Chapter Twenty-Four
Hilary
My heart is racing a mile a minute.
Did he just?
Did David freaking Mars just claim me in front of one of his label executives?
And worse—did I just let him?
“You want to tell me what that was?” he asks, voice low, dangerous, as he drags me into what has to be the biggest damn bathroom I’ve ever seen in my life.
It’s all black marble veined with gold, mirrors everywhere, lights soft and expensive, like even the shadows cost money.
And I don’t understand why we’re in here.
Until he moves.
Stalking.
Slow.
Focused.
And I back up.
Because when a man like that walks toward you with intent, you back the fuck up.
But he doesn’t seem to care. He keeps coming at me.
Step by step until my hips hit the counter behind me.
No escape.
Not that I’m trying very hard.
And that’s the damn problem. I don’t want to try hard to leave. Not now. Not when I’ve already had a taste of him.
Truth is, I think I’m addicted. And that scares the crap out of me.
David’s hands are on me before I can spiral, before I get another word out—strong at my waist, gripping my softness—and then I’m lifted, like I weigh nothing, set on the counter with a soft thud that sends a jolt through me.
My legs fall open on instinct. On reaction. On something deeper, I don’t want to examine too closely.
And then he steps in.
Right between them.
Close. So damn close—and yet he’s still too far. Separated from me by layers of fabric.
“Hilary,” he growls, and God help me, my name has never sounded like that before. “Tell me what that was in there with him.”
“What are you talking about?” I shoot back, even as my pulse spikes. “We were just talking—”
“Just talking?” His eyes flash. “Sounded like he was asking you out.”
“Well, maybe he was!” I snap.
“Why didn’t you tell him you were mine, linda?”
And that snaps me out of the pseudo sexual haze I’ve been floating around in.
This fucker. Who does he think he is?
“Am I yours? I mean, what the hell am I supposed to think?”
His jaw tightens.
“After last night?” he says, voice dropping even lower. “I’d think it was pretty fucking obvious.”
Oh. Oh well, that hits.
Because there it is. The thing I’ve been trying not to say out loud.
“What’s obvious, David, is that I woke up alone. That I was a one-night stop on your world tour, and the second someone else shows interest, you freak out! Like a toddler who wants his toy back!” I fire back, pushing at his chest even though it does absolutely nothing.
“I didn’t want you to wake up alone—”
“Well I did! You disappeared, David. No note. No anything. And then you show up kissing me and saying that—that,” I hiss.
“Saying what?” he presses.
“That I’m yours!”
The words echo between us.
Too loud.
Too real.
And for a second—we both feel it.
His hands tighten on my waist.
Not hurting.
But holding.
Anchoring.
Grounding.
“You. Are. Mine. And if you think I’d walk away from you like that, you’re wrong, linda? I left this morning because of legal problems with the track and they needed me here. I wasn’t walking away from you,” he growls, quieter now—but somehow more intense.
“Ha! You already did,” I shoot back.
My voice cracks on the last word.
Damn it.
I hate that. I hate that he can hear it. See it. Feel it.
Something shifts in his expression.
Not softer.
Never soft.
But sharper.
Focused.
“No, Sunshine. Never that. I just had to handle business,” he says. “Didn’t take you with me because I don’t ever want to drag you into this shit.”
“That’s not an excuse. You should’ve woken me,” I snap.
“I know that now,” he mutters. “But if I did, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to leave you there.”
And that—that tiny crack of honesty—that’s what does it.
Because suddenly I don’t know what to think anymore.
Don’t know what’s real.
Don’t know if this is just heat—or something more.
Something deeper.
Something that might actually mean something.
Which is terrifying.
Because magic?
Magic isn’t real. Not for girls like me. Not in real life.
And yet—here I am.
Pinned between a marble counter and a man who makes my entire body feel like it’s lighting up from the inside out.
His hand slides slightly, thumb brushing the edge of my waist, and I feel it everywhere.
“Christ, Sunshine, you feel so damn good,” he whispers, and his lips brush mine.
Softer. But not less intense.
“David?” I breathe, because somewhere along the line I forgot what we were even arguing about.
Hurt gets replaced by need. Desire. Want.
And I can feel the echoing response in him. In the hardness pressed against my cleft. In the pounding of his heart against mine.
The kiss deepens until we’re both gasping for air.
My fingers find the hem of his shirt, and next, I’m lifting it, tracing his abs and the inky swirls there.
His mouth finds my neck.
And everything—everything—short-circuits.
I whimper.
Actually whimper—like some heroine from one of those old timey bodice rippers.
My nails bite into his skin, holding on because I suddenly need something to steady me.
This is what I mean.
This is the problem.
This man has me twisted in knots.
Five seconds ago I was ready to shove him out the door—now?
Now I’m melting for him. Again.
“You drive me fucking crazy, linda,” he murmurs against my skin.
“Yeah, well,” I manage, breath shaky, “join the club.”
He huffs something that might be a laugh, might be something darker.
And I should stop this.
I should push him away.
Demand answers.
Demand something real.
But instead—I tilt my head.
Give him more access.
Because I want him.
God help me, I want him.
Even if I don’t trust it.
Even if I don’t understand it.
Even if this ends exactly the way I think it will.
Because right now?
Right now it feels like something out of the books I sell.
Messy.
Complicated.
A little dangerous.
The kind of story where the heroine knows she might get her heart broken—
And does it anyway.
So the real question isn’t whether he wants me.
I know he does.
The question is—do I trust this?
Do I trust him?
Or am I about to prove, once again, that magic isn’t real.
And I’m just a girl who fell for a moment that was never meant to last?