Chapter 17
LEIlANI
Moments earlier
A smell of jasmine wraps around me, inebriating me even more as I stare at the water, with a smile on my face.
He’ll come. I’m sure he will.
A few seconds pass, and footsteps ring behind me, firm, paced, determined.
A heavy hand slides down my spine and stops at the small of my back.
Slowly, I turn around and wrap my arms around Paxton’s neck, a strong taste of revenge flowing through my senses.
Everything will go down in flames tonight.
This is for everything they’ve done to me and are about to do to me.
My family, the living and the dead, the ones present and those who are absent, all culpable just the same.
This is for all the little wars they’ve started inside me, some burning quietly, some engulfing me with their vicious dragon flames.
For all the taboo things they’ve done to me.
This is all for you.
“Hi,” I murmur, tracing the seam of his mouth. “I thought you’d never come,” I go on in the same hypnotic cadence, reveling in the heat blooming in his eyes.
“I figured you weren’t that far, but I was held up for a minute out there.”
“It was my stepfather,” I say with a laugh.
He likes my joke and chuckles in reply.
“He’s technically not your stepfather.”
“I can call it whatever I want,” I say brutishly. “Besides, socially, he is.”
“He never was,” he says, arguing with me, a flash of amusement in his voice.
I tilt my gaze to his chest, my fingers dancing on the contour of his pecs hard beneath his shirt.
“Would you like me to dance for you?”
I flick my eyes up.
“Only if you’re a good dancer,” he says, winking in a tease.
My smile broadens as I lift an eyebrow.
“I can manage.”
I flick my head in the direction of the pool while taking his hand.
“Let’s go over there. It’s more private.”
“Sure.”
We walk down the few steps and stop next to the lounging area, where I nudge him slowly toward a chair.
“Relax, and enjoy.”
Before they draw their guns out, I continue in my head.
He leans back, his arms folded on top of his chest, as I start swaying my hips to the rhythm of the music floating through the air.
Nothing seems inappropriate.
Not my dancing for him, not the fact that we’re alone.
That is bound to change, though, as the door to the patio opens, and a few male silhouettes slide out.
Men, guests, probably holding their drinks, inching closer to the handrail, and before long, I spot a few men who work for Giorgio.
Perfect.
The more, the merrier. Let them watch and talk. I can’t wait to hear my grandmother chiding me and threatening me again.
The man in front of me only has eyes for me. Heavy with desire, unfocused eyes.
He must sense the stench of danger, too, and for him, it’s only a turn on.
A man to my taste.
Dancing has never been my greatest skill. I haven’t attended dancing classes, but moving my body to turn on a man comes naturally to me.
As I move, my dress becomes my greatest ally, opening sensually to reveal my legs, stretching over my chest to entice the man in front of me.
And then my satin high-waisted shorts that fit like a glove only make his dreams come true.
I bet his mind goes over the fine, shiny fabric, barely concealing the flesh he is hungry for, studying the smooth lines of my folds, the perfect seam, the little flesh pulsing with heat. If I know anything about men, he’d probably want to taste me just about now.
He wouldn’t mind if my warm juices would trickle down his chin and drip over his chest.
My hair slides over my back as I throw my head back and take him in, offering him everything he needs now.
We’re both possibly drunk, yet it works for us.
The door must’ve opened again in the background.
Honestly, I’m too busy to care or look in that direction.
Still angry and turned on, I snake my arms around the man in front of me and press my abdomen into his groin.
He tilts his face down to taste my lips, his hard, warm cock stirring against my belly.
“Damn, “ I murmur, ready for his lips, my hand sliding down, when out of nowhere a deep, smoky voice tears into the evening air.
“Maclean!”
Callum's voice hovers over me as the noise fills the background.
Someone invites everybody into the house, and it’s not Callum who is busy moving toward us like a heat-seeking missile.
“Get the fuck away from her,” he orders, grabbing the back of my neck at the same time and tearing me off Paxton without the slightest finesse.
“What the fuck?” I protest, swatting at his hand.
The air is charged with the barely contained rage of the man gripping the back of my neck, and the testosterone oozing from both men’s pores, which is about to turn into toxic fumes.
Paxton's reaction is swift, dictated by his instinct, and hardly tempered by normally healthy inhibitions.
Forgetting whom he is talking to, he straightens at once and lunges at Callum, clearly intending to free me from the iron-hard grip that leaves marks on my neck.
“Let her go,” Paxton barks back at Callum, who yanks me away from him.
His hand squeezes the back of my neck, merciless like a pair of pliers, while his fist crashes into the other man’s chest, defying the laws of physics.
“What is wrong with you?” I shout, fighting Callum with a rain of baby fists myself, the alcohol in my blood morphing into poison.
Ignoring me, he pushes Paxton back so hard that the man stumbles backward before catching himself.
“Stay out of this, Maclean,” Callum growls through clenched teeth, his eyes shooting dark flames.
“I’m saving your fucking ass tonight. Never forget that.
Now pick up your drink and go home before you embarrass yourself even more.
You don’t need a woman like her to end up six feet under before the night ends. ”
His words have a sobering effect on the man in front of us, who suddenly looks sharp and focused, quickly assessing the situation as if he’d just stepped out of a trance.
“What about her?”
Paxton tilts his chin in my direction.
“Don’t worry about her. She doesn’t want you. She only wants some blood splashed over her wet dreams.”
My jaw locks with fury, his insinuation igniting a fit of rage and justified resentment.
“You are such a dick,” I say, sinking my fist into his torso, feeling the pain down to my toes.
Paxton glances at me one more time before walking away without looking back.
He barely reaches the terrace when I start to scream.
No acting out makes him turn to us, and just as fast, Callum clamps a hand over my mouth, and I suffocate against his touch.
“You can’t behave, can you?” he rasps, his voice heavy like a thousand hammers as he moves with me toward the house.
As much as I fight him, still, using my own weight to slow him down, my efforts are useless, having no effect on him.
“You want to get us all killed,” he goes on, unperturbed, in the same husky voice that raises an army of goosebumps on my arms. “Little fucking brat,” he says, dragging me up the stairs like I’m a folded chair.
His hand slips a little, and I quickly find my voice.
“You’re a fucking tyrant. Let go of me. You’re not my fucking father to tell me what to do,” I pull hard to break away from him, fighting him in vain.
He pushes the door open and makes a sharp right, going farther into the bowels of the house, where I’ve heard from Nona that a few bedrooms are reserved for our special guests.
“You’re lucky I’m not your father,” he says as he pushes a door open, and a dark room greets us with an earthy smell drifting in through the open windows.
He slams and locks the door before walking me, or rather, perp walking me to the bathroom.
Only the cuffs are missing.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, a flicker of angst skittering through me.
I’ve longed for a moment like this since I laid my eyes on this man three years ago, and now that my wish was granted, I reckon it’s a total letdown.
This is not what I’d imagined.
The man in front of me is dark, his eyes dipped in anger or hatred. It’s all the same to me.
He releases me, slides off his impeccable suit jacket, and tears off his tie from his neck before pedantically placing them on a huge vanity.
He knows his way around the room, which makes me think he’s been in this part of the house before, perhaps even slept in this very bedroom, although he's certainly opted against it now.
It’s all because of me.
He didn’t want to use this accommodation, so he didn’t have to spend time with me.
As he pivots back to me, he finds me contemplating that thought when my eyes lift to his face, and I get my fill of him.
“You’re jealous,” I say coldly, and he flicks his eyebrows up in rebuttal.
Man, he’s beautiful. Handsome. Irresistible. He’s a fucking pain in the ass, but you can’t take away his looks from him.
His eyes hold the power of a thousand suns, every expression becoming an embroidery in the recesses of my memory.
I like him angry, stubborn, filled with hate, ready to kill someone.
I like him when he crosses the line, ignores my boundaries, and takes what he likes.
That’s the problem with him lately, he doesn’t take much, and I have no way of telling what he likes.
Speaking of that.
“What happened to your woman?”
He calmly unbuttons his neckline.
I still don’t know what he is up to.
There’s nothing sexual in his gesture, although I wish it were.
“You have to stop doing this,” he says, no smile on his face, not a shred of goodwill in his voice.
His fingers stop after the second button, although I’d like them to continue, undo the rest, untuck his shirt, and reveal his chiseled body.
Perhaps, slip down below his waist, unzip his pants, and show me what he’s got.
But that’s the other problem.
He’s got nothing from me.
“I’m not doing anything,” I say.
A sigh falls from his lips, heavy with frustration and impatience.
My lips begin to tremble as I flash a little smile.
It annoys him even more.
“You, on the other hand, can’t get a hold of yourself,” I comment.
I wiggle my fingers in front of him in a tease, my smile maturing into a taunting grin.