Chapter 7 NOIA
SEVEN
noia
A wall of heat and sound hit me full on as I follow Ryder into the bar.
Music pulses against cracked wood floors and exposed brick walls, the scent of beer, leather, and sweat almost overwhelming—and it’s packed.
Bodies press together, swaying in slow, sinful rhythms as laughter, rough and loud, fills the air. And underneath it all? The rapid, insistent beating of my heart.
Maybe it’s the music.
Maybe it’s my nerves.
Maybe it’s the way Ryder lightly brushes his hand against my lower back as he steers me through the crowd toward the bar, that makes me tuck in close to him as we push our way through the crowd.
As we saddle up behind some people waiting in line, he leans in, his voice a warm growl in my ear over the pounding bass. “What do you want?”
I suck in a breath and shiver.
“Whiskey sour,” I answer, raising my voice over the din, ignoring the smug glint in his eyes like he knows exactly what the night has in store for me—what he has in store for me.
Elbowing our way between two groups of girls squealing over tequila shots, we squeeze up close to the bar. Behind me, Ryder plants his hands firmly on either side of the bar, caging me in, and orders our drinks.
And God help me, I like it.
The bartender sets our glasses down as Ryder tosses a bill onto the counter. Handing me my drink, his fingers brush mine, making my stomach flip.
“Drink up, so we can dance.”
I take a sip, and he raises an eyebrow before he downs his glass of whiskey in one shot.
Setting his empty glass on the bar with a thunk, he takes a finger and lifts my glass so I have no choice but to gulp it down or it will end up all over the front of my top.
Shaking off the brain freeze, I slam the glass on the bar. “What the fuck, Ryder?”
“C’mon,” he says, jerking his head toward the dance floor.
Glancing nervously at the writhing bodies, I’m only able to hesitate for a second before Ryder snags my hand and pulls me into the middle of the crowd. The bass beats against my chest and the crowd swallows us whole as lights strobe overhead, heat rolling off the dancing bodies in waves.
Moving like he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching, Ryder dances like he is the music.
And it’s killing me.
I want to mold my body against his, lose myself in his eyes, and run my hands along the hard planes of his chest. Instead, I force myself to stand back and match his rhythm.
Closing my eyes, I sway my hips and lift my arms, letting the music take over and flow through my veins.
When I open them, he’s watching me with so much hunger, I almost trip over my feet.
Tension coils in the air between us. Every brush of his arm, every tilt of his body as it leans against mine, is building a pressure in my chest so deep it almost hurts to breathe.
So, rather than meet his gaze, I turn my back on him and dance.
He moves in, lining his body up against mine. The heat coming off his body soaks through the thin fabric of my top as his scent, dark, rich and intoxicating, assaults my nose.
One wrong move, one inch closer, and I could easily come completely and totally undone.
I suck in a breath and swallow it whole, dancing like my life depends on not turning around and dragging him into the darkest corner of the bar and letting him have his way with me.
An hour slips by in a blur. We take a couple of breaks, but we mostly stick to dancing and drinking.
He buys me a couple of shots, and they burn down my throat, loosening my limbs. I can’t think about anything else except the way his eyes track my every move until he leans in, his voice a low rumble in my ear.
“Stay here. I need to hit the head. You want another drink?”
“Sure.”
My head is dizzy, and my clit throbs a staccato rhythm between my thighs as I watch him disappear into the crowd toward the back.
I’m still catching my breath when a guy with blond, greasy hair slinks up next to me. Wearing a leather jacket that has seen better decades, his breath smells like cheap beer and cigarettes.
“Hey, sexy,” he slurs, leaning in way too close. “Wanna dance?”
“No.” I step back, giving him a firm shake of my head. “I’m waiting for someone.”
His grin flashes me a chipped front tooth. “You can do better, babe. Dance with me.”
I give him another sharp, shake of my head. “Not interested.”
Ignoring me, he reaches out, fingers digging into my upper arm as he tries to drag me onto the dance floor.
I jerk my arm away. “I said no.”
Dancing bodies blur in my peripheral, the music warping and spinning, just as Ryder materializes out of the crowd.
Slamming our drinks down on a nearby table, he shoves his body between me and Greasy Guy.
With a growl, Ryder’s eyes flash in warning. “She said no, asshole.”
“What’s it to you, pretty boy?” Greasy Guy sneers.
Ryder’s answering smile is so close to deadly, it’s a wonder the other guy doesn’t drop dead on the spot. “You sure you wanna find out?”
It happens so fast, I don’t have time to blink.
The other guy moves to shove Ryder, but Ryder is much faster.
Crack!
One punch lands square across the other guy’s jaw. Greasy Guy staggers back into another table, knocking over the occupants drinks with a crash.
Shouts erupt all around us and someone screams as drinks start to fly.
Greasy Guy lunges, his swing flying wild when Ryder ducks. Grabbing the bastard by the jacket, Ryder throws him against the bricks. The asshole lands with a thud, rattling the framed photos hanging on the wall as he slides to the floor.
Then two of the guys’ friends come running and try to jump in.
Big mistake. Huge.
Whirling around, Ryder drops one guy with an elbow to the sternum while deftly dodging the other’s wild swing. The crowd scatters, forming a circle around the brawl as someone yells for security.
“Ryder!” I shout over the chaos, but he’s in the zone, moving methodically. Lethal and cunning, his practiced moves make my stomach flip.
The second guy catches him with a glancing blow to the cheek. Ryder barely flinches, responding with a lightning-fast combination of fists that sends the man stumbling backward into the crowd.
Blood roars in my ears as I watch him fight, defending me with all the deadly grace I imagined he would have—it’s terrifying and thrilling all at once.
As Ryder catches one of them with a brutal right hook to the ribs, the second guy seizes his arm, and that’s when I see red.
Without thinking, I snatch my empty glass from the table and smash it over the second guy’s head.
With a howl, he clutches his bleeding forehead as he stumbles away.
Finally, the bouncers barrel in, dragging bodies apart, yelling about calling the cops. People scramble across overturned chairs, sliding through pools of alcohol strewn across the floor.
Taking my hand, Ryder yanks me against his side.
“Time to go, kitten.”
Muscling us toward the door, he weaves us through the chaos. He’s obviously done this before, turning his body into a wall between me and everyone else trying to escape.
We burst out into the cool night air, panting as the door slams behind us.
I stare up at him and grin, heart hammering as adrenaline screams through my veins.
Lip split and bleeding, he looks down at me, returning my grin.
I should be scared, but instead? I’m wrecked for him.
“You okay?” he asks, voice rough.
Speechless, I can only nod.
He cups my face in one big, warm hand, thumb brushing gently along my jaw.
Without another thought, I rise onto my toes and kiss him. Hard.
He freezes for only half a second before he kisses me back like he’s been waiting his whole damn life to do it. Mouth hot and demanding, he tastes like whiskey and danger.
I melt into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as he backs me up against the brick wall of the bar.
The kiss is everything—desperate and consuming. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming and coaxing as he slides a hand up to tangle in my hair. My body arches against his, seeking more of that delicious friction as he presses against me.
I jerk back first, gasping, the taste of whiskey, blood, and adrenaline on my tongue.
Stunned, Ryder blinks down at me. The look on his face says I’ve hit him with a two-by-four and he’s not sure what to do about it.
Dragging his knuckles across his split lip, he smirks. “If that’s how you say thank you, I’ll have to save your sexy ass more often,” he says, voice hoarse.
I shove him hard in the chest. “Don’t push your luck, Roadhouse.”
Backing up a step, his laugh is a low, rough sound that rumbles through my body, straight to my core.
The cool night breeze nips at my bare shoulder, slapping me back to reality. Turning on my heel, I stalk through the parking lot, my heels clicking against the cracked pavement.
Ryder follows at a leisurely pace, acting like we didn’t just start a full on bar fight.
Typical.
I yank open the passenger door of my beat-up SUV for him, but he ignores me. Instead, he walks around the front of the car and makes himself at home in the driver’s seat.
Glaring at him, I climb in.
Cocky as hell, he throws me side-eye, tapping the steering wheel with two bruised knuckles. “What? You’re shaking, so I’m driving.”
I’m not shaking, I’m still effing buzzing from that kiss.
I slam the door closed, yank my seatbelt across my lap and cross my arms, stewing as he fires up the engine.
We peel out of the parking lot, tires squealing, silence stretching tight in the air as he drives.
Finally, mouth twitching, he cuts me a glance. “You gonna thank me for saving you, kitten?”
“You’re insufferable,” I mutter, staring hard out the window. “Wasn’t the kiss enough?”
He just laughs.
We drive the next few miles in silence, streetlights flashing in staccato bursts. My heart is still hammering against my ribs. My lips are still tingling, my body way too aware of every damn bruised, bloodied inch of him sitting across from me, grinning like the devil himself.
God, he’s beautiful. And infuriating.