7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Corbin
I don’t know why I let Henley talk me into going out with her tonight. I hate clubs almost as much as I hate crowds. So, going to a crowded club on a Friday night is as close to my idea of hell as I can possibly get right now. But she’s my sister. Jessie had been right earlier. Henley is one of the few people I actually like, and one of even fewer people who actually like me. So, when she’d called to tell me about her big promotion and asked me to come out to celebrate with her, I couldn’t say no. Even if I’d secretly wanted to.
I’m happy for her. I really am. She’s worked damned hard to get to where she is now. Considering where we both started out in life, it’s a wonder either of us found any kind of success. It’s not like we had any help getting here. We hadn’t had the most wholesome upbringing. Starting life out at the bottom, with no one to offer us a hand up hadn’t been easy. But you’d never know it from looking at Henley tonight. She’s wearing a green, silky dress that I know is designer couture. It probably costs more than my monthly rent. Her blonde hair is impeccable. I know, for a fact that she pays an insane amount of money to her stylist to keep those highlights looking fresh and natural. She fits right in with the richest snobs in the city. You can’t tell from looking at her that we grew up poor and hungry, relying on free school lunches and food banks so we wouldn’t starve. From the outside, she looks like exactly what she wants to portray; a rich, beautiful woman without a care in the world.
As for me, I look closer to the degenerate I’d been growing up. Tattoos covering my body, permanent scowl fixed in place under my beard. My hair is just a touch longer than it should be, and I don’t even try to dress like one of these rich socialites. My dark jeans and button-down are good enough for me, so they’ll have to be good enough for this crowd. I decided a long time ago not to hide from who I used to be. I may own my own business now and be one of the most sought-after tattoo artists on the east coast, but I know deep-down that I can’t change where I came from. So, I stopped trying. Unlike Henley, who feels she needs to prove to the world every chance she gets that she’s nothing like our junkie mother or our piece of shit father who abandoned us. No matter how many accolades she earns or how many expensive dresses she buys, she still feels like she’s not good enough. Which is bullshit. She’s better than all these rich assholes put together. I just hope one day she realizes it and stops trying so hard to fit into a place that doesn’t even deserve her.
But it still wouldn’t have gotten me out of coming here tonight. The truth is my sister loves dancing. She loves seeing people and being seen. So, even when she does let go of some of her need to impress people, she still loves coming to places like this to cut loose. I don’t understand it, but no way was I going to let her come celebrate alone. Not that she’s ever alone for very long. She’s always had the kind of beauty that draws people to her, like a magnet. Which means that it hadn’t taken long for her to be drawn out onto the dance floor into a group comprised of men and women all writhing against each other. I know I could just leave. But much as I hate the club scene, I love seeing my sister carefree and happy. So instead of leaving, I seek out a table in the corner and make my way toward it.
As I weave my way through the crowd, I spot a flash of red from the corner of my eye. I can tell without turning to look that it’s a woman in a red dress. And she seems to be making a beeline for my table. A quick glance around tells me that it’s the only empty table in this area. I know I could be a gentleman and let her have it, but I’ve never been accused of being a gentleman. And I want that table. I don’t think the woman realizes we have the same goal in mind because she’s not speeding up her pace. It may have something to do with the high heels she’s wearing. She doesn’t seem entirely steady on her feet. Not that it matters to me. It’s to my advantage, so I’ll gladly take it.
When I reach the table, I quickly take a seat in one of the chairs and set my drink down before giving the woman a cocky grin. My smile vanishes immediately when I get my first decent look at the woman.
Mother. Fucker.
It would have to be her, wouldn’t it? She looks so different from when I’d seen her earlier today, but there’s no mistaking those surprised hazel eyes or those full, pouty lips. There’s also no mistaking my body’s immediate reaction to the sight of her in that red dress. The dress hugs her curves, showing off a lithe body that has me itching to reach out and touch. It also shows off a whole lot of leg below the short hem. She’s completely covered and there’s nothing indecent about the dress, but it’s setting my imagination on fire.
I’m glad I’m sitting, with the table hiding the evidence of my hard-on. How the hell can just the sight of this woman turn me into a horny teenager in seconds? It’s got to be the dress, I think. There’s no other explanation. She’s attractive, sure. But there’s nothing about her that should warrant this type of instant reaction from my dick. All this runs through my head in the seconds it takes for her to realize who just stole her table.
“You.” Her voice is accusatory. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Her annoyance at my mere presence immediately raises my hackles and I shift into defensive mode.
“If it isn’t the lying artist,” I say. “Tricked anyone into giving you a job since the last time I saw you?”
Her face heats with either embarrassment or anger. I can’t tell which, but it doesn’t matter. The result is the same. When those expressive eyes of hers narrow at me, it’s obvious. Definitely angry. Amusement wars with annoyance. For some reason, I like that I can get under her skin so easily. And that she doesn’t back down from me. I’m not used to that.
“Have you thrown anyone out of your shop lately?” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest.
The move pushes her breasts together and my eyes can’t help but stray lower to take in the sight.
“Not since before lunch,” I say, reaching for my drink as if dismissing her.
“You stole my table,” she says.
I make a show of looking around at the tabletop, even bending to peer under the table. Meeting her gaze again, I shrug.
“I don’t see your name on it, angel. ”
Her jaw clenches in irritation. “I was walking over here. You stole it before I could sit down.”
She wobbles slightly on those ridiculous heels, and I feel myself waver the slightest bit. But then I remember the way she’d come into my shop under false pretenses. For all I know this is just a ploy to get me to give up my table for her and whoever she came here with tonight. That thought gives me pause. Who is she here with tonight? She’s alone right now, but that doesn't mean anything. I’m alone right now, and I came here with someone. I wonder if she’s here with a man. I wonder if that’s who she’s wearing that tiny red dress for. That thought sends a rush of anger through me, surprising me with its fierceness. Which is stupid. I don’t care who she’s here with. There’s no reason for me to care.
I shrug again. “Should have walked faster, I guess.”
She huffs out an irritated sigh. “You’re such a dick,” she mutters, turning on her heel to leave.
I feel a hint of satisfaction that I managed to best her. Hot on the heels of that is regret. I don’t want her to leave. I want her to stay and verbally spar with me some more. Which is ridiculous. She’s a liar. I hate liars. I should be happy to see her go, but I can admit to myself that I like the way she doesn’t back down from me.
“Running away, little angel? That’s right. You wouldn’t want to be seen with someone like me. What would your friends at the country club think?”
She whirls around to face me, her eyes flashing with anger, mouth open to give me what I’m certain is a blistering retort. But it never comes. Instead, her foot wobbles in her high heels and she puts a hand out to steady herself. Only there’s nothing there for her to grab onto. Her eyes widen in surprise and fear as she begins to fall.
My body reacts before I have a chance to think about it. I jump to my feet and catch her before she can faceplant onto the club floor. The move presses her body fully against mine. I can feel lithe curves pressed against me and my hand is splayed against the bare skin of her back. That soft floral perfume I remember from earlier today fills my nose and I breathe deeply, trying to hold onto the scent. Her head is just below my chin, even in those ridiculous heels that I know add at least 2 inches to her height. My arms are banded around her waist, and I can feel her hands against my chest, trapped between our two bodies. I wonder if she can feel how fast my heart is beating just under her palm. Realizing she can probably also feel my growing erection, I step back quickly. I keep my hands on her arms to make sure she’s steady on her feet before releasing her. My hands close into loose fists, already missing that brief contact with her bare skin.
She looks at me in confusion, the anger of moments before gone. “Thank you,” she says in a voice almost too low for me to hear over the club’s music.
I don’t like the vulnerability I see now when I look at her. I liked it better when she was angry at me. When I could think of her as just another bored rich girl who lies to get ahead .
“You shouldn’t wear heels if you can’t walk in them,” I say, my tone hard and bitter.
She glares at me, her gratitude shifting back to the anger from before. That’s better.
“I’ve been walking in heels since I was ten,” she bites off. “I think I can handle myself.”
“Clearly,” I scoff. “That’s why I just had to keep you from cracking your skull.”
She rolls her eyes. “You kept me from an embarrassing fall, but that’s all. And I already thanked you. The polite thing to do would be to say, ‘You’re welcome.’”
I give her a smirk that’s more condescending than friendly. “But you’re not welcome,” I say. “I have no desire to be your knight in shining armor. Find someone else to look after you.”
She steps closer, her eyes flashing with ire. “I don’t need to be looked after and I damned sure don’t need to be rescued. Especially not by someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” I repeat. “What does that mean?”
I move even closer to her, invading her space until she has no choice but to look up to meet my gaze. The move has her body nearly touching mine again, something I shouldn’t be fantasizing about, but I am. I’m pleased when she doesn’t cower back from my nearness. She stands her ground, which is hotter than it should be.
“Think you’re too good for me? ”
“It means,” she bites off. “That you’re an asshole, and I wouldn’t ask you for anything if you were the last man alive.”
My gaze strays down her neck to her collar bone and down to the slight swell of her breasts over the neckline of her dress. I take my time looking her over, making my perusal of her obvious, before bringing my gaze back to her face. Her eyes have shifted now to something more wary, less angry. Hungry, maybe? I lean in until my lips are nearly touching her ear.
“Oh, I can think of a few things you could ask me for. I bet I could have you begging if I really wanted to.”
The image I’d had earlier this afternoon of her on her knees before me flits through my head again, turning my semi-hard cock into an iron bar in my pants. Fuck. What’s the deal with this woman? How does she have this effect on me? I fight off the urge to press my lips to the skin beneath her ear, to press my body against hers. Instead, I ease back to put a little more space between us so I can see her face.
“Not even in your wildest fantasies,” she taunts. Is her voice less steady than before? It’s hard to tell over the thumping bass of the music, but I think it might be.
“You have no idea how wild my fantasies can be, angel” I say.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
My gaze tracks over her face and down to the swell of her breasts above the neckline of her dress. “A proper girl like you? Wants everyone to think she’s little miss perfect. Daddy’s little angel. But I bet you could be dirty, given the right motivation.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and she sucks in a shaky breath. “I guess you’ll never find out.”
Her words take me by surprise. There’s an almost wistful longing hidden in her tone as if maybe she wants to know more. This time I know her voice isn’t as steady as when she’d been yelling at me. Maybe she’s just as affected by me as I am by her. Not that it matters. She’s not my type. Even if she were, I don’t want anything to do with her on principle. But damn, is my imagination on fire with thoughts of how good it would be.
“Your loss.”
She huffs out a little laugh and rolls her eyes again, sending another spike of irritation through me. Before I can think better of it, my hand shoots out to grab her neck. My hold isn’t tight enough to hurt her. It’s just enough so she feels my strength. So she realizes how quickly I can take control of her body if I wish. Her sharp intake of breath makes me smile and sends a bolt of lust through me. But it’s nothing compared to the look in her eyes. The anger is still there but overriding that is excitement. I can feel her rapid pulse beneath my fingers as I tilt her jaw up until she meets my gaze. I tell myself that if she pushed me away, I’d let her go. If she struggled at all, I’d release her immediately. But she doesn’t. She stands still, allowing my hand around her throat. Almost as if she wants it there .
“Let’s get one thing straight, angel,” I say. “If I wanted you, I’d have you. And you’d thank me afterward.”
My other hand goes to her hip, pulling her lower half flush against me. I watch her eyes go wide when she feels my hard length press against her belly. I tighten my hand around her throat just enough to let her feel who’s in control. Her mouth parts on a sigh and the anger in her eyes is gone, replaced by naked want. To anyone passing by, we’d look like a couple in an intimate embrace, just on the verge of kissing.
“You like that, don’t you? My hand on your throat? Being at my mercy?”
She hesitates for only a second, but I notice it.
“No,” she says in a weak voice.
I grin, satisfaction coursing through me as I lean in close to her ear. This time, my lips brush against the shell of her ear when I whisper a single word.
“Liar.”
Releasing her abruptly, I take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between us. I ignore the way my body already misses the feel of hers against it. This is insane. We’re in the middle of a dance club, surrounded by drunk idiots. I can’t cause a scene here.
“You’re a bastard,” Avery says, scowling at me.
I shrug. “You knew that already. Keep the table. I’m leaving.”
I turn toward the dance floor, searching for Henley. I need to get out of here before I do something even more reckless. Like bend Avery over that table and fuck her until she can’t walk straight. The image of her beneath me as I push into her, filling her, pops into my head. I nearly turn around and walk back over to her, consequences be damned. Instead, I shake my head to clear away the image and search out my sister to tell her I’m leaving.
It takes me a few minutes to find Henley and get her attention. When I tell her I'm leaving, she puts up a token resistance but I can see in her eyes that she knows something is off with me. In the end, she nods, hugs me goodnight and thanks me for coming out. She’s surrounded by a group of young, beautiful people now, so I know she won’t miss me for long. There’s a redhead in a short skirt who seems particularly fond of my sister tonight. And I know Henley has a weakness for redheads. I give her a knowing look.
“Have fun,” I say. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s a short list.”
“Text me when you’re home safe,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “You know I will.”
I point a finger at her. “I mean it.”
Sighing, she uses one finger to draw an ‘X’ on her chest. “Cross my heart.”
I nod. “Good.”
She eyes me for a moment, concern etched on her face. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nod, forcing a smile. “Just a headache,” I lie. “It’s too loud in here.”
She laughs. “If it’s too loud, you’re too old.”
I roll my eyes with a smile as I turn to go. Henley is six years younger than I am, so she’s been teasing me about being old for what seems like forever. Not that I think 35 is old. I can’t wait until she turns 30 so I can fuck with her about it like she did with me. Not that our insults ever hold much heat. She’s the only family I have. I’d do anything for her, and I know she feels the same about me. So, no matter how much we tease one another, we don’t really mean it. But it doesn’t stop us from giving each other shit as often as possible.
I make my way toward the exit, ignoring the way I seem to feel eyes on me as I go. I fight the urge to look toward the corner and see if a certain naughty angel is watching me leave. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. I don’t care if she’s watching me. But I know the real reason I don’t dare look in that direction. Because if I were to look over and see Avery’s eyes on me, I’d throw my principles out the window and drag her out of here with me to do something we’d both regret tomorrow. And that kind of entanglement is the last thing I need right now. I’ve outgrown those wild nights. So, I keep my gaze locked on the exit until I’m outside in the humid summer air.