Chapter 22 #2
A loud knock sounds and the doorknob rattles, sending my pulse skyrocketing.
“Shit. I have to go,” I whisper into the phone. Without waiting for a response, I disconnect the call and stash the device in the top drawer of my dresser.
“Yes?” I call out.
“Let me in.”
That voice sends a thrill through me.
Before I even make the conscious decision to head for the door, my body is moving. I yank it open, and Cy slips in and shuts it behind him quietly.
God, he looks amazing. His dark eyes search mine, his hair disheveled and a half smile teasing his lips.
“It’s about time,” I hiss.
He hauls me into his arms, lips plundering mine, instantly making my core pulse with need.
Holy shit.
I dig my fingers into his hair and kiss him back with just as much fervor.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have missed him like this.
I shouldn’t have missed him at all. He’s been in the same building.
Yet I did. I missed him. I missed this consumption.
This connection between us that blocks out everything but him and me and the need we have for one another.
Where has he been?
He helped me get upstairs when we got back, but he disappeared quickly. Has he gone on other dates? Has he kissed anyone else?
Swirling his tongue against mine, he squeezes my ass, lifting me and dragging me against the hardness behind his zipper.
I want to know. And I don’t. I want to keep kissing him. Because all my emotions, all the thoughts consuming me, all of it makes sense when he’s here.
I grind against him, relishing the electricity that courses through me. Then I take a step toward the bed. Instantly, the sharp pain racing up my leg reminds me I’m not one hundred percent.
“Allow me,” he growls against my skin. He hauls me up, his hands on the globes of my ass, his heat seeping through the flannel of my pajama pants. With my lips pressed to his neck, I trace a path up and back to his ear, then tug the lobe with my teeth.
We tumble onto the bed, limbs tangled. Hovering over me, he drops teasing kisses against my mouth, then pulls back, eyes alight. “I missed you,” he whispers.
A wave of relief washes over me. Those words reassure me in a way nothing else could.
I missed him too, but I don’t tell him that. His head is big enough as it is.
Hands on his ass, I pull him closer, desperate to feel him, desperate for friction.
He nips the skin beneath my ear, the move sending both pleasure and pain through me. I crane my neck to the side, silently begging for a repeat.
“Tell me you missed me too,” he demands, his breath warm on my neck.
I whimper, but I don’t give in. “Or what?”
He teases the drawstring of my pants, then dips one hand beneath the waistband, his fingers skimming my folds lightly, teasingly.
I groan. Asshole.
“If you don’t tell me, then maybe I won’t believe you did. Maybe I’ll think this is one sided and I should leave,” he murmurs, retracting his hand.
I grip is wrist, stopping him from retreating. “No.”
“No?” He rims my ear with his tongue, sending another shiver through me.
“Ugh. Fine. I missed you.” I’d cross my arms, but he’s currently on top of me.
Exactly where I want him to be.
Fuck. That confession is a whole lot easier to admit than it should be.
“Uh-uh-uh. Like you mean it.” As if to prove his point, he drags a finger along my center. He finds my clit, but that’s where he stops.
At the same time, he drags his lips to my jaw and presses a hot open-mouthed kiss against the spot.
Stars pop in my vision. “I missed you,” I finally admit, the words breathy.
He rewards me, rotating his finger around the hard bundle of nerves. “Have I told you how much I love that you aren’t a fan of underwear?”
If I wasn’t a fan before, I despise them now that the lack of a barrier makes it easier for him to slip a finger inside me.
I gasp into his mouth, but he steals the sound, his lips reclaiming mine.
Back bowed, I lift my hips off the mattress, thundering toward an orgasm. How is it possible that he can turn me on so quickly with nothing more than a finger and his mouth on my neck?
“What the fuck?”
The voice startles me, and I drop back to the mattress, eyes wide.
“Where’s Cy? Has he seen this?”
“Cy.”
The commotion in the hallway only grows louder.
Cy slips his hand out from under my pants, leaving my body begging for the release that was so cruelly stolen.
He hops to his feet and rights his clothes and hair, then he steps out of the room, closing the door.
Fuck. I take a few moments to calm my racing heart, focusing on deep, even breaths. When his deep timbre joins the chorus of voices outside my room, I stand and limp toward the door.
The door across the hall from mine is open, the personal items inside looking like they belong to a man. Shit. This is Cy’s room. How did I not know it was directly across from mine?
Good question. Don’t you know by now that they keep the two of you close?
Yeah, that should have been obvious. Production knows why I’m here. It makes sense to be close.
Slowly, I make my way across the hall and into the room where Mara, Alicia, Danny, the whole group of contestants, and Cy stand.
It’s crowded, making it difficult for me to pinpoint the problem.
Each face is filled with confusion or anger or fear, yet the room looks okay.
But when I discover they’re all looking at the same thing, I follow their line of sight, and my stomach drops.
Bright red lipstick on the mirror above the dresser.
You belong to me, not to her.
It may not be signed, but the color is a dead giveaway. Scarlett.
And that’s not her only message.
While everyone else is still focused on the mirror, Cy’s attention is on the deep purple fabric lying in the middle of the white bedspread. A purple I’m familiar with.
It’s the same shade as the dress I wore during the last compass ceremony.
“What’s going on?” I eye Mara, then Cy.
His eyes clash with mine, shadows blotting out the light I normally see there.
Mara and Alicia talk quietly with Danny, and the rest of the women are huddled in small groups, whispering.
“We were at dinner when Danny yelled. So we came upstairs to make sure he was okay. And found this.” Josie gestures to the mirror and the bed. “Wasn’t the dress you wore to the last compass ceremony the same color?”
Her expression is accusatory, despite how innocent her question sounds.
“It kind of looks like it,” I hedge.
More than just kind of.
By the way the fabric shimmers in the light, I can almost guarantee it’s my dress.
“Why is it in here?” she asks, head tilted.
I shrug. “No idea. The last time I saw it, it was in my suitcase.”
That had to have been four or five days ago. Before my date with Cy.
And now it’s on his bed.
Mara shuffles over and picks it up.
What’s left of it anyway.
The dress has been shredded to nothing but strips of plum-colored fabric.
“Sydney, why is your dress in here?” Mara asks.
Half a dozen sets of eyes narrow into slits. All of them aimed at me.
As if I’ve done something wrong.
Are you fucking kidding me?
I’d like to know why my dress is in here too, actually. Or, better yet, who shredded it and wrote the note.
Before I can tell Mara to fuck off, Cy speaks up.
“Everyone out. Except you, you, and you.” Cy points to Danny, Mara, and me.
He looks put together, like we weren’t just making out in my bed.
Meanwhile my lips are stiff and swollen from kisses, and I have the worst case of blue bean ever.
As the five other women exit, every one of them but Josie shoots me a dirty look.
Kendall sneers at my favorite pair of too big flannel pajama pants.
Josie may not give me a dirty look, but she’s studying me like she doesn’t trust me.
To them, I have done something wrong. And I have no way of defending myself.
Cy moves behind them, closing the door behind Josie.
Fuck. Does he know I’m here to find Scarlett?
My palms grow clammy, my heart racing as he sidles up beside me. Can he hear it?
He studies me, his eyes softening. Then, without a word, he tugs me into his arms and presses a kiss on the top of my head.
I grip his biceps, surprised by the move and relieved. Because no, he doesn’t know why I’m here.
“I don’t want you to be afraid, BB. I’ll make sure you’re safe. This is my problem. Not yours,” he murmurs. Turning to Danny and Mara, he goes rigid. “It’s getting out of hand. It was one thing when it was just me, but now she’s coming after Sydney? What are you two going to do about it?”
If Mara and Danny have any opinions regarding Cy’s affection, they don’t mention it. It’s probably a good move, given how pissed Cy is.
He points an accusatory finger at the shredded dress Mara is still holding.
But why is he insisting Danny should be doing something about this?
Frowning, I look from face to face to face. One dot connects to another, then another. Shit. Cy thinks Danny is some sort of security. Not his assistant.
Does he really think that marshmallow is security? Danny looks positively terrified. He’s practically vibrating with fear at the message and the dress.
No. It’s not up to him to figure out who did this.
It’s not even up to Cy.
It’s my responsibility, and I need to focus.
Because apparently I now have Scarlett’s attention too.