Chapter Nine
Hayden
Kissing her felt like coming home, a familiar comfort that settled deep within my soul. I reveled in the sensation of her soft lips against mine, savoring every moment as our tongues danced together in a passionate embrace.
Touching her was like exploring uncharted territory, each curve and contour a new discovery waiting to be made.
Her taste was intoxicating, a heady mix of sweet and savory that left me craving more.
After pulling my fingers from her depths after her orgasm, I couldn't resist the urge to savor the evidence of her pleasure.
The taste was unique, a combination of muskiness and sweetness that was purely her own.
She was still shaking, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her release.
As I licked my fingers clean, I couldn't help but groan in satisfaction.
“Fuck, I missed this taste,” I murmured, my voice rough with desire.
“You still taste like heaven, my little Flare.”
I watched her for a moment after she stepped back, the hallway light catching the color still on her cheeks.
Part of me wanted to drag her back before she could return to that room, before Whitmore could look at her again with that concerned little expression he had no fucking right to wear.
The thought of him standing when she came back, watching her mouth, asking if she was all right, made something vicious crawl under my skin.
The red dress disappeared down the hallway as she walked toward the reception, her steps quick and composed, as though she was determined to keep whatever had happened between us from showing on her face.
I gave her a few seconds before following, because walking back into that room right behind her would have told everyone far too much, and I had no interest in handing the entire room a scandal to chew on.
When I stepped back into the reception hall, the music and laughter hit me at once, the warmth of the room closing around me as if nothing had happened.
Across the room, I found their table immediately.
Whitmore was already half out of his chair, his attention locked on Edwina as she returned, and the sight made my grip curl into a fist at my side.
He noticed her too quickly, the bastard.
Worse, he looked worried. I kept my expression calm as I moved through the room, but every step carried something meaner beneath it, because watching another man rush to check on her after I had just had her mouth under mine made restraint feel like a fucking insult.
“There you are,” Whitmore said, his voice carrying across the table. “I was starting to think you got lost.”
Edwina reached for her champagne glass, using the movement to avoid looking at him directly. “I just needed some air.”
Whitmore studied her for a moment. “You look flushed.”
Her fingers paused around the glass. “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t. The color still on her cheeks told a different story, and the sight of Whitmore noticing it made my jaw lock.
He looked at her as if he had the right to ask questions, as if concern gave him access to parts of her that had nothing to do with him.
Poor bastard had no idea that my fingers had been buried deep inside her just minutes ago, no idea that the flush he was studying was all thanks to me.
Giselle, however, was watching with a different kind of attention.
Her gaze moved from Edwina to me. The moment our eyes met, something knowing passed through her expression before she looked back at Edwina.
Interesting. If Giselle had started putting the pieces together, tonight might become far more entertaining than I had expected.
The music shifted into a slower rhythm, drawing people from their tables toward the dance floor.
Chairs moved back, conversations softened, and the first couples stepped beneath the chandeliers while laughter followed them into the center of the room.
I watched Edwina lift her glass again, still trying to hide the evidence of what had happened between us.
I remained where I was, leaning back slightly in my chair with a glass of champagne resting loosely between my fingers while my attention stayed exactly where it had been all evening.
On Edwina.
Edwina had pulled herself back together after returning to the table, though the color on her cheeks still gave her away.
Giselle was talking about the department again, but her attention kept drifting toward us, sharp enough to tell me she had started suspecting something neither of us had said aloud.
Then the music changed. The first notes of “Earned It” by The Weeknd moved through the hall, slow and dark enough to pull couples toward the dance floor, and Whitmore noticed before anyone else.
He turned toward Edwina with that easy little smile I was starting to fucking hate and pushed his chair back.
“Well,” he said, “looks like they’re finally playing something worth dancing to.”
Edwina laughed under her breath. “I’m not sure I—”
He stood before she could finish and held out his hand. “Come on.”
It was harmless to everyone else. A man asking a woman to dance at a wedding reception.
Nothing worth noticing. Nothing worth ruining the night over.
Except it was her hand he was reaching for, her body he wanted near his, her attention he thought he had earned, and every second of it made something possessive and ugly move through me.
Edwina hesitated. Her gaze moved toward the dance floor, then to Giselle, as if looking for a way out.
Giselle only smiled. “You should go. You’ve been sitting all evening.”
Whitmore kept his hand out, patient and polite, playing the perfect fucking gentleman while standing close enough to what had never stopped being mine.
Edwina exhaled and placed her hand in his. “Alright.”
And just like that, the last of my restraint started to rot.
Whitmore guided her from the table, leading her toward the center of the dance floor where the other couples had begun to gather.
The red of her dress moved around her as she walked beside him, her hair catching the light, her hand still resting in his as if there were nothing wrong with another man touching what I had spent years trying and failing to forget.
I watched every step.
When they reached the dance floor, Whitmore’s hand settled against the small of her back with the kind of ease that made my blood turn mean.
He guided her into the rhythm of the music, and Edwina let him.
She moved with him, spoke to him, gave him pieces of her attention as though I had not had her breath breaking against my mouth only minutes ago.
Then she smiled.
A real smile. The kind that reached her eyes.
My fingers tightened around the champagne glass until the stem threatened to snap.
A few moments ago, she had come apart under my fingers, trembling with the same need she kept pretending did not exist, and now she was on the dance floor with someone else, letting that polite little bastard hold her like he had earned the right.
I fucking hated it.
His hand on her waist made something vicious crawl through me. Her laughter made it worse. The ease between them, the way he leaned close to say something near her ear, the way she did not step back from him, all of it fed the same ugly thought until it became impossible to ignore.
The music carried them across the floor with the other couples, and every second I watched felt like another test of restraint I had no interest in passing. I let them finish one song.
One.
That was all the patience I had left.
I set the champagne glass down and crossed the room before I could talk myself out of it. As I reached the dance floor, the song changed, and “Lose Control” by Teddy Swims filled the room. Fitting, considering she had been testing mine all night.
They noticed me when I stopped beside them. Whitmore looked surprised. Edwina went tense the moment our eyes met.
“May I?” I asked.
Whitmore blinked, but Edwina answered first. “I’m already dancing.”
I looked at Whitmore and smiled, though there was nothing friendly behind it. “I don’t think there will be a problem if I steal your dance partner for a moment.”
It sounded like a request. It wasn’t.
Whitmore hesitated, then released her hand. “Of course,” he said lightly. “Dean’s privilege, I suppose.”
Edwina looked at him as if he had lost his mind.
Too late.
The moment his hand left hers, mine took its place. I drew her closer before she could step back, close enough for her dress to brush my suit, close enough to feel the anger in her breath.
“Hayden,” she warned under her breath.
My hand settled at her waist, exactly where his had been, and something ugly in me finally eased.
“Relax, my little Flare,” I murmured, guiding her into the music. “I’m taking back what he had no business touching.”
“You are insufferable,” she muttered.
“And yet,” I said, guiding her into the next step, “you haven’t walked away.”
Her eyes lifted to mine. “You stole me from my dance partner.”
“I rescued you from a boring one.”
“Daniel is not boring.”
My smile faded just enough for her to notice. “Careful.”
Her brows lifted. “What? Does his name bother you?”
“Everything about him bothers me when he’s standing near you.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“It became my problem when his hand touched your waist.”
Her mouth tightened, though the color in her cheeks deepened. “You had no right to interrupt.”
“I wanted you.”
“That is not a reason.”
“It is for me.”
For a moment, the music moved around us, low and slow, filling the space where neither of us seemed willing to breathe properly. My hand stayed at her waist, and hers rested against my shoulder as if she hated the contact and needed it at the same time.
“You’re making a scene,” she said.
“No one is watching.”
“They will be.”
“Then let them learn something.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You enjoy this.”
“I enjoy you trying to pretend I don’t affect you.”
“You don’t.”
My gaze dropped to her mouth. “Liar.”