Chapter Two
One Reckless Night
Lenor
One Year Later
The bass from the speakers rattles through the floor, cheap lights flashing across the crowded bar like fireworks.
Karmen is glowing—literally glowing—as she twirls on top of a table in the middle of Blake’s.
A plastic bejeweled tiara tilts on her head, her neon pink veil hanging crooked, her smile wide enough to split her face in half.
Everyone’s cheering. Everyone’s laughing. Everyone’s celebrating the woman she’s about to become—Wesley Blake’s wife.
And I’m happy for her. Really, I am. But I am also drunk off my fucking ass. Like, dangerously drunk. The kind of drunk that loosens all the chains I’ve kept tight around my heart. The kind of drunk that makes me reckless.
Which is exactly why Adam Blake is standing across the bar, watching me like I’m his next mistake. I down the last of my drink and slam the glass onto the counter.
“Another,” I tell the bartender.
He raises a brow. “You sure, Lenor?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Are you my mother? I want another fucking drink.”
Because if I slow down, if I let the buzz slip, the reality of everything will come rushing in.
The whispers. The pitying looks. The memory of Jacob’s mouth on Karmen’s, the way it split my heart down the middle.
Even a year later it still hurts like a motherfucker.
Even now, when I know my bestie is finally marrying the only man she has ever loved, I can’t get that image out of my fucking head.
And the truth I can’t admit—that no matter how much I love her, how much I forgive her, that night still haunts me.
The drink lands in front of me. I grab it, swallow down half, and let the burn coat my throat until my eyes water. And when I glance up, Adam’s still watching me. Damn him.
He’s leaning against the far wall like he owns the place—dark jeans, fitted green shirt, that cocky half-smile curving his mouth. Women are orbiting around him, trying to catch his attention but he doesn’t even glance at them. His gaze is locked on me. And it makes me feel ... seen. Too seen.
I turn away with my heart hammering in my ears, but it doesn’t matter. Because less than two minutes later, he’s behind me. I know it without looking. I can feel him, the heat, the danger, the way my body recognizes his presence before my brain can argue.
“You’re going to regret that in the morning,” Adam murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.
I shiver, forcing myself to roll my eyes. “What? This drink?”
“Every drink since your third.” His chuckle is low, rough. “Come on, Lennie. You’re not fooling me.”
I hate that nickname. I hate how it softens me, how it makes me remember being sixteen and sneaking glances at him in the high school parking lot.
I spin on the stool, glaring at him and his ridiculously sexy smile. “And what exactly am I supposed to be fooling you about?”
His eyes darken. “That you don’t want me.”
My breath stutters before I can hide it. Cocky fucking bastard. Except ... he’s not wrong. And that terrifies me. It always has.
I slide off the stool, stumbling slightly in my favorite black spiked heels. Adam’s hands are on my waist instantly, steadying me, his thumbs brushing bare skin where my top rides up. Sparks shoot straight through me, from the point of contact spreading through every inch of me.
Fuck.
“Careful,” he murmurs.
I shove him back, desperate to put space between us. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.” His grin says he doesn’t believe me. “Dance with me.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Liar.” He steps closer, crowding me against the bar. His cologne—smoke and cedar—wraps around me, making my head spin more than the alcohol. “One dance, Lennie. Just one.”
I should say no. God, I should say no. Instead, I let him take my hand.
The music shifts to something slower, a beat heavy enough to rattle my bones. Adam pulls me onto the dance floor, into the middle of the crowd, and suddenly it’s just us. His arms around me. My body pressed to his. His heart thudding against my chest.
And for the first time in a year, I feel alive.
“You’re trouble,” I whisper, breathless.
“You like trouble.”
His words make my pulse skip. He tilts my chin up, his gaze burning through me, and before I can find a reason to stop him, his mouth is on mine and the world tilts on its axis.
It’s not soft and there is nothing tentative about it.
It’s raw and hungry, a kiss that devours every defense I’ve built.
His lips move against mine, hot and demanding, and I can’t stop myself from kissing him back.
My hands clutch his shoulders, my body arching into him like it’s where I’ve always belonged.
This is Adam Blake. Reckless. Dangerous. Off-limits. But tonight I don’t care.
His hands slide down my back, gripping my hips as he pulls me closer. My thighs press against his, my body aching in ways I don’t want to think about. He tastes like whiskey and sin, and I can’t get enough.
“Let’s get out of here,” he growls against my lips.
Every rational thought in my head screams no.
But my body? My heart? They’re already his. So I nod and he drags me from the dance floor so quickly I stumble in my heels. He catches me around the waist and helps me along.
We barely make it to the back office before his mouth is on me again. He kicks the door shut, pins me against it, and kisses me like he’s been waiting his whole life for this. Maybe he has.
My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. His hands roam everywhere, my waist, my thighs, my ass, like he can’t decide what part of me he wants to memorize first.
Our clothes come off in a blur. My top hits the floor and his shirt follows. The heat between us is unbearable, like we’ll combust if we don’t have each other right now. When he lifts me onto the desk, scattering papers and pens to the floor, I don’t care about anything but him.
“Tell me to stop,” he pants, his forehead resting against mine. “Say the word, Lennie, and I will.”
I should. God, I should. But instead, I clutch his face, dragging his mouth back to mine. “Don’t you fucking dare stop, Adam.”
The sound he makes is guttural, almost primal.
He pushes my skirt up around my waist and rips my underwear off.
I hear his belt buckle and zipper before the crinkle of the condom wrapper.
It feels like it takes forever but then he’s inside me, filling me, stretching me, and I cry out, clinging to him like I’ll drown without him.
Nothing about this is slow, sweet, or tender. It’s desperate, and messy, and perfect. Every thrust is fire, every kiss is like breathing oxygen for the first time, and every touch is more than I can handle.
I lose myself in him. In the heat, the passion, and the way he makes me feel like I’m not broken. Like maybe I’ve been waiting for this all along.
And when I shatter, when the pleasure overwhelms me, it’s with his name on my lips. And when he follows, his body trembling, his mouth is pressed to my shoulder. And I know, with sudden, intense clarity, this isn’t just a one-night mistake.
It’s the beginning of something I can’t escape.
Which is exactly why it terrifies me.
And when the haze clears, when the reality sinks in, I shove at his chest and force myself to breathe.
“One night,” I whisper fiercely, my voice shaking. “That’s all this is. One night.” I can’t let myself fall again, I can’t open myself up to a man like Adam Blake because I won’t survive it when he breaks me. Not this time.
His eyes lock on mine, stormy and burning. “It’s not.”
But I can’t let myself believe him. So I turn and walk away, praying that walking back into the bar doesn’t feel like walking away from the only man who’s ever really seen me.