Chapter 14 #2
I take a sip hesitantly and am pleasantly surprised at the flavors that explode inside my mouth. It tastes delicious.
“You like it?”
I nod at him, a small smile on my face as I take another sip.
“What is it?”
“Sex on the beach,” he replies, causing me to spit out my drink in surprise.
“What? Are you serious?”
“Yes,” he replies with a laugh as he grabs a smaller glass and holds it up for me to see. “And this is a pink pussy.”
He downs the drink before I can even register what he’s said and by the time he is looking back down at me, my face is beet red.
The way he just spoke those dirty words and the smirk that played across his lips has me weak in the knees as heat floods between my thighs.
This man is dangerous. I play it off as I awkwardly take another sip of my drink.
“Those are some weird names for drinks. Must be a States thing.”
His eyes sparkle in amusement as a few men walk up to the section we are in and Frankie steps towards them.
I have no idea what I’m talking about or if it’s even really a States thing.
I’ve never so much as been in a club in Italy, let alone somewhere where they name drinks this way.
I can't say I’m not enjoying this experience though.
It feels fun and freeing just being somewhere like this.
Before I know it I find myself dancing and swaying to the music surrounding me as Frankie watches me curiously.
Every once in a while I see women coming up to the guards and some being allowed entrance inside the VIP while others are turned away.
Women orbit Frankie like he’s gravity itself.
I watch as they drift close to him, laughing too loud and brushing against him like they know him too well.
He handles them easily like he’s used to being the center of attention.
Every time I get close enough to hear a part of their conversation, he has them sent away.
“You sure have a lot of women wanting your attention,” I say, after one particularly persistent woman finally gives up and leaves after he says something to her. He glances at me, his mouth curling into a sly smirk.
“Jealous, Datura?”
My nickname on his lips makes my stomach flutter but I scowl at him anyways.
“Of course not,” I snap, but the denial tastes bitter even as it comes from my mouth. There’s a twist low in my chest because, yes, I think I really am jealous. “I was just making an observation.”
Something unreadable crosses his features and I watch his mouth turn down.
Before I can make more of a fool of myself, I twist around and grab another drink.
I already feel tipsy from my first one but I need something more to make me forget about this feeling I get every time I see another woman near him.
It gets worse when another woman is allowed entrance into the VIP.
A blonde in a red dress with legs for days, leans in and whispers something in Frankie’s ear that makes him smile.
She trails her fingers down his arm and I watch as he sits down on one of the couches and she takes the opportunity to sit on his lap.
I try not to watch as she leans over, pushing her boobs right into him, but I can’t help the anger that courses through my body.
I don’t know why I’m so angry. He’s not mine and I’m not his, yet I can’t help the possessiveness I feel towards him.
I watch him look up at me, that stupid smirk on his face again, while the woman whispers to him.
I don’t think. I just act. I slam my drink down and wedge myself between them and the table, causing both the woman and Frankie to look up at me in surprise.
Then I grab Frankie’s hand and pull him up while her body slides off of him abruptly.
He doesn’t even look back at the woman but he does stop me to quickly speak to the guards as we leave VIP.
“Don’t let any more women in here,” I hear him say and I smile to myself as I pull him onto the dance floor.
“What…” he starts, but I cut him off by pressing in close, closer than I should.
His hands immediately lock around my waist and he pulls me against him hard.
The strobe lights flicker as we dance. I feel his body so closely molded to mine that I couldn’t tell you where he ended and I began.
The alcohol in my body has me boldly gliding my ass against him and feeling the hard length of him as his hands run up my thighs and stomach.
If I could breathe right now, every breath would be a dare.
A dare to find a dark secluded place and do more than just dancing.
It’s almost too much but it’s also not enough.
The heat between us and the way his grip tightens any time I pull too far away.
It seems like hours we dance like that, stuck in our own little world, before Frankie jerks back, like he’s been shocked.
He pulls his phone out and looks down at the screen with his eyebrows scrunched tightly.
“We need to go,” he mutters, so low I almost can’t hear him over the music.
I push my lips out in a pout, causing a small smile to form on his face.
“I’ll bring you back another time, Datura. It’s getting late…and you’re drunk.”
“Am not,” I say as he drags me through the crowd and outside where his SUV waits for us.
The cool night air hits me as we exit the club, clearing my head just enough to make me realize how tipsy I actually am. The world tilts slightly as Frankie guides me to the SUV, his hand steady at my lower back.
"I was having fun," I protest as he helps me into the passenger seat, my dress riding up my thighs. I catch him looking before he quickly averts his eyes and shuts my door.
When he slides behind the wheel, I turn to face him, propping my elbow on the center console.
"Why were all those women throwing themselves at you? It's like they knew you."
Frankie's jaw tightens as he pulls onto the street, the club fading behind us.
"I used to go there a lot before…"
"Before what?" I press, studying his profile in the dim glow of the dashboard. I’m definitely drunk right now.
"Before I was assigned to guard you," he replies, his voice low and rough. "That club is owned by the Sanchez family."
I blink and sit quiet for a moment as I process this new information.
"So you're, what, a regular? Is that why they let us into VIP without question?"
His mouth quirks into that half-smile I'm starting to know too well. Why must he be so damn sexy and irresistible?
"Something like that."
The implication hangs between us, and jealousy bubbles up inside me again.
I picture him with that blonde in the red dress, with all those women who seemed to know exactly who he was.
Women who knew what they were doing, unlike me.
I shouldn’t want to know more but for some reason I’m a glutton for punishment because my mouth opens and I speak before I can stop myself.
"So all those women…" I trail off, not even sure what I'm asking.
Frankie's hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white.
"What about them?"
"You've been with them? Like, all of them?"
‘Shut up Liana. Stop while you’re ahead.’
The alcohol makes me bolder than I should be. He glances at me, his eyes dark and unreadable in the shadows.
"Not all of them. But some, yes. Are we trading numbers here, Datura?"
He says that last sentence like it’s a joke.
He knows I’m a virgin. I know he’s just trying to make light of the conversation but the confirmation hits harder than it should.
Of course he's been with other women. Probably more than I could count. He's gorgeous and dangerous and obviously experienced. I turn away, staring out the window at the desert night rushing past. How could I be so stupid to think he would ever want me? I’m young and inexperienced and I’m certainly nothing like all of those other confident women I saw at the club.
"I haven't been with anyone since I met you," he says, suddenly breaking the silence. He speaks so quietly I almost think I've imagined it. My head whips back around in surprise.
"What?"
"You heard me."
His voice is tight and controlled, like he's fighting to keep something locked down inside.
"But…why?"
The question slips out before I can stop it. It’s obviously because babysitting me has taken up far too much of his time. He doesn't answer immediately and I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to as the silence stretches between us. Finally, after a few minutes, he speaks.
"I don’t know."
My breath catches. I don't know what to say or what to think. What does he mean he doesn’t know? That he wants me? That he feels something for me? Or is it just some twisted sense of duty to my future husband?
‘My future husband.’
The thought crashes back through my alcohol-hazed mind like ice water. In two weeks, I'll be married to a man I've never met. An old ugly man who hasn’t bothered to speak to me or meet me, even once. A man who isn't Frankie.
We drive the rest of the way in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. By the time we reach the estate, my head is spinning, and not just from the drinks. Everything feels complicated and impossible. The same anxiety from earlier today comes back ten-fold.
‘So much for a fun night out to take my mind off of everything.’
Frankie helps me out of the SUV like I’m still a drunken mess.
I'm not anymore though, but I don't tell him that.
This conversation quickly sobered me up but I like the feel of his hand at my waist as we walk to the front door.
Inside, the house is quiet and dark except for a single light left on in the foyer.
Our footsteps echo on the marble as we make our way up the staircase.
I pause at my door, turning to face him.
"Frankie," I start, not even sure what I want to say. Thank you? I want you? I'm confused because I’m not sure if you feel the same?
He steps closer, and for one wild, breathless moment, I think he might actually kiss me again. Really kiss me, like he did that night at the garden and in the gym. His eyes drop to my lips, and heat floods through me.
"You should get some sleep," he says instead, his voice strained.
"Thank you for tonight," I say softly, not knowing what else to do. "I needed that."
He reaches out, his thumb gently brushing a strand of hair from my face, and that simple touch sends electricity racing across my skin.
"Goodnight, Little Datura," he murmurs, then leans down and presses his lips to my forehead.
It's chaste, almost brotherly, and I absolutely hate it.
Then he steps away, leaving me standing in my doorway, aching for more.
I watch him walk down the hallway, his broad shoulders tense under his shirt, and only when he disappears around the corner, do I slip into my room and close the door behind me.
I lean against it, my heart pounding as the truth hits me with painful clarity. I'm falling for this man. For Frankie. For the man assigned to guard me until I marry someone else. This isn’t some innocent crush. This is more. This is dangerous.
I slide down to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. How did I let this happen? How did I let myself fall for the one man I absolutely cannot have? I wasn’t supposed to enjoy being here, and yet, tonight I actually did.
‘Two weeks.’
In two weeks, I'll belong to another man and the thought makes me physically ill. I push myself up and stumble to the bathroom, stripping off the dress and letting it fall to the floor.
I barely recognize myself as I stare into the mirror before turning the shower on. I look older, more mature, like those same women in the club. Is this what he saw tonight when he looked at me? Was I tempting him the same way he does me?
After my shower, I slide into bed, still thinking of Frankie's lips on my forehead.
How he kissed me like a child after watching me all night like he wanted to devour me.
This hot and cold is giving me whiplash.
I know he must want me. I can see it even when he tries to hide it from me.
I close my eyes, knowing sleep won't come easily tonight.
Not with my head full of this confusing man and my heart aching for something completely impossible.
I'm falling for my jailer, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.