13. Juliette
Juliette
A pulsing ache pounded in my temples.
I felt like I had been run over. By a tractor trailer. I shifted to my side and let out a groan as a wave of nausea hit. It felt like a hot flash, building and building until I could feel it in my throat.
Throwing the covers off me, I stumbled out of the bed and face-planted.
“Dear God,” I mumbled, crawling on my hands and knees toward the bathroom, squinting. What did I drink last night? Did someone drug me? I couldn’t remember much of anything aside from going out to dance with the girls.
I barely made it to the toilet, retching shit I didn’t remember eating into the toilet. Disgusting noises vibrated through the bathroom, bouncing off the tile and I swore at that very moment I’d never drink alcohol again.
Never. I retched. Never again.
Alcohol was banned forever. No longer part of my vocabulary.
Leaning my forehead on my forearm, I inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled. I repeated it again. Feeling somewhat better, I rose to my feet and padded to the sink, the tile cool against my feet. I brushed my teeth, erasing the horrific taste from my mouth.
Once done, I decided to take a shower. Maybe it’d wash off some of this hangover. Keeping the temperature on the cool side, I tilted my face up at the showerhead and let the water fall down my body.
Once I lathered my hair with the lilac shampoo and finished washing off, I stepped out of the shower already feeling better. I dried myself, then wrapped a towel around me.
The corner of my eye caught a sparkle in the mirror. What the—
My eyes lowered to the hand where a large solitaire diamond sat. In a daze, I brought my hand up to my face, almost expecting the ring to disappear.
Nope, still there.
The enormous diamond stared back at me, refusing to budge. I blinked, faster and faster. Maybe I was seeing things. I touched it. It felt real. Oh. My. God.
My breathing picked up. My pulse raced into marathon mode. My knees weakened.
What happened last night , I thought again.
I braced myself on the counter with my free hand. I had to find Wynter. Or Davina. Actually, it might be wiser to search for Ivy. There’d be no judgment there.
God, please don’t let me be married. Anything, literally anything but that. I couldn’t be married. Please, please, please.
Frustration clawed at my chest. At myself. At my stupidity. I’d always been on the wilder side compared to Wynter, but never reckless. Okay, maybe occasionally reckless. But not like this. I couldn’t remember jack shit.
Attempting to recall what happened last night, the pulsing ache against my temples increased tenfold. I’d ask my friends. They wouldn’t have left me. They’d know for sure.
I rushed into the bedroom to find something to wear when I came to a sudden stop. A man sat at the edge of my bed with a cup of coffee.
Dante DiLustro.
Of all the men in the world, he was the last one I wanted to see right now. I needed a special kind of pill to deal with him.
“Hello, my wildling,” he greeted me. My eyes narrowed on him suspiciously.
I fucking hated that nickname, but there was one thing I’d learned about Dante.
The more you fought him on something, the more insistent he was on doing exactly that which irritated.
“Cappuccino for you. I figured you’d need it. ”
Dante DiLustro was the biggest pain in my ass to ever walk this earth. Expensive Italian suit. Sharp lines. Charisma. And that grin. That fucking grin that got on my fucking nerves because it got me so damn wet.
“What are you doing in my room?” I snapped, glaring at him. “I don’t have time for you and your bullshit today! Get the fuck out!”
His free hand came to his heart. “What? No time for your husband?”
I froze. His left hand tapped against his muscled thigh. Tap. Tap. Tap . My eyes lowered to his and my lungs tightened. I swore something or someone gripped them, taking all the air from them so I’d suffocate. Dante had a wedding ring on.
The. Fucking. Wedding. Ring.
Opening my mouth, I couldn’t find my voice. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t find words for this pain-in-the-ass man.
“Cat got your tongue, wife?” he asked, amused.
He threw back at me the same words I gave him when I first met him. This was the reason Dante and I were like fire and gasoline. Somehow he always knew how to pour just the right amount and create a raging inferno.
“There is no way I’d ever be drunk enough to marry you,” I hissed. “I refuse to believe it.”
He was on his feet the next second and stalked toward me, ignoring the mess and discarded clothes all over the hotel room.
Instinctively, I took a step back and my back pressed against the cold wall.
He took another step forward, his three-piece suit brushing lightly against my chest, and rested his hands on the wall above my head.
The look in his eyes changed from amusement to pleasure-soaked intensity and satisfaction. Pure, unadulterated heat. My pulse whooshed in my ears and a tremor rolled across my skin. Inhaling his scent had been doing things to me since the moment I fell into his arms. Literally.
The closeness of his body had the most peculiar impact on me every damn time. I fought it for two years. At every turn. Instead of easing, the reaction became worse. Like a fucking rash refused to go away.
“We were both drunk enough to marry each other,” he drawled with a dangerous note in his voice. “And we’ll bear the consequences. Together.”
I couldn’t find enough air to breathe. His voice resonated warmth, a thoughtful rumble so close to my mouth I could taste it. What was wrong with me for Christ’s sake? He was practically threatening me and my body melted.
A sanity check was needed.
“I told you two years ago, I don’t want to marry you,” I breathed, while heat pulsed in my core.
“And I have told you I’d never give up.” Then his lips touched mine, softly, only a whisper.
“I’ll run,” I rasped, but my stupid body worked against me. It arched off the wall and pushed against his hard, lean body. I needed more. So much more. Yet I knew it wouldn’t end well. At a certain point, my panic would kick in. Except, in this very moment, it was nowhere to be found.
Only desire. Only need.
“If you run, Juliette, I’ll chase you.”
It was a vow. A promise.
Just as he had vowed he’d never give up on me. Not until we were married.
His lips pressed against mine, then nipped my bottom lip.
The graze of his teeth moved a desperate noise up my throat.
My breathing was erratic, and instead of pushing him away, my fingers gripped his suit and pulled him closer.
He drew on my lips softly, first the top lip, and then the bottom.
Need vibrated through me, humming and buzzing, burning everywhere we touched.
I arched against him, feeling an incredible heat beyond his expensive black suit. He licked inside of my mouth, then sucked on my tongue. Heat, tiny pricks of heat, consumed me from the inside out.
He pulled back and said in a rough voice, “Promise you won’t run.”
It was one goddamn weakness I had. I always, fucking always, kept my promises. He was using this burning desire between us against me because like a weak woman, I uttered those two words that would bind me to him.
“I promise.”
The pressure of his mouth on mine was rougher.
More possessive. Wetter than before. His kisses must have been some kind of dirty, carnal sin once upon a time.
A blaze seared through me as I drew my blunt nails down the length of his back.
He growled low in his throat, and the slow glide of his mouth roughened.
Dante pressed his hard-on against my lower stomach and that was when I froze.
The blaze was extinguished and turned into a frozen tundra.
Fear was a paralyzing bitch.