunset behind them.

I could feel him just behind me.

I only made it in five or six feet before the sound of the door shutting caused me to jump. The darkness in the room seemed blacker than normal. Instantly I heard him kick off his shoes, then the tale-tell sound of a southward zipper. Pants hit the floor and spare change rolled out of a pocket. I made out the rustling of shirts pulling away from skin.

Then I felt his radiating heat, his breath on my neck, and my heart touched my insides, both front and back.

“Where are we doing this?” He sounded much cooler than the heat pouring off him felt. His hand reached around my middle and pulled me back into him. “You were right. My body wants your body. Do you feel that?” he asked as he dipped to grind his hips into my backside. “Take your clothes off.”

There was no sweetness to the request. No tenderness in the sentiment. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, I saw a chair to my right and I went to it, pulling away from his touch. I didn't say a word, automatically doing as I was instructed.

Something about it felt fair. Felt right. I didn't deserve his kindness. I was a cheater. I was a liar. I was a bitch who called someone a friend to be spiteful.

I undressed and I'd never felt more naked—more exposed—despite being cloaked in darkness where he couldn't observe my body. I could barely see his naked form and he loomed like a brooding statue. He wasn't moving, and I couldn't even tell if he was watching me. I could only see his flesh in contrast to the pitch black in my hotel room.