Chapter Twenty
KINLEY
THE PARKING lot at the club is packed, so I have to park a block away. The car that’s been parked at the end of our driveway for the past two days pulls into a spot a few cars down from me. I make eye contact with him and roll my eyes as I give him the bird and my back and walk away.
I may or may not have put a little extra shake in my hips. Report back on that, asshole.
Tucking my clutch under my arm, I mentally take note of its contents: mace, my new phone, new key fob, and a tube of lip gloss. Check, check, check, and check. Ready for a good time.
I can see the front door of the club when I hear Allison yelling my name. “Kinley!”
The club is huge. It’s right on one of the busiest and brightest corners in this area, complete with bumper-to-bumper traffic. The bass of the music is thumping through the walls to be heard from the street.
Allison’s on the sidewalk in a skin-tight, sparkly pink, spaghetti strap dress that barely covers her ass. She might as well be naked. Her brown, natural curls that usually touch her shoulders have been flat-ironed and hang between her shoulder blades.
“You look hot.” I say as I step up onto the sidewalk next to her.
Her eyes travel down my body and back up. “Holy shit, Kins, so do you! Look at those smoky eyes, girl! Who you planning to slay tonight?”
I almost changed before I left, but when I thought about Rhys sending that man to my house, I said, fuck-it. The dress I have on tonight is one that is left over from my younger days. It’s a silver two-piece faux chain mail fabric that could pass for two handkerchiefs.
A thin spaghetti strap that loops around my neck holds two corners of the square, which barely covers my boobs, and is held together across my back by another thin spaghetti strap.
I basically have a scrap of material loosely hanging on my front.
The bottom is a tiny length of fabric that hugs my hips and is just long enough to cover my ass. My strappy heels match it perfectly.
I think Gray referred to the outfit once as my stripper getup.
As I looked at myself in the mirror, it felt good, like I was somehow punishing Rhys by wearing this around other men, but in reality, I’m punishing myself for being so stupid.
I know I’m going to attract the wrong kind of attention tonight and probably end up with a stranger that I will regret, but getting the wrong kind of attention feels better than sitting at home stewing.
And trying to ignore the ache in my chest.
Because it’s so damn hot outside, I pulled my hair back into a simple ponytail and straightened out all my waves, so my hair falls straight down my back.
I smile and wink at her. “No plans. Just feeling a little self-destructive tonight.”
She lifts her shoulders and bumps her hip into mine. “Ooh, I love it when you get in these moods!”
Allison and I have been going to clubs together since we got our first fake IDs when we were sixteen. She’s been my ride or die since we were nine.
We walk right to the bar and immediately shoot a couple of tequila shots, and then I get the strongest drink on the menu. I want to forget all about Special Agent in Charge Rhys Abbot.
We make our way to the dance floor, and I let the music take over. I don’t know how many dances we’ve danced, and I’ve lost count of how many drinks we’ve been bought in exchange for a dance, when the sultry sound of Dangerous Woman comes on, I close my eyes and let the music take over.
The latest guy to buy me a drink is behind me, his body close to mine and his hand on my stomach. He’s not special agent material, but he’ll do for right now. The alcohol is dulling my thoughts and the ache, so bring it on.
About half-way through the song, the hand disappears from my stomach, and the hair on my arms stands up, and I feel him behind me. Ugh, the damn tail must have called him.
My heart flips in my chest, and I try to ignore it, just like I try to ignore him.
Fuck him.
Putting a little extra movement into my hips, I do a slow swivel descent onto my heels with my arms over my head, and oh-so-slowly wiggle and swivel my way back up as the song ends.
Serves him right.
When a large, rough hand turns me, I bump into a wall of muscle and I’m looking up into furious dark brown eyes. The next song is Playing With Fire, and I look sweetly into his eyes and smile my best smile.
My warm alcohol buzz brings out the vindictive bitch in me, and I slowly lick my bottom lip. His eyes dip to my lips to watch and flick back up.
Pulling my arm out of his hold to take a step back, I lift my arms over my head and move my hips in front of him before I turn my back to him to give him my hottest sultry look over my shoulder and barely brush my ass against his front.
He bends closer to my ear, his deep voice is firm. “We need to talk.”
The music is so loud I can barely hear him, and just to piss him off, I swivel my hips around to face him and point at my ear while shaking my head, indicating I can’t hear him.
And just to push the envelope a little further, I close my eyes and continue to dance my sluttiest dance in front of him like he’s not there.
That’ll show him.
A strong arm bands around my midsection, pulling me to his hard front, and my hands drop to his shoulders as I almost lose my balance.
I look up at him through my lashes, the heels I’m wearing bring my eyes to his chin level, and I give him my prettiest fuck-you smile before I slide my palms to his hard chest to push him away, but he doesn’t budge.
“I need to talk to you.” He growls, his eyes narrowing at me.
We’re standing still on the dance floor, a battle of wills dancing to music talking about playing with fire.
I drop my gaze to his mouth and softly slide the tip of my finger across his bottom lip before I slowly blink my gaze back up to meet his stare, which has somehow got even darker with anger and desire.
Slowly, I shake my head. “No.”
His fingers dig possessively into the skin over my ribs where he’s holding me. “Yes.”
The undeniable heat I feel when I’m close to him is wrapped around me, his scent invading my senses, and it’s pissing me off. My body and my mind are not on the same page because my body wants to melt into him, but my mind is envisioning scratching his eyes out.
Anger from earlier is bubbling over, and my heart is beating against my chest. The large amount of alcohol in my system isn’t helping me keep my wits. “I’m not a baseball, Special Agent.” I lift my foot and press my heel on the top of his foot.
Somewhere in my too-many-tequila-shots haze, I wonder if I just said I’m not a baseball out loud.
Apparently, the tactical boots he’s wearing are built to stand up to high heels.
He cocks his brow at me and moves his lips next to my ear, his warm breath sending a shiver over my body.
“I don’t think you’re a baseball, Kinley.
Now, come with me so we can talk.” It’s more of an order than a request.
I try to wriggle away from him, but his arm is like a vice around my waist, his hand is on my ribs under the handkerchief of a top I’m wearing, and oh so close to my boob.
His hard body is pressed to mine, I can almost feel the hard planes against me through his black button-up shirt, and I can feel my resolve crumbling as I clench my teeth.
Pressing my palms against his chest, I try to get out of his hold. “Let go, I don’t want to talk to you.”
His gaze on me is hard, anger mixed with something else, something that is making my stomach flutter. “Now, Kinley. Easy way or hard way, you choose.”
I stop moving and tip my head to glare at him through narrowed eyes, pressing my lips into a tight line, his nose is just inches from mine. “You can’t make me talk to you, Special Agent.”
Tilting his head to glare at me, a spark of humor and determination in his eyes, he says, “Hard way, then.”
He steps back and bends in front of me with my arm in his hand. I flip upside down when he drapes me over his shoulder, like a bag of feed, and my hands slap onto his tight ass.
“Damn it, Rhys! Put me down!”