I look him up and down, my mouth twisting in thought. I’m kind of enjoying toying with him, making the man who is so sure of himself, who always gets what he wants, have to work at something. “I’m not sure if I want you yet,” I bait him. I hear Haddie suck in her breath at my flippant comment and the ice clink in Sam’s glass as he sucks down the remainder of it in anxiety. “A girl’s allowed to change her mind,” I taunt, tilting my head as I regard him. “We’re notorious for it.”

“Among other things,” he says dryly, taking a drink, watching me from over the rim of his glass. “Two can play this game, Ryles,” he cautions, “and I think I have a lot more experience at it than you do.”

My bravado falters slightly at the warning look in his eyes. I withdraw my hand from Sam’s knee and scoot toward the edge of my seat, my eyes never wavering from his. We stay like this for several moments, the music in the club background to our little drama. “You’re playing hard to get, Rylee,” he admonishes.

I glance over at Haddie who’s face is impassive but her eyes tell me she can’t believe what is unfolding. I stand up to face him, squaring my shoulders to him, defiantly raising my chin, “And your point is?”

He tsks at me, shaking his head, and takes a step closer. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself because it’s quite a show you’re putting on here.” He puts a finger under my chin, lifting so my eyes meet his. “I don’t play games, Rylee,” he warns, his voice just loud enough for me to hear, “and I won’t tolerate them played on me.” Sexual tension radiates between the two of us. The air is thick with it.

I breathe in a slow, calculated breath, trying to form an intelligent answer as his close proximity is clouding my thoughts and heightening my senses. “Well, thanks for the update.” I slap a hand on his chest, and lean in a little closer, my lips near his ear. “I’ll let you in on a little something as well, Ace,” I enlighten him, encouraged when I hear him suck in a breath in response, my voice a whisper on his cheek. “I don’t like being made to feel like I’m sloppy seconds to your blonde bevy of babes.” I step back, forcing a confident smirk on my face, “You’re developing a pattern of wanting me right after I know you’ve been with another. That’s a habit you’re going to need to break or nothing else is going to happen here,” I finish gesturing between the two of us as I raise my eyebrows at him, “that is if I want it to at all.” His lips curl at the corners, amusement in his eyes at the challenge.

God, he is gorgeous! Even when he is smoldering with anger, he emits a raw sensuality that my body has a hard time ignoring. I turn to glance at Haddie for encouragement, as I hear his name being called by a voice, seductive like velvet. “Colt, baby?”

The words make me want to vomit.

I turn back to him to see a well-manicured hand slide in between his arm and his torso, splaying over his chest in ownership. I see him tense at the touch, his eyes guarded in reaction, and he throws back the rest of his drink, hissing at the sting of it between clenched teeth. I proceed to watch as the blonde from earlier slithers up next to him, eyeing me up and down pityingly, trying to stake her claim. I see the spark in her eye when she recognizes that I’m the one he left her for on the stairs to dance with. If looks could kill, I’d be dead from her glare alone. But despite it all, Colton’s eyes remain steadfast on mine.

I am nauseated at the sight of her hands on him, and the thought of him giving any attention to her. I shake my head at him in condemnation as I cluck my tongue. “Case in point,” I attest, trying to contain my disbelief at her perfect timing in our conversation. I glance back at Haddie and the two men sitting there, sincerity etched in my face, “I apologize, but please excuse me.” Haddie starts to gather her purse, concern on her face, and I subtly shake my head for her to stay.

I turn back and look at Colton one last time, hoping my eyes portray the message I’m sending. Here’s your choice. Me or her. You pick. Right now. Last chance.

I avert my eyes, breaking our connection. He stands static with the blonde draped over him like a bad jacket. I guess he’s made his decision. I try to calmly exit the booth area. Try to flee from the dangerous path that I undoubtedly know he will lead me down.

Once I feel like I’m clear from view, I blindly push my way through the mass of people, hurt bubbling up to the surface. My heart aches with the knowledge that I’ll never be able to compete with someone like her. Never. I try to contain it as I push my way to the bar, wanting to numb the feelings I let myself believe were valid. Were reciprocated. Were possible again.

Shit! I swallow back the threatening tears as I squeeze into an open space at the crowded bar and by some miracle the opening is right in front of the bartender. He looks up at me and if he sees any despair in my face, ignores it. “What’ll you have?” he asks me above the noise.

I stare at him a moment, contemplating my options. I opt for quick and numbing. “Shot of tequila please,” I request, garnering the attention of the man standing next to me. I can feel him looking me up and down, and I roll my shoulders, bristling at the unwanted attention.

The bartender slides a shot of tequila across to bar top to me and I grab it, looking at it for a moment, silently saying our toast, for right now I definitely need the courage portion. Even if it’s false courage. I toss it back without hesitation and scrunch my face up at the burn. I close my eyes as its warmth slides down my throat and settles in my belly. I sigh deeply before opening my eyes, ignoring the offer of another drink from the man next to me.

I grab my phone out of my purse and text Haddie that I’m fine, to enjoy herself, and I’ll see her at home. I know that if she weren’t here for work, she’d be at my side, taking me home.

I glance up from my phone to look for the bartender. I need another shot. Something to numb the rejection. My eyes flicker down the length of the bar when in the mirror’s reflection, I see Colton striding purposefully toward me.

Despite the hope surging inside of me, I mutter, “Fuck!” and throw some cash on the bar before turning on my heel and veering toward the closest exit. I find one quickly, in the corner at the end of the bar and shove open the doors with a measure of force. I find myself in an empty, darkened corridor, relieved when the door shuts behind me, muffling the pulsating music. My moment of solitude is fleeting as the door is thrown open moments later, Colton pushing through. We lock eyes momentarily, I can see the anger in his and I hope he can see the hurt in mine, before I turn my back to him and rush further down the hallway.

I let out a strangled cry in frustration as Colton catches up to me and grabs my arm, spinning me around to face him. Our ragged breathing is the only sound in the hallway as we glare at each other, tempers flaring.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls at me, his grip on my arm remaining.

“Excuse me?” I sputter, a look of incredulity on my face in response to his audacity.

“You have an annoying little habit of running away from me, Rylee.”

“What’s it to you, Mr. I-Send-Mixed-Signals?” I throw back at him, wrenching my arm from his grip.

“You’re one to talk, sweetheart. Is that guy—is he what you really want, Rylee?” He says my name like a curse. “A quick romp with Surfer Joe? You want to fuck him instead of me?” I can hear the edge in his voice. The implied threat. In this dark corridor, his features hidden by shadows, his eyes glistening, he is every bit the intimidating bad boy that the tabloids hint at.

“Isn’t that what you want from me, Colton? A quick fuck to boost that fragile ego of yours? It seems you spend an awful lot of time trying to placate that weakness of yours.” I hold his glare, contempt in my voice. “Besides, what do you care what I do? If I recall correctly, it seems to me you were pretty occupied yourself with the blonde taking up space on your arm.”

The muscle tics as he clenches and unclenches his jaw regarding me, rolling his head back and forth on his shoulder before answering me. “Raquel? She’s inconsequential,” he states as a simple matter of fact.

I can take that answer so many ways, so many variations, and all of them paint his opinion of women to be in a less than stellar light.

“Inconsequential?” I question, “Is that what I’d be to you after you fuck me?” I stand my ground, shoulders squared to him. “Inconsequential?”

He stands there seething. At me? At my response? He takes a step toward me and I retreat one, my back pressing into the wall behind me. I have nowhere left to run. He reaches out a hand toward me and pulls it back in indecision, the muscles in his jaw clenching, pulse in his throat pounding. He angles his head to the side, closing his eyes, swearing silently to himself. He looks back at me—frustration, anger, desire, and so much more burning in the depths of his eyes. Their intensity as they look into mine is unnerving, as if he is asking for my consent. I nod my head subtly, giving him the permission to take. The next time he reaches out, there is no hesitation.

Within a beat, his lips are on mine. All of the pent up frustration, irritation, and antagonism of the evening explodes as our lips clash, hands fist, and souls ignite. There is nothing gentle about our union. Rapacious need burns through me as one of his hands snakes around my back, grasps my neck and yanks me against him so his mouth can plunder mine. His other hand slides between the wall and my arching back, splaying against me in a sign ownership. Gone are the gentle sips and the soft caresses from yesterday.

His lips slant over mine and his tongue darts in my mouth, tangling, teasing, and tormenting mine in a dizzying barrage. His hands slide over mine where they’re fisted in his shirt. He grabs my wrists and pulls them over my head, presses them to the wall, and handcuffs them with one of his hands. He brings his free hand down and cups my jaw as he breaks from our kiss. He draws his face back, and his eyes darkened and vibrant with arousal, hold mine.

“Not inconsequential, Rylee. You could never be inconsequential,” he shakes his head subtly, the vibration of his voice resonating within me. He rests his forehead to mine, our noses brushing each other’s. “No—you and me—together,” he grinds the words out, “That would make you mine.” His words feather over my face, enter my soul, and take hold. “Mine,” he repeats, making sure that I understand his intentions.

I close my eyes to savor the words. To relish the thought of Colton wanting me to be his mine. Our foreheads remain touching as I surrender to the moment, to the feeling, and to the easing of doubts. He steps back from me and gently releases my hands from above my head. Our eyes stay connected and I see what I think is a momentary flash of fear blaze through his.

I reach out tentatively to him and touch his hips, working my hands under his untucked shirt so that I can place my hands on his skin. So that I can feel this vibrant, virile man beneath my fingertips. It’s always been his hands on my skin. Him in control. I haven’t had the chance to appreciate the feel of him beneath my palms yet.

I find my purchase, my fingers caressing the firm warmth of his defined muscles as they tense at my touch. I slowly run them up the front of his torso, feeling each delineation, each breath he takes in reaction to my touch. It’s a heady feeling to hear his response, see his pupils dilate in desire as I glide my hands from his pecs, smooth them over ribs, and under his arms to scrape my nails up the plains of his back.

He closes his eyes momentarily in rapture, clearly enjoying my slow, teasing assault on his senses. I lean up on my toes and hesitantly lean into him and brush my lips against his and press my hands into his shoulders, pulling his body into mine. I slant my mouth over his and run the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip.

His fingers slowly brush against my cheeks, his palms resting on the line of my jaw to frame my face as he tenderly deepens the kiss. His lips sipping, his tongue slowly, sweetly, parting my lips and melding with mine. His quiet affection touches me in my core, slowly unraveling me and winding me into a ball of need simultaneously. He takes my breath away with each caress. I sigh into the kiss, my fingers digging into his shoulders, the only sign of my impending impatience at wanting more. At needing more.