Hard to Fight (Alpha's Heart, #1)(27)

He stares down at me with narrowed eyes. “Why not?”

“Because, ah, my parents were due to arrive tonight. I just wanted one night away from them before I had to endure their crap. I was staying with Kady but … well … she got distracted by a man with a mega—”

He growls. “I get the point. Fuck me, you need ice on that ankle.”

I smile slyly. “Then take me to your house.”

Cool, real cool.

He stares at me again, his jaw tight. It’s the moment of truth. If he suspects me at all, he won’t take me to his house. “Fine, I’ll take you there while you call your friend.”

“Fun times,” I say.

It doesn’t skip my notice that he drives the back roads home in a car that I’ve never seen him in before. He pulls up at a massive house that has me gasping. It’s huge. It’s a white three-story mansion. It’s beautiful, surrounded by pristine gardens and a gorgeous stone path leading right to the front patio. Rich people’s house. I didn’t pick Raide as a rich man.

“This is your house?” I cry.

“No, it’s my friend’s. He’s out of town, letting me stay.”

Damn.

“How long are you staying?”

“A few weeks.”

He gets out of the car and comes around to my door, opening it. He lifts me into his arms and I allow myself a moment to let myself drown in how amazing that feels. He’s muscled and strong, and he smells divine.

“You smell really good,” I murmur, pressing my nose to his chest.

“You’re drunk.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t smell good.”

In truth, my buzz is fading, but he doesn’t need to know that yet.

I hiccup and giggle drunkenly as he carries me inside. I quickly stop laughing when I set my eyes on the inside of the immaculate home. It’s got the most striking furniture I’ve ever seen. It all looks antique, probably extremely expensive and rare.

“Wow,” I breathe. “This place is amazing.”

Raide puts me down on a golden couch that’s so soft and squishy, I want to melt into it. Then he strides into the kitchen, rifling about until he finds an ice pack. He brings it back and sits on the coffee table in front of me, taking my ankle in his hands and placing it on his knees. Then he presses the ice to it. I yelp, but he’s unrelenting.

“Keep still,” he orders.

“Are you always so angry?”

He lifts those gorgeous amber eyes to mine and holds them. “No, but tonight I’m pissed.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he laughs bitterly. “You were out there, a man on top of you, ass on display. That’s f*ckin’ why.”

“I’m not your woman,” I protest. “So why should it matter?”

He shakes his head. “We’ve been dancing around each other for nearly a month now. Showin’ up in the same places, flirting, kissing, making a scene. You might not be my woman, but you’re f*ckin’ thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about you.”

He’s thinking about me?

My heart melts. Bad heart.

“So?” I say, my voice lustier. “Doesn’t mean you should be angry at me because that crazy man tackled me to the floor.”

“If someone had come out, they would have gotten a good look of your ass.”

“And?”

“And—” He leans forward until we’re only a breath apart. “—it’s an ass I’ve been wanting to see since I first saw you.”

Oh boy.

“Ah.” I look away. “So who’s this friend you’re staying with?”

He reaches up, curling his fingers around my chin and turning my face toward his. “Stop changing the subject. You want it as much as I do.”

He’s right, I do. But I shouldn’t. It’s too big a risk.

“Doesn’t matter,” I whisper, staring at his lips. “I can’t have you.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, lady, why?”

“Ah.” I let my eyes dart around his room. “I don’t know. Can I use your shower?”

He growls and lets me go. “No, you f*ckin’ can’t. You’re going to sit here and let this foot rest.”

I huff, but I’m quickly distracted when he runs his thumb over my skin. I look up at him and see he’s watching me with an intense expression. “Why’re you playing these games with me?”

I swallow, looking away. I feel buzzed, but I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or him. My mind is screaming at me that I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t turn away. I want to, but I can’t.

“Is there a serious side to you?”

I’m surprised by his question. So much so, I just stare at him instead of actually answering.

“Who is the real Grace?”

What? “Pardon?” I whisper.

“You’re always playing, but there’s more to you. Tell me.” He leans back, keeping my ankle on his lap.

I can hardly kick him off. He watches me with those unfathomable eyes, and I’m captured by him—so much so, I start talking to him. “I am serious,” I say softly. “But if I live my entire life like I’ve got a stick shoved up my ass, how happy is that life going to truly be?”