Chapter 2 – Trace #2
I fixed a scowl on my face, trying to mask the desperation clawing at my chest. Shoved my hands in my pockets because if I didn't, they were going to end up back on her hips. "Easy, Hartwell, it was just a fucking dance. You're the one who looked like you were getting into it."
Her eyes sparked with fire that could burn down cities, and my dick responded like the traitor it was.
Down. You don’t get a vote. Her arms uncrossed and her hands balled into fists at her sides.
She stepped closer instead of back, which was the most Lena thing she could have done.
Getting in my face. Tilting her chin up to glare at me even though I had a full ten inches on her.
"Me? You think I was into it?"
She shoved at my chest with both hands, and even though I didn't budge, the contact nearly brought me to my knees. Even her anger was intoxicating. Addictive. Like mainlining pure adrenaline. Straight into my stupid, willing veins.
Her palms were still flat against my chest, ten points of heat burning through my shirt, and neither of us moved to break the contact.
We were close enough that I could count the gold flecks in her dark eyes, close enough to see the rapid pulse hammering in her throat.
The party churned around us, people jostling past with their drinks and their bad decisions, and not one of them had any idea that I was two seconds from doing something catastrophically stupid.
Her lips were right there. Parted. Furious.
Close enough that if I leaned forward six inches this whole charade would be over.
She must have read it on my face because she snatched her hands back like she'd touched a hot stove.
But the damage was done. Those few seconds of her palms against my chest had sent heat flooding through me so fast I could feel it in my teeth.
My heart was slamming against the exact spot she'd touched, like it was trying to get back to her.
I could still feel the imprint of her fingers, ten perfect points of contact that my body was cataloging and filing away for later use in the shower.
You're pathetic. She literally shoved you and you're getting off on it.
"Your body was into it," I growled, my voice dropping to a register that made her pupils dilate. "The way you were grinding against me, those little sounds you were making. Yeah, sweetheart, you were definitely feeling it."
The flush that crept up her neck was pure victory. Confirmation that she'd been just as affected as I was. The knowledge was dangerous, intoxicating.
Around us, the party pulsed with bass-heavy music that vibrated through the floorboards.
The Kappa Nu house reeked of spilled beer, cheap cologne, and bad decisions.
A testosterone-soaked monument to everything I was supposed to want.
Blue and silver hockey pennants hung from every surface like battle flags, a constant reminder that this was Coulter territory.
Two guys from the team were watching us from the keg, elbowing each other and grinning like they'd just been handed front row seats to a pay-per-view event.
I shot them a look that wiped the smiles off their faces.
Whatever was happening between me and Lena, it wasn't a spectator sport.
But having Lena here felt wrong, like bringing a thoroughbred into a stable full of donkeys. She didn't belong in this world of one-night stands and forgotten names. She deserved better than me, but I was too selfish to care.
Her friend materialized beside us like a tiny redheaded guardian angel, taking Lena's hand with fierce protectiveness. "Hey, everything okay?"
Her gaze flicked to me nervously before returning to Lena. What exactly did she think she was going to do if I decided to cause trouble? She was maybe 5'2" in heels, all wild red curls and green eyes. Next to my 6'4" frame, she might as well have been armed with a flyswatter.
But there was something admirable about the way she positioned herself between us, like a mama bear defending her cub.
"Is there a problem?" she asked, chin raised defiantly.
I lifted an eyebrow and smirked down at her, letting just enough menace creep into my expression to make her step back. "No problem at all." I slid my gaze to Lena, let it drag slow enough to be deliberate. "Lena was just having an allergic reaction to me. Par for the course."
Lena's nostrils flared. Her jaw tightened so hard I could see the muscle jump.
For one second she held my gaze, and something passed between us that had nothing to do with hatred.
Something hot and reckless and honest in a way that the rest of this conversation hadn't been.
Then it was gone, locked down behind the wall she'd built against me three years ago.
Lena took her friend's hand and pushed through the crowd like a woman on a mission. I watched her go, mesmerized by the way that sinful skirt moved with each step, threatening to give me a glimpse of what I'd been feeling pressed against my cock.
The spot where she'd been standing still smelled like coconut and vanilla.
My hands hung at my sides, palms burning from where I'd held her hips, fingers twitching with phantom muscle memory.
The party kept going like nothing had happened.
Some girl in a crop top stumbled past me laughing, sloshing beer on my shoes.
A group of freshmen were doing shots at the bar and chanting something idiotic.
The DJ had switched to a song I recognized, something with a heavy bass drop that vibrated through the sticky floorboards. None of it registered.
Every swing of her hips was a weapon designed to bring me to my knees. The crowd parted for her instinctively, recognizing something dangerous in her stride. She moved like a predator, all coiled energy and barely contained violence, and it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
I could follow her. Could corner her somewhere private, press her against the nearest wall, and kiss her until she remembered what it felt like to want me.
Could slide my hands under that leather skirt and find out if she was wearing anything underneath.
Could pin her wrists above her head and put my mouth on her neck and make her say my name the way she used to say it, before it became a curse word.
I knew exactly how she'd taste. I'd spent three years building that fantasy in excruciating detail, and tonight she'd given me enough new material to last another three.
The weight of her against me. The heat of her through leather.
The rhythm of her hips that my body had matched without thinking, like muscle memory for a play we'd never rehearsed.
Down, boy.
God, that girl could dance. She'd always been able to move like sin set to music, but she'd never danced with me the way she had tonight.
In high school, I'd spent countless nights watching her from across dance floors, playing the protective pseudo-brother while dying inside.
Trevor would disappear to hook up with whatever girl caught his eye, and I'd be left to "watch over" Lena like some kind of eunuch guard.
Those nights had been exquisite torture.
Staying close enough to keep the wolves at bay while maintaining the fiction that I was just doing my brotherly duty.
The worst part was how grateful she'd be afterward, thanking me for keeping her safe while being completely oblivious to the fact that the biggest threat to her innocence was standing right beside her.
I squared my shoulders and resisted the urge to follow after her. That would only lead to trouble.