“Fuck.” Brant’s voice had a sudden rough edge to it. “You know what?” It sounded like he was the one pacing now. “I have an idea.”
She crossed her arms and smirked. Whenever Brant got irritated or wanted to change the subject, he would tug at his hair and say, I have an idea. It seemed some things never changed.
“No Cole.” He was in front of her again, a blur of black. His tuxedo felt expensive on her fingertips, the silk of his jacket smooth. “No past, no future, just now.”
Her lips parted. It was tempting. More than tempting.
“Just now, huh?” she repeated, her chest tight. “And what would be the end goal here?”
“Dancing.” He twirled her, even though the music from the lobby was faint. Another twirl. “Maybe a bit of kissing.”
His lips grazed hers.
With a moan, she returned the kiss, savoring his taste, the taste that haunted her dreams. She was stupid to cling to him, stupid to hang on when she knew what would follow once this cease-fire was over. And yet, when he kissed her again, she met him halfway. Confusion warred with the need to be closer—with the sad fact that the only time she’d ever felt truly beautiful had been in Brant’s arms.
“And if you’re lucky…” he said in a low voice, “I may even get naked.”
“Wow!” Still an arrogant bastard, wasn’t he? “I’m honored.”
“You should be. I don’t get naked for just anyone.”
“You sure about that?”
“Shit, does my reputation still precede me? Even now?”
“Does it matter? Since you said no pasts…” She shrugged. “If your past doesn’t matter, then mine can’t, either, right? Isn’t that how these things work?”
He hesitated and then said, “Is that your way of saying I get to see you naked?”
“Does everything end with us naked?”
“God, I hope so.” He crushed his mouth to hers again, sliding his tongue past the barrier of her lips as her body melted against him.
“Now what?” She reached for him again, trying to focus on his face, even though it was blurry. At least it was there, he was there in front of her, and he wanted her.
And maybe she was stupid for taking him up on his offer.
But it was Brant.
And she’d regret letting him walk away a second time—without experiencing him like this.
Just a girl. And a guy. Having a one-night stand.
What could possibly go wrong?
“Now…” He kissed her hand. “I take off your mask.”
She sucked in a breath and pulled away. Taking off masks was a bad idea. It meant that the spell would break, and even though she knew it probably wouldn’t end well, she didn’t want him to see her face, the face that reminded him of everything they’d lost. “I have a better idea.”
“Oh?”
“It involves blindfolds and duct tape.”
He groaned. “I think I just fell in love.”
Nikki laughed and rolled her eyes. “You do realize I could be envisioning something along the lines of CSI while you’re all Fifty Shades, right?”
“Are you trying to ruin the moment?”
“Take me to your room.” With a boldness that she’d never felt around anyone except Brant, she leaned up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck so that she could feel where his mouth was. Then she licked his ear, blowing over where she’d just licked. “Please?”
“Hell, yes.”
He grabbed her hand and took off in a near sprint. By the time they made it to the elevator, they were both out of breath.
“Fair warning—it’s been a while since I’ve had sex sober,” he admitted casually.
Fair warning—it’s been four years since I’ve had sex at all. And the last time I did—I woke up to you gone. “Hopefully, you don’t suck at it then, huh, Brant?”
“Trust me, that’s one thing I don’t suck at, but I may only last a few minutes before I take you. I’ve been wanting…” The elevator dinged.
“What?” she asked on a swallow. “What have you been wanting?”
“You.”
Chapter Fifteen
Brant gulped.
He couldn’t look away.
He licked his lips. He sucked in a breath as the dress slid down her legs. And just because life was that cruel, she was wearing white.
He loved her in white. Her wedding dress hadn’t been as beautiful as the dress she was wearing now.
They hadn’t been able to afford anything fancy, not with his grandfather telling him he was making a mistake by marrying so young—not with her parents basically disowning her for the same reason.
God, she was beautiful.
“No pasts.” His voice had a hard edge to it. He was going to regret this, all of it, but he’d never had much self-control around her, and now? Now that he’d tasted her again?
“No pasts,” she recited back, her eyes filling with tears.
“Come here.” The words finally happened, and they were the wrong ones. They were seductive, calm, everything he didn’t feel as his heart slammed against his chest with anticipation of touching her again, kissing her, claiming her.
She stepped out of her dress, heels still strapped around her ankles as she moved in a straight line toward him.
God, he needed a drink. A cold shower.
Hell, he was sure getting run over by a semi wouldn’t be enough to stop him from kissing her—touching her.
She was his heaven. He was in hell.
“I’m the only one naked.” Her mouth twisted into a shaky smile as she adjusted her mask.
“Not for long,” was his hoarse answer as he reached for her perfect body and tugged it against his as he very slowly pulled her mask free, letting it fall to the ground by her feet.
Wrong. This was wrong. Maybe he really was the bastard everyone thought he was—because as wrong as it was—he couldn’t stop himself.
He kissed her hard. He punished her with his mouth.
How dare she come back into his life and remind him of everything he’d had and lost?
She gasped with each kiss, exposing her neck, putting her soul into every movement.
This wasn’t a one-night stand. This was the good-bye they’d never had. The one he fucking deserved after she’d put him through hell, after she’d pushed him away and nearly died in the choking flames.
Brant told himself he was doing it for selfish reasons. Because that was what good-byes were—selfish. It was one last touch, one last taste; it was a desperate, insane attempt to cling to something that was already gone.
Death had a way of breaking the living. And maybe that was why they didn’t survive. Because they were both halves of a whole that didn’t make it.
He’d thought he was almost over her. But her tongue slid against his, and he realized he was wrong.
Maybe that was their destiny, to always be in each other’s lives but never get the happy ending.
It didn’t matter, did it? No matter where she went, she was still a part of him, a beautiful reminder of his ugly past.
Her lips parted on the next kiss. He gripped her shoulders with his hands, then slid his hands down her back, again and again, his fingers dancing along her spine, memorizing the feel of her smooth skin and the way it reacted to his touch. Goose bumps rose and fell.
Brant breathed in the moment. One-night stand.
His grip on reality—on the situation—on the anger and the fear, and all of the ugly dragging him into the depths of hell—shattered in her arms.
Nikki’s body shook as she deepened the kiss, slowly entwining her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life.
He ducked his head in her neck, inhaled, and shook with the need to do it again and again. Real. She was real. In his arms.
I’d find you anywhere, his heart beat.
No. Not anymore. This was the end. Not the beginning.
He kissed her harder. Rather than retreat, she met him with each
thrust of his tongue, whimpering when his fingertips dug into her hips, dragging her underwear down her perfect legs and tossing them aside.
Brant drank her in.
One night. If he only had on more night with her, he would want it like this—with moonlight kissing her skin. No real barriers between them, and yet everything was standing in the way, wasn’t it?
Even the air was charged with things left unsaid, baggage that refused to be dropped. Hurt that refused to be healed. Because healing was the most painful part of the process, wasn’t it? And he was done with that sort of pain.
But pleasure? That he could do. Let it consume them both.
Nikki reached for his suit jacket, her hands shaking as she slowly undid button after button and pushed the jacket off his shoulders.
Every so often, her fingers would graze his chest. It was torture. He was strung so tight that by the time she finally tugged his shirt free, he picked her up and carried her to the massive bed. Then he turned down the lights until blackness covered the entire room.
Darkness covered her face. He was thankful for the dark.
Brant was a coward. An angry, lying coward.
He crushed his mouth to hers in a punishing kiss, a kiss that told her how much he still hated, which meant it also had to show how much he still loved.
He would always love. And that was the problem. Because the only way he could make it through his life was to let his hate and love coexist, and too often his hate won. Because hate at least didn’t demand that same healing that love did.
Exposed. Bloody. Vulnerable.
Left it for dead—that was what she’d done to his heart. So yeah, he deserved this moment with her, the last night they never had. The last kiss she refused to give.
He stole it. Kept it. Coveted it.
His tongue skimmed her trembling lips over and over again. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she clung to him, kissing him deeper, sucking his soul dry, marking him just as deeply as he was marking her.
A blast of heat surged between them as he slid his fingers down her thigh. When he found her core, she let out a little gasp.
He pulled his hand back and yanked off the remainder of his clothes. The silence crackled, sizzled, like the calm before the storm.
This would change everything. This would destroy her. Even the playing field.
And yet he couldn’t stop.
The hate was winning. Even though his heart beat for her.
He kissed her again. His hands weighed her breasts, and with a groan he moved to her hips, positioning her body as she panted beneath him.
They were playing with fire.
And Brant—fucking burned.
With a sliding thrust, he invaded, he selfishly took his.
Nikki cried out, her nails digging into his skin, and then she matched his every movement, every rhythm.
“Hell…” He hissed out a breath. “You feel good.”
She didn’t say anything, just slid her hands slowly up the sides of his ribs. Then she hooked her hands around his neck and pulled him down for another series of possessive kisses that had him forgetting his own damn name.
She was his.
She’d been his since the minute he walked into that bar.
She would always be his.
He just hated that as much as he owned her—she owned him equally as much.
This wasn’t about her. This wasn’t even about them.
It was about Brant.
He shoved the guilt away, letting the pleasure take control, the same pleasure he told himself he deserved as his body said, Good-bye. And his heart said, Not yet.
Another thrust.
Nikki cried out.
His.
“You’ll always be mine,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. A sea of pleasure surged between them. Her body tightened around him, pulling him tight like it was promising never to let him go. Brant rose over her again. She was close—he could feel it in the way she tensed beneath him.
With a shudder, he kissed her back, his lips moving against her mouth. “Come on, sweetheart. Let go.”
“I don’t want to.” She tugged his head down, kissing him again. “That will mean it’s over.”
She was destroying him, ruining the selfishness of the moment, making him feel everything. “It won’t ever be over.” The truth hung between them. “Let go.”
He could feel the minute she gave him all she had. He would remember the feel of her climax for the rest of his lonely, miserable life.
An explosion of need followed by an uncontrollable surge of lust that slammed into him as he filled her to the hilt one last time and followed her release.
It was war.
Her surrender. His taking. Their death.
He rolled over onto his back, gasping for breath, as she slowly rose to a sitting position on the bed.
She was leaving? Like hell. With a grunt, he tugged her down against his chest, her cheek pressed against his skin.
“Stay.” His voice cracked.
She hesitated and then released a soft sigh. “Okay.”
Brant closed his eyes as his throat swelled with emotion. After all, the demons could be kept away for only so long. And he knew the minute he opened his eyes again—they would be back, reminding him of what he’d done, what he’d destroyed.
And this time—he would only have himself to blame.
Better that way. It would be better.
Her soft, even breathing filled the night.
Good-bye.
He was saying it to the old Brant. Just as much as he was saying it to her.
And they lived happily ever after. Except they didn’t.
Wrong story. Wrong lives.
I’ve lost everything.
Chapter Sixteen
Nikki’s eyes jerked open as a crack of sunlight pierced through the air.
No. She’d fallen asleep. In his bed.
And for a few minutes, it felt right. So she pretended. Pretended he wasn’t an angry jackass. Pretended it wasn’t a one-night stand. Pretended that she was able to take from him what he’d never given—a proper good-bye.
But she’d never given him a chance to say good-bye before, had she? She was complicit in this pain, this sorrow that was buried deep in her heart.
Ask me to stay, he’d begged with tears in his eyes. Ask me!
She’d ignored him. She was hurting too much. And he’d done everything in his power to make it better.
But when things got worse—so much worse—and she needed him the most, needed the rescue, he was gone. Just. Gone.
She breathed in the pillow; his scent lingered. This was a mistake, a huge mistake, because there was no coming back from this.
From the feel of him inside her. The feel of them together.
She had to get out. Before her heart cracked all the way open.
Clutching the cool sheets between her hands, she bit down on her lip and tried to think of what to do. First, she had to locate her clothes.
Right, and how was she supposed to do that? With a gulp she slowly sat up in bed and winced when Brant let out a groan. The weight of the bed shifted, and she froze as her entire body went on high alert.
Tears burned the backs of her eyes. She was an idiot. A complete idiot.
What? Did she really think it would be easy? Sleeping with the man who held her heart? Her soul? Things didn’t look better in the morning, and she sure as hell didn’t feel better, not for lack of trying on his part.
“Wake up.” Brant’s lips grazed her neck as he pressed into her from behind. “Spread your legs.”
She woke up, all right. And came apart all over again, each orgasm shaking her body more intensely than before, until she had to fight to keep her tears at bay.
Not just tears of pleasure. Tears of absolute searing pain. Because it wasn’t real. Maybe it never was.
Maybe they just had been too disillusioned, too young. The world had been theirs—until the world turned on them, and t
hey turned on each other. It was so much easier blaming someone else than taking responsibility for your own pain.
She pressed a hand to her suddenly too-tight chest as his words washed over her.
“I’m not done yet,” he growled hoarsely as he flipped her onto her back. “Hold on.” He grabbed her feet and pulled her down the mattress. Her skin slid against the expensive sheets as she held on to his biceps for dear life, closing her eyes against the darkness that was suddenly not as dark.
He pulled her under. Sank into her deep.
“Me either,” she whispered back, clawing at his body. “I’m not done yet.”
He’d marked her. And she’d let him. And then she held on to him as he drifted back to sleep.
Be brave. No tears.
Clothes. She needed to get her clothes on, find some coffee, and try to escape without Brant or Cole finding out.
She gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth.
Not only had Cole completely abandoned her after one dance, but she hadn’t even told him where she was going. He would be worried. Right?
Her purse had to be somewhere in that stupid hotel room, right? Think, Nik, think.
They’d walked in. She’d dropped her dress to the floor as well as her purse because, well, his hands had been all over her, and she’d been so desperate for him she hadn’t thought past getting her clothes off.
His hands. His mouth.
Focus!
Okay, so the bedroom had been ten steps forward and four steps to the right. She focused on the blur of color on the wall. She could do this. She slowly got up and took a step, directly onto her dress. When she dropped to her knees, her shoes, purse, and mask were all lying right next to it in a neat little pile by the bed.
Frowning, she knelt down and grabbed for the dress.
Why had Brant arranged her things for her? Probably because he was trying to be nice, right?
He’d made promises with his body that he had no right to make, let alone keep. Then again, so had she.
One night. That was it.
With a shudder, she pulled on her dress and tried to quietly zip up the side. Naturally it was the loudest zipper on the planet, so with every tug she was convinced Brant was seconds away from jolting awake.