Chapter thirteen
C~ADRIAN~
Elana’s eyes land on me, and she stills. Her eyes widen as I approach. A flicker of fear dances within them, growing with each step I take towards her and the man seated beside her, his hand lingering dangerously close to her leg. She has no reason to fear me, but he should.
As I draw nearer, he senses my presence and turns to face me, a sickening glint of lust fading into defiance and challenge in his eyes.
The thought of his audacity, his attempt to touch her, ignites a raging inferno inside me.
I stride towards them, disregarding the curious glances from the group of women nearby, one of whom appears oddly familiar.
Without breaking eye contact, I reach Elana’s side, aware that my presence is looming over them like a thundercloud. A subtle click of my tongue prompts the man to retract his hand from Elana’s chair, his posture straightening.
“You’d be wise to keep that hand close to you/” I motion to his hand with my chin. His response is a clenched fist, simmering with opposition.
“Ah, so that’s the friend you’ve been tagging along with.” The bastard’s arrogance is oozing from his mouth as he speaks. “We were beginning to think you weren’t showing up.”
“Unfortunately for you, I have a knack for being everywhere.” I meet his gaze head-on. “We’re leaving.” I turn to Elana, biting my tongue to stop myself from saying more than necessary.
Elana opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, the man interjects with a sneer, “And who are you to give orders, Mr. Everywhere?” His nostrils are flared as he eyes me up and down. “Maybe Elana doesn’t want to go yet.”
In an instant, my patience wears thin. I should knock his teeth in just for daring to say her name. But making a scene is the last thing I need. There are journalists everywhere.
“Elana, get up,” I hiss, my voice a dangerous whisper.
I see Elana’s hand reach for her purse, which is resting on the bar, and she slowly drags it towards herself.
Extending my hand towards her, I guide her off the barstool, her compliance swift.
Pulling out my wallet, I extract a hundred-dollar bill, sliding it across the counter towards the bartender as he approaches to collect Elana’s glass.
“For you.” I indicate towards the tip with a nod. I saw what he did when the bastard tried to make Elana drink more.
“Thank you, sir,” the bartender acknowledges, accepting the bill as I pivot on my heel, allowing Elana to walk in front of me. The bastard murmurs something behind us, but I don’t even bother looking.
The group of women follows us with their eyes.
“See? I told you he always takes a girl home.” I hear one of them. Her tone hushed but not enough.
After saying my goodbyes to whoever was in my way, Elana and I walk outside to where Mac is waiting by the car. He nods as I open the door for Elana to climb in. She does without hesitation, and I follow her. Her hands are clasped in her lap when I finally close the car door.
I wait until I hear the car’s engine and feel the slight pull as Mac drives off before asking, “Did he touch you?” I need to know we’re moving away from the place before asking, unsure if I’d be able to stop myself from mopping the floor with the bastard.
“No.” She shakes her head. “He tried, but you showed up.” She looks up at me, and I see apprehension. She’s worried about how I’m going to react.
I take a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have left you alone in there.”
“I promised that I’d be fine, and I am. I had a drink.
He tried to flirt, but you came. Nothing happened.
” Her attempt at reassurance does nothing to ease my thoughts.
Her delicate brows furrow, her eyes staring vacantly at a spot in front of her before turning to me.
She opens her mouth, ready to speak, but closes it just as quickly.
I toss my blazer on the couch and turn to face Elana, the warm ambient lights dancing on her skin and dress. She quietly sets her clutch down on one of the small tables by the couch and looks at me.
“What is it?” I soften my expression. She’s been meaning to ask me something during the entire car ride but hasn’t.
“Why did you get so angry with him trying to flirt with me?” She’s fidgeting.
“The answer is within the question, Elana,” I respond, closing the distance between us with measured steps as I loosen my bowtie.
She inhales a long, steadying breath and looks at me. “Why?”
“Why what?” I know what she’s asking, what she’s implying. I want to see if she has the guts to ask, and if I have the nerve to answer.
“Why did it make you so angry? Seeing him flirt with me.” She keeps squirming, not looking at me this time but at her hands.
“Because his intentions for you weren’t… courteous,” is all I say. Because he tried to touch what should belong to me.
“And yours?” She shoots me a defiant look.
“They aren’t up for discussion.” I narrow by brows at her, hoping she’ll take the warning and shut her mouth.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t want to—” She pauses, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. Want to what? To tear the three thousand dollars off your body until it’s in pieces on the floor? To fuck you until the only word you know is my name?
“Don’t want to what?” I challenge her and take three slow steps until I’m standing right in front of her. Say it. What do you think I want to do to you?
She swallows. “I see the way you look at me. You touched me, you touched my leg in a way that…” She sucks in a sharp breath. I cock my head to the side and raise my brow at her. She can’t say it. “In a way that makes me think you don’t want other men to.”
“They won’t even be allowed to look at you as far as I’m concerned.” I straighten my neck and look down at her.
“Because only you can?” It’s a rhetorical question, but I answer anyway.
“Now you’re getting it.” I flash her a grin, but what I actually want to do is show her exactly why no one else is allowed to look at her—especially in that dress.
Whatever she drank at the event shows itself as she takes a tiny step towards me until her chest brushes against mine, sending a thick wave of desire through me.
She looks up, her green eyes burning with liquid courage. “What runs through your mind when you look at me? Do you want to kiss me?” Her voice is so quiet that I almost have to read her lips.
“Do you want me to kiss you, little duck?” I cock my head to the side once more. She peels her eyes away from mine and drags them to my lips. She doesn’t need to say it for me to know the answer. All it would take is one swift movement, and my lips would be on her waiting ones.
As I admire the beautiful temptation before me, reality hits.
Maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s my non-existent patience, but I’ve crossed the line.
I’ve allowed myself to show her a glimpse of what I want.
Desire steps aside to make room for reason, and I force myself to step back, regaining control.
“You should go rest.” I almost snort at myself. It’s not even 10 pm yet. She blinks up at me, confusion etched on her face.
“I’m not tired,” she protests softly, her disappointment evident. “I’m hungry.” Her look tells me it’s not food she’s hungry for.
“In that case, I’ll see what I can whip up while you go up and change.” I try my hardest to sound casual and give her a lazy smile.
“I can help you.”
I shake my head. “Go change, Elana. Please.” Get this fucking dress out of my sight before I do something I shouldn’t.
She gives me a disapproving look before turning and walking towards the stairs. Her perfect ass is swaying, inviting me, mocking me as it gets further and further away. I close my eyes and look away before willing my legs to carry me into the kitchen.
Once in front of the fridge, I straighten my back and take a deep breath.
My hand finds the handle, and I pull the door open.
Many colors peek at me from the inside. After thoroughly scanning the fridge, I grab some Emmental cheese and ham and set them on the counter.
I hope she’s in the mood for grilled cheese.
I move through the kitchen, gathering what I need before getting to work.
The skillet hisses as I place it on the stove, which I had already turned on.
The sound of sizzling fills the air as I lay a slab of butter on the skillet, letting it melt into a golden pool.
Cooking in this tuxedo is not my brightest idea, but wasting time by changing upstairs—who am I trying to convince?
Upstairs is where she is, where she’s most likely undressing right now, and I need to be far, far away from that.
While the butter melts, I take two slices of bread from the breadbox and lay them side by side on the counter.
Then I slice the Emmental cheese and arrange it generously on one slice of the bread, followed by a layer of ham.
The smell of melting butter and bread fills the kitchen, reminding me of a time long ago.
My grandma used to make me grilled cheese sandwiches just like these when I was a kid.
The memory seems like it’s from another life.
I place the other slice of bread on top, creating a sandwich.
I open the drawer and retrieve a metal spatula.
“But I melt spatulas.” I recall Elena’s comment, a small laugh threatening to escape my lips.
I carefully transfer the sandwich onto the skillet, where it sizzles and crisps under the heat.
I watch as the bread turns a golden brown, the cheese melting into a gooey filling.
I haven’t made one of these in a long time.
Unbuttoning the top buttons of my shirt, I toss my bowtie on the kitchen island before turning back to the stove.
With a quick flick of the wrist, I flip the sandwich, allowing the other side to brown and crisp.
Quickly, I assemble a second sandwich and slide it into the skillet.
As I set the plates down on the island, the aroma of the grilled cheese sandwiches fills the kitchen.
I hear Elana’s soft voice behind me. “It smells great.”
I turn to see her standing in the doorway, wearing a poor excuse for pajama shorts and a loose T-shirt.
No bra, yet again. I can see her nipples through the thin material.
Did the little alcohol she had take over her brain when she was deciding what to change into?
My eyes travel over her figure, taking in the curve of her hips and the way her T-shirt stops just below her belly button, leaving a line of bare skin.
“Go change,” I say tightly. “You’re not wearing that.”
“It’s just my pajamas. I’m not going anywhere.” Her shrug is anything but casual, and her voice gives her away. This is on purpose.
“I said go change.” I find it hard enough to keep my hands away from her as is. I don’t need her to make it harder.
Her eyes flash with defiance as she steps closer to me. “Why?”
I stalk towards her, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “I know exactly what you’re trying to do.” I try to keep my voice calm, but it comes out rough.
She tilts her head back to maintain eye contact with me. “What am I doing?” she asks, her voice breathy.
I stop in front of her, towering over her smaller frame. “Trying to break the last fucking shred of self-control I have left. Begging me to show you what happens to silly, half-naked horny girls who push too far.” I’m fucking done playing it safe with her, especially when I’m the only one doing so.
She parts her lips and sucks in a sharp breath, the action pushes her nipples out farther.
It takes all my strength not to take them between my fingers, to lightly pinch and roll them until she apologizes for teasing me, touching herself to me, and making me lose control.
Her eyes widen, as if she can’t believe what I’d just said, as if she didn’t see this coming.
And just like that, her bravado crumbles, and all that’s left of her is a speechless, breathless mess.
“Is that what you want, Elana? Is this what you so desperately yearn for each time you tease me? Because that’s exactly what you’ll get if you don’t cut this shit out.” I keep my voice low and my hands at my sides.
If I move them even an inch, I won’t be able to stop them from ripping the shirt right off her body. Only the soft jazz music playing from the living room can be heard as she stares at me, frozen in place. She’s not breathing.
“Breathe, Elana.” She releases the breath she’s been holding, and her chest starts moving faster and faster.
I attempt to soften my gaze. “Your food’s getting cold.
” With that, I will my legs to step away from her, away from what I was an inch away from doing to her.
If she refuses to change, then I can’t stay here.
I leave her to eat in the kitchen and take my stairs two at a time.