Chapter 21
Camila
Laying my palms flat on the cluttered changing room makeup desk, I stare at my dishevelled self in the mirror. I blow out a breath and grab a hairbrush, dragging it through my messy curls.
Disgusting.
That’s how I feel.
No matter that Xander just gave me the best orgasm of my life—he did it without knowing my past. He touched my tainted body. I’m just lucky he didn’t feel that hideous scar on my thigh after my stockings slipped down.
Letting that—whatever that was—happen between us was a disastrous mistake. He’s the first person I’ve felt anything towards for years. I shouldn’t have let it happen. I know that as soon as I have enough money, I’m out of here. I will never see him again.
Thunder rumbles outside like a bad omen.
Maybe it’s a sign.
I need to get as far away from Xander as possible.
Clearly my urges have returned with a vengeance.
I glance up at the camera in the hallway.
With any luck, Jacques would’ve caught us, and I’ll have an excuse to quit and look for something else. I won’t have to lie to Corrine. I could tell her I made a mistake, and now I’m paying the price for it.
Yes. That’s exactly what needs to happen. I just need to figure out a way to get him to look at the footage.
I grab my gym bag and quietly sneak my way to the back door. He’ll be in the Lounge. He won’t even notice I’ve left.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that Xander hasn’t anticipated me leaving and isn’t waiting for me at the back door.
I quietly push on the security bar, unlocking the door. But instead of me pushing it open, it flies open. The wind whips at my freshly brushed hair, and the rain is so strong, it spits onto me and inside the hallway.
Fuck. I hope Obsidian is home. I’ll make sure to give him extra treats when I’m back.
Cursing, I grab the bar, attempting to pull the door in, but it won’t budge.
“I wasn’t lying about the storm.” Xander’s voice startles me, and I jump back into the hallway, almost bumping into him.
My breaths come in pants after my fight with the door.
Xander walks up to it and pulls it in by the bar. Muscles rippling and veins popping, making it look like it took him no effort.
The door slams shut, drowning out the noise of the storm. And I stand in front of Xander—shivering from the rain, basically soaked, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
I suppose I have been caught… trying to leave.
He folds his arms over his chest while his mouth is quirked up on one side.
He looks annoyingly fucking hot, and my pussy pulses at the memory of what he did to me mere minutes ago.
And I think he’s thinking about it too, because the way he’s looking at me looks like he’s looking at his favourite dessert.
“Are you running from me, Angel?” he teases.
I pop out my hip and mimic his stance. “Yes.”
He pushes off the wall, standing directly in front of me. He lifts my chin with his forefinger.
He looks undeniably beautiful. The red light hits the high parts of his face perfectly. He looks like he was carved from diamond.
“I told you, there’s no running from me now,” he says softly, disconnecting his hand from my chin.
My hackles start to rise. “I’m not sure you can stop me.”
He smirks, bringing his eyes level with mine. “No. But you best believe I would follow you to the ends of the earth.”
Every instinct in me is screaming to tell him about Luke.
I have one psychopathic man after me. I don’t need two.
But why, why, does it feel different with him?
“Drink?” he drawls, tracing his hand down my arm and pulling me towards the bar.
I groan internally as I let him drag me there.
“I don’t have a change of clothes, Xander. I’m soaked.”
“I know,” he snorts.
“That was a lame attempt at a joke.”
“It’s not a joke. It’s a fact.”
So, maybe he’s right.
And there’s no way I would’ve been able to drive back home in this storm.
I trail Xander to the lounge. He rounds the bar and pulls out a duffel bag. Unzipping it, he throws me a glance from across the bar. He pulls out a fresh set of clothes and slides them over to me.
I eye them before giving him a questioning look.
“They’re for you. Go and get changed.”
“It’s almost as if you’ve had this entire thing planned out,” I comment, resting my chin on my fist on top of the bar.
“Would it be so bad if I did?”
“A little creepy.”
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at my remark.
“So, we’re meant to just stay up all night?” I ask as he rummages through his bag.
He shakes his head. “There’s a bedroom by the office. We can stay in there.”
“Okay,” I say slowly.
His wrist twists, veins bulging as he works to unbutton his shirt.
He peels the wet material off, revealing muscle after delicious, tattooed muscle, glistening in the dim lighting of the lounge, flexing with each movement.
I’m completely mesmerised watching as he dumps the shirt to the side.
My eyes wander further down the V of his abs, and I catch a glimpse of his very generous bulge.
“You’re drooling.” His voice snaps me out of the show he just put on.
I clear my throat and glance away, cheeks burning, immediately feeling my own wet clothes sticking to my body, causing me to shiver.
He chuckles before he says, “Take them to the dressing room, ask me to turn around—whatever. Just get out of those wet clothes.”
Without looking, I grab the clothes from the bar and make my way to the dressing room.
I shut the door behind me and instantly strip off, shivering at the cool breeze from the air conditioning hitting my skin.
I find a clean towel and dry off. I haven’t got another spare change of clothes—I wasn’t planning on staying overnight at my bloody place of work—so my underwear is also soaked.
I grimace and pull them down my legs, grabbing the black pair of joggers Xander gave me and shoving my legs inside them. Aside from the fact that they’re wet from the rain, they also glitter with the remnants of my arousal—mocking me.
Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of what just happened and how good it felt. Followed by self-disgust.
Xander’s joggers are huge on me, so I take the drawstrings and tighten them around my waist. I pull on the black t-shirt and examine myself in the mirror. I’m literally drowning in his clothes.
I catch a whiff of musk as I turn to walk out of the dressing room and bring the collar of his shirt to my nose. I inhale his scent. It smells like… safety.
I shake off that thought and head back to the lounge.
There are two ‘Sex On The Beach’ cocktails on the counter.
Xander is turned towards the back wall with glass shelves of liquor neatly organised across the large bar, wearing just a pair of grey joggers, his black ink-covered skin on full display and muscles bunching with the movement of cutting up various cheeses and meats.
He looks so casual. After what just happened between us. In the middle of Diamond Lounge.
He looks like he’s inside his own kitchen.
And my brain can’t wrap itself around the view. How… normal he looks.
“Are you making a charcuterie board?” I question, still stumped by the view in front of me.
He spins around, leaning back on the counter with the knife still in his hand, pinning me with his gaze.
He drags his eyes down my frame in his too-big clothes.
His bottom lip pulls between his teeth, and a smile manifests on his face.
The knife in his hand contrasts the domesticated look.
I can’t see that dangerous look when he’s standing half-naked in front of me, beside my favourite cocktail and a charcuterie board.
“Enjoying the view?” he taunts.
It’s then that I realise I’ve been staring at him again. But fuck me, it’s hard not to. I’ve been wondering what he looks like under all those tailored shirts he always wears, and now that he’s right in front of me, it’s hard not to look.
A rumble of thunder makes me jerk on the spot.
“Sit,” he offers.
I slip onto the barstool in front of him as he turns and continues working on the board. I sip on my cocktail whilst I watch the muscles of his back contracting.
Silence stretches between us, and my heart picks up pace.
Why do I feel so awkward?
It feels like I’m on a first date with someone I fancy.
My phone pings in the pocket of Xander’s joggers.
UNKNOWN: I’m sorry for threatening you. I need to talk to you. Please just tell me where you are. We can talk this through. We can be us again
And there go the butterflies in my stomach, replaced by a feeling I’m all too familiar with.
Anger.
Hatred.
Exhaustion.
I place my phone back in my pocket as Xander rounds the bar with a large board filled with snacks.
“You like charcuterie boards?” he asks as he places it between us and sits next to me, reminding me of the first time he spoke to me. In this same spot.
“Sadly, yes. How did you know?” I ask.
He freezes for a moment but then relaxes. “It was a guess. You look like someone who would enjoy stuff like this. As for the cocktail, I’ve watched you enough times to know it’s your favourite." He shrugs.
He gestures to the board, picking up a grape and popping it into his mouth. I—once again—find myself watching the movement. How his tongue wraps around the grape before he closes his mouth, the movement of his throat as he works to swallow it.
A single grape held up with two tattooed fingers appears in front of my eyes. Xander’s eyes are hooded as he watches my mouth part. He guides the grape to my mouth and gently rubs my bottom lip with it before pushing it into my mouth. My lips catch his fingers before he can pull away.
And, because I can’t help myself, I suck gently on them before his fingers come away from my mouth with a pop. His throat bobs up and down as he watches the movement.
Fuck, what am I doing?
Breaking his stare, I clear my throat. “So, do you bring all your dates here?”
His mouth twitches, eyes sparkling in the low light. “No. I don’t date.”
A twinge of satisfaction lights up in my chest at that. But Penelope’s face flashes in my mind, so it’s there and gone within seconds.
I make a humming sound in my throat.
“I thought you said you believed me?” he asks, almost panicked.
“I do,” I respond calmly. “It just surprises me that you don’t date. Women must throw themselves at your feet,” I finish, grabbing a slice of cheese and placing it between my teeth.
He tilts his head at me, a sly smirk playing on his lips. “Is it really that hard to believe that, maybe, you’re the first girl I’ve ever had interest in dating?”
“So this is a date?” I ask, nibbling on some more cheese.
He straightens, his hold on the cocktail glass tightening. “Only if you want it to be.”
I snort. Maybe it’s the alcohol in my system, but I say, “I don’t know if I enjoy the idea of my first date being in my place of work.”
It seems that my snark only comes out to play when Xander and alcohol are involved.
“We’ll do a redo,” he rushes out.
I raise my brow at him, taking another sip of my drink. “Who said I’d let you take me out?”
“I’ll drag you out myself if I have to.” His face is straight as he says it, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
“Is that so?”
“You don’t know the lengths I’d go to have you around me, Camila.” He leans in closer, running his hand down the side of my face and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
My chewing slows, suddenly captured by his gaze. I swallow.
I’m overthinking. This whole thing with Luke has messed with my mind so much that my brain is conjuring up ways to make Xander the bad guy.
He’s here, with clean clothes, my favourite cocktail, and a charcuterie board. And it seems like it’s almost too good to be true. But everything he’s done since I met him has been nothing but thoughtful. A little… desperate but thoughtful.
He’s a billionaire. He could have any woman he wants. Yet, here he is. Chasing me. Knowing nothing about me and where I come from. Knowing nothing about my crazy ex.
We both snack on the board in silence, and my skin tickles with the feeling of him watching me. I don’t need to look at him to know his gaze is fixed on me.
My phone’s ringtone breaks through the silence. I subtly turn towards Xander as I pull it out of my pocket, seeing that it’s Luke.
Suddenly, the call disappears, along with my signal. The message he sent me is still on the screen when I lock my phone.
“Crap. Signal's gone.”
Xander pulls his phone out to check. “Who was that?”
“Hm?”
“Calling you.”
Shit.
“Oh, just Corrine. She’s on a date tonight and asked me to cover. Hence why I was still here.” I wave my phone at him. “She probably wanted to check how I got on with closing up.”
He nods, eyeing me as if he doesn’t believe me.
“You don’t belong here.”
“Excuse me?” I recoil at his sudden statement, not sure if I heard him correctly. It sends irritation coursing through me like fire. “You don’t know anything about where I belong.”
He places his drink down and swiftly tugs my chair towards him, then grips my thighs with both of his hands to steady my balance.
“I can see the way you move. The way you are after. You don’t interact with men unless you need to.
You’re constantly on high alert, as if someone you don’t want might approach you at any second.
But it’s not me. No. You actively seek me out every night.
You like knowing that I’m there. Watching you.
And the only time you feel comfortable here is when you’re on that stage. ”
My throat dries at the truth he spouts. He leans in closer now, his large hands massaging my thighs.
“You may think I don’t know you, Camila—and maybe I don’t—but I see you. I want to know you. I want to know everything there is to possibly know about you.” He gently presses his fingers into my thighs, leaning forward even more so that his lips are hovering over mine.
“But what if I don’t want that? What if you wouldn’t like what you found out?” I ask shakily.
“There’s not a thing you could tell me that would scare me away, Angel. Trust me.”
His hand leaves my thigh and grips the back of my neck, pulling my lips to his in a bruising kiss.