Chapter 2
Chapter Two
IRINA
I ’m overheating, and while I hate to admit it’s anything to do with the stubborn asshole trapping me in his strong muscular arms, I can’t deny how Cohen Reynolds makes me feel. Like I simultaneously want to rip my clothes off and impale myself on his cock and slam his irritating handsome face into a wall.
I shouldn’t have drunk so much tonight because my defenses are weakened and I’m tempted. So fucking tempted. I’m not a virgin, but I’m not very experienced either. Something tells me the older self-made multimillionaire entrepreneur is a man of his word. I bet a night with him would rock my world. He’d probably ruin me for all other men, which is exactly why I can’t succumb to his persistence.
I hate him. He shattered my sister’s heart. Made her fall for him and then tossed her aside like worthless trash. Anya would never forgive me if I took him to my bed, and though my eldest sister can be a complete bitch, my loyalty lies with my blood.
I switch tack, purposely letting myself melt in his arms as a smile ghosts over my lips. “How would you rock my world?” I ask in a seductive tone, deliberately pushing my face all up in his.
I hate admitting how hot he is, but there’s no point in being outright delusional. Anya fell for him for a reason. He’s all dark sultry looks wrapped over toned muscles and inked skin. His consuming dark-brown eyes disguise endless hidden depths. His strong jawline and firm nose work in perfect synchronicity with his chiseled cheekbones, slashed brows, and proud forehead. The scruff coating his chin and cheeks is neatly trimmed, matching the classic styling of his slicked-back dark hair. Cohen has this smoldering intensity that forces easily through walls, burrowing deep, until you’re stripped bare before him.
He's dangerous on multiple levels, which is additional reason to stay away from him.
But he seems determined to crack my walls, showing up every weekend no matter where I’m partying. He doesn’t understand the word no, and I wonder if anyone has ever refused him anything. He could get any woman he wants, so I don’t understand his fixation with me.
He’s wasting his time.
I don’t date the enemy or bed my sister’s exes.
Period.
“I prefer to show not tell,” he purrs, falling for the ruse as expected.
Men are too easily led by their dicks. My ex is a perfect case in point. Not that I care. Adrian was a way to alleviate boredom, nothing else. I should have kicked him to the curb weeks ago. “Well.” I graze my lips against his stubbled cheek as I move toward his ear. He’s sufficiently distracted, so when I raise my leg and knee him in the junk, I catch him off guard. His arms fall away as he bends over and cups his crotch. Tears well in his eyes as he stabs me with a glower. I shove my middle finger up and grin. “I told you I want nothing to do with you. Maybe now you’ll finally understand.”
Stalking toward the bar, I leave him behind without a backward glance. After ordering a couple of martinis, I scan the dance floor for Cece, groaning when I spot her in a passionate lip-lock with Jesse Reed. That crazy bastard is a friend of Cohen’s, and he gives me the creeps. He’s as suave and handsome as his buddy, but unlike Cohen, he is shady as shit. I don’t want my best friend mixed up with him.
Leaving our drinks in the protective care of the bartender, I wade through the crowd until I reach the smooching couple. Pulling Cece off the older man, I jab my finger in his chest and level him with a sharp look. “Leave my friend alone. She’s not for you.”
“Pretty sure Cecilia can speak for herself.” The jackass arches a brow as his lips pull into a smug smile.
Refusing to get into it with him or give Cece a chance to protest, I drag my friend across the dance floor to retrieve our drinks, and then we snag a booth in the back.
“You’re mad,” she says before taking a healthy mouthful of her vodka cocktail.
“Not mad, worried,” I correct. “I thought we agreed Jesse Reed was bad news.” I’ve tried explaining it to her, but Cece doesn’t come from the kind of world I do, and she isn’t sensing the same danger I am.
“I know, but he’s so hot, and he’s got mad bedroom skills. My hormones go nuts when he’s around. I don’t see the harm in screwing him. It’s not like he’s the serious type.”
“He’s up to his neck in insider trading, money laundering, and gang-type shit, Cece. I know I’m not really in any position to throw shade, but he’s legit dangerous, and I don’t want you mixed up with him.” Cohen appears to be clean. Papa wouldn’t have let Anya date him unless he checked out, but I’m wary because of the company he keeps.
“That’s just speculation.”
“They say the same about my dad.” Though it was risky, I took Cece into my confidence at the end of freshman year. She was questioning certain things, and I couldn’t keep lying to her. I’ve spoken to Papa, and he’s promised protection for her if it’s ever needed. He wasn’t happy I confided in an outsider, but he’s forgiven me.
She bites on the corner of her lip, looking contemplative.
I release a sigh. “I know you like him, and it’s your call, but I’m only looking out for you. I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t warn you.”
“I love you.” She flings her arms around me, squeezing me tight. “Let’s not talk about boys the rest of the night. We’re celebrating your freedom, and it’s girls only from now on.”
We knock back our drinks and hit up the dance floor again, flirting with guys but not getting too close. I feel Cohen’s eyes drilling a hole in my back as I dance, but I try my best to ignore him. At least he appears to have gotten the message, and he’s not coming near me.
I’ll consider that a win.
I have no clue what time it is when we stumble out of the club, clutching our bags and giggling like hyenas. I’ve never been this drunk before, and it’s liberating. “Whoa.” I sway on my feet as the world spins. I reach out for the wall to steady myself. Blinking repeatedly, I attempt to clear my blurry vision, but I’m seeing two of Cece. My stomach lurches. “I don’t feel too hot,” I mumble the same time I realize the “wall” I’m feeling up is not a wall .
“You look pretty hot from where I’m standing,” an unfamiliar male says.
Arms wind around me. Unlike when Cohen did it earlier, these arms feel restrictive and threatening. Shit. I probably shouldn’t have dumped a ton of sleeping aid in my bodyguard’s coffee earlier. I open my mouth to tell the guy to fuck off when lips collide with mine. Beer-laden fumes mix with bad breath as the stranger kisses me. His wandering hands are groping me all over, and I push at him, silently berating myself for being so reckless tonight, but he’s strong, shoving me up against a wall and separating my thighs with one of his legs.
Fuck. This could be bad. Panic surges through my veins, and I struggle to clear my head long enough to remember my self-defense classes. Distant screaming surrounds me, but I’m too inebriated to focus on anything except survival. Adopting the strategy I used to get rid of Cohen earlier, I bite down hard on the prick’s lip as alcohol sloshes uncomfortably in my stomach.
The guy pulls back, cursing and snarling. My vision is still blurry, but I swat at him, lifting my leg to knee him in the balls, but he anticipates the move, slapping my leg down and grabbing my chin. His nails dig painfully into my flesh. “You’ll pay for that, bitch.”
“No, you will,” I slur, giggling as terror comingles with hysteria in my veins. Papa will cut his dick off and shove it down his throat for assaulting me.
The fingers digging into my chin are suddenly gone, and a loud commotion surrounds me. Holding myself upright is a struggle. My eyelids are heavy with sleep, and my tummy is protesting all the alcohol I consumed tonight. When I attempt to open my eyes, the world tilts, and I shut them tight while clinging to the actual wall for dear life.
“Babe,” Cece slurs, slinging an arm around my waist. “It’s okay. I got you. That guy is a jerk.”
Grunts and heavy pants reverberate in the chilly January air, and the sound of moving feet tickles my eardrums. I zone in and out, wishing I could snap my fingers and be in my bed. Additional sounds confirm someone is fighting the man, and I hope they beat his ass good.
When there is only blissful silence, my ears silently rejoice. Reopening my eyes, I scan the world through a hazy daze, only half aware of the body slumped on the hard sidewalk.
“I’ve got her,” a different male says. This voice is more familiar, but I’m too drunk to connect the dots. Muffled conversation ensues as my head lolls forward, meeting a hard warm chest. Heat rolls off his body in comforting ways, and I suspect I purr as I nestle into him.
“Whoa.” My stomach pitches as I’m swooped up into strong arms.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
Those are the last words I hear until I wake up in my bed sometime later as nausea swims up my throat.
Stumbling off the bed, I slip and slide across the polished hardwood floors of my luxury one-bedroom apartment, in my haste for the bathroom.
Sinking to the floor, I hug the toilet bowl as I pray to the porcelain gods.
Hands pull my hair back, holding it away from my face as I puke. I heave repeatedly, even when there’s nothing left to expel in my stomach, and I’m pretty sure I’ve hacked up a lung.
When I’m done, I slump to the tile floor in a hot, sweaty tangle of limbs. I don’t have any energy to move.
Strong arms haul me into a seated position, resting my back against the side of the tub. A warm cloth is wiped over my face and my clammy chest.
“Open your mouth,” a man with a familiar deep voice commands.
I stare at Cohen in a mix of shock, surprise, and horror.
“Rinse for me,” he adds, holding a plastic cup to my lips.
I’m too sick to argue, so I do as I’m told, swishing the water in my mouth and spitting it into a second empty cup. I repeat the process with mouthwash, feeling decidedly better by the time he scoops me up and carries me back to bed.
I pass out again, and when I wake, strips of buttery sunlight are filtering through the infinitesimal gaps in my blinds. Pain pummels my skull, and I groan as I rub my throbbing temples.
“How do you feel?” a man with a deep gruff voice asks, startling me.
My gaze moves in the direction of the speaker, and initial confusion greets me when Cohen’s striking eyes lock onto mine. Until it all comes back to me in full Technicolor.
Crap.
“How are you here?” I croak after ungluing my tongue from the roof of my dry mouth.
“What do you remember?” he asks, leaning forward in the chair. He must have brought it in here last night from the living room. The soft gray and pink blanket pooled at his lap is usually draped over the back of my couch.
I stare at him in a bit of a daze, wondering how it’s possible for any man to look so incredibly sexy after spending a cramped night sleeping in a chair. The stubble on his face is thicker, adding to the dangerous aura he exudes in spades. His usual artfully styled hair is messy, tumbling over his forehead in sexy waves. The sleeves of his black dress shirt are folded at the elbows, showcasing the most delicious arm porn.
“Irina?” Humor laces his tone as he stares at me, and I hate he’s caught me ogling him like he’s my favorite chocolate ice cream.
“Ugh, not much,” I admit, sitting up and propping my back against the headrest.
His eyes lower to my chest, and I realize I’m only in panties and a thin cotton tank and my nipples are saluting him. My eyes widen in alarm as I tug the covers over me, tucking them firmly under both arms to ensure I’m concealing all the goods. My glare is instant. “Did you undress me?”
His lips twitch as he leans back in the chair, spreading his thighs wide as he spears me with a heated look. “Sure did.”
“You had no right!” I hate how shrill my voice sounds, but I’m borderline panicking. My dress was strapless, and I wasn’t wearing a bra. He could have done anything to me last night, and I wouldn’t have a clue.
I am never getting drunk ever again.
“Relax, princess. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before though I might have spent an inordinate amount of time staring at your pretty tits.”
Indignation rises swiftly to the surface. “How dare you! That is a massive invasion of my privacy. I should have you arrested!”
All humor fades from his handsome face as he straightens up. “For saving you? Have you genuinely forgotten what happened? Let me refresh your memory.” A muscle clenches in his jaw as he cracks his knuckles, looking murderous. “Some degenerate grabbed you when you stumbled out of the club, drunk off your tits and laughing hysterically. You could barely stand, let alone fight him off. When I got to you, he was seconds away from violating you. I pulled him off and kicked the shit out of the prick. Then you passed out, and I drove you home. The instant we got through the door of your apartment, you puked all over yourself and the hallway. I had no choice but to remove your dress. I cleaned you with a cloth, found a tank in your closet, dressed you, and put you to bed. Then I cleaned up the mess.”
Anger paints his face as he stands, and his body is vibrating with rage and frustration. I gulp over the lump lodged in my throat. The blanket falls to the floor, and he kicks it aside before stalking to my bedside table. Snatching the bottle of water and pain pills from the table, he hands them to me. “If I hadn’t stepped in, God knows what would’ve happened to you last night,” he fumes, thrusting the water and pills at me. “I could’ve taken advantage of you, but I didn’t. I like my women conscious and willing.” He folds his arms across his broad chest and pins me with a sharp glare. “So go ahead, call the cops and have them arrest me for taking care of you.”
Before I can open my mouth to say a word, he storms out of my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.