Grimacing, I stare out the window at the passing buildings, the sounds of the always noisy city soothing me. Reminding me of who I am and where I came from. Focusing on Lawrence gets me nowhere. Pilar would call this absurd feeling taking over me jealousy.
For once, I’d have to agree with her.
“Did you bring the photos?” Violet asks hopefully, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I did.” I point at the briefcase resting near my feet. Though this plan was partially calculated to help me get Violet completely alone, I’m also going to show her the inspirational photos my team and I found. Images that capture the idea behind Violet’s new cosmetics line and what she hopes it will represent to her buyers.
I just hope she likes what we’ve come up with.
“I spoke with Zachary,” she says out of nowhere, her voice hushed, her eyes huge. The lights from outside shine into the backseat, casting us both in shadow, but I can see that pretty face, those big, sad eyes. “He’s very angry with me.”
“He’s angry with you?” The nerve of this dickhead. He blows my mind. “Isn’t he the one we caught with Pilar?”
“He said it wasn’t what we thought. That they just …” Her voice trails off and she turns toward the door, staring out the window. “That they only kissed. Nothing else.”
If she really believes that, I have more problems than I thought. “Can I be completely open with you, Violet?”
She whips her head around, her gaze meeting mine once more. “Of course.”
“If he said they were only kissing, as in Pilar was kissing his dick, then yes, go ahead and believe him.” I don’t mince words and I can tell I shocked the hell out of her. I didn’t think those gorgeous brown eyes could get any larger. “Don’t fall for his lies. You’re too good for him.”
She clears her throat. “He also told me that if I had any interest in you, I’m crazy. That the only reason you would want to spend any time with me beyond work is because you want to use me to get ahead.”
He should know, considering that’s exactly what Lawrence did to her. “He makes you sound like a silly little girl who can’t think on her own.”
Violet’s quiet for a moment, as if she’s absorbing what I said. “You’re right. He does.” She stares straight ahead, her jaw tight, her lips thin. I can see the delicate line of her throat as she swallows and I want to rain kisses on the fragile skin there. Whisper exactly what I want to do to her in her ear.
Jesus, I have it bad.
“Don’t you want to prove him wrong, then?” I ask.
“How?” She tilts her head, her ponytail slipping over her shoulder. It rubs against the fabric of her dress, all that shiny, silky hair beckoning me, making my fingers itch to touch it.
“Instead of always being the one who gets used, I think you should do the using.” I have no idea where I’m going with this, but from the way her interest perks up, I keep going. “So maybe you should go ahead and use me.”
Her mouth drops open for the briefest moment before she snaps her lips shut. “What do you mean, I should use you? How? And why would you want to be used?”
Everything’s clicking into place, piece by piece. I feel like I’m on some sort of high, the type I usually only get at work, when I’m putting together a presentation and I know I fucking nailed it. It’s the same sort of high I used to get when I was young and living on the streets, scheming to find my next meal, my next hit, my next fuck.
“Your ex hates my guts. And I’m not a fan of him either.” Deciding the hell with it, I reach out and take her hand, interlacing her fingers with mine so our palms are pressed close together. I swear I can feel her heart beating through her fingers and I match my breathing to the increasing rhythm, wanting to both calm and excite her. “If he knew the two of us had become involved, it would drive him crazy.” And maybe distract him enough that he would fail miserably in his new temporary position.
She blinks at me, looking a little interested but a little lost, too. The attraction is there between us. I know she must feel it. But is that enough to get her to make such a daring move? “I think you’re attracted to me,” I whisper, letting my gaze drop to her lips. She darts her tongue out, wetting all that slick red flesh, and I want to groan. Want to lean in and kiss her fucking senseless, but I control myself. “And I am definitely interested in you.”
“You are?” She shakes her head, a little sigh escaping her. “Please. This is crazy.” Her fingers tighten on mine the slightest bit. “I hardly know you. You’re involved with someone else. I broke up with Zachary only last night when a few days ago, I thought he was going to ask me to marry him. I wanted to marry him.”
I push through the anger that clouds my brain. What a waste it would have been, Violet marrying Zachary. He would have made her life miserable. “I know. I agree with you—it’s totally fucking crazy.” Her eyes widen at my word choice. There’s the slightest thrill in shocking her. I feel like everyone tiptoes around her, but why, I’m not sure. She’s always had this fragile air around her. I’m starting to think she’s not the one who’s behind that, though. “Let’s see where tonight takes us.”
“T-tonight?” Her voice trembles and she’s breathing shallowly—I can see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts.
“We’ll treat it as part business, part pleasure.” Clutching her hand tight, I lean in and press my lips to her forehead, letting them linger before I slowly pull away from her. “It’ll be … interesting. Don’t you think?”
Those luminous dark eyes stare at me like I have two heads. I’ve totally turned her world upside down. Only fair, because she’s done the same to me. She’s all I’ve thought about for days. “I think it’s a huge risk,” she says softly. “I’ve heard the rumors about you.”
I frown and release my grip on her hand, settling back in my seat. I swear disappointment flashes across her face, but I can’t be too sure. “What sort of rumors?” Jesus, this is the longest car ride of my life. And where she’s taking this conversation isn’t making me all that comfortable.
She shrugs. “That you and Pilar have engaged in some kinky sex games. That you can’t let her go no matter how hard you try. That you’ll have sex with anyone in a skirt and walk away from them afterward without a care. Zachary says you’re the most despicable human being on this planet.”
All of it true. Every last bit. And her skirt in particular is arousing me at the moment. “Love how much he insults me when we’re actually very similar,” I murmur, puzzling over her words and how I’m going to defend myself.
“I told him none of it mattered,” she continues, surprising me. “That I didn’t care about your personal life. We’re involved professionally but that’s it. And if something happens between us it’s none of his concern. I refuse to let him control my emotions and make me feel bad that I gave up my doormat ways and kicked him out of my life.”
Violet’s backbone is making an appearance again. “You did the right thing, ending it with him.”
She smiles faintly. “You’d say that no matter what. I think your words were … hmmm … that you hate him?”
“You’re right. I do hate him. I also hate what he’s done to you.” I’m going to hate what I plan on doing to her, too.
“What I’m really trying to say is I don’t know if I want to take the risk and … ‘use’ you.” She lifts her eyebrows, almost as if she’s daring me to argue with her. “I think you might be a bad idea.”
“I am a terrible idea.” This is the last warning she’ll get it. I’m being one hundred percent honest with her here. I’m the worst idea out there, especially for Violet. My plans for her won’t end pretty. But if it gets me what I want, then I’m going to take the chance. She’ll recover.
Eventually.
Laughter escapes her at my candidness. “You aren’t one for holding back, are you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “What you see is what you get.”
Her eyes light up with unmistakable arousal. ??
?I like what I see.” Now it’s my turn to be the one who’s shocked.
“You already know I like what I see.” My gaze drops to the V of her neckline, how low it dips, offering me a glimpse of her cleavage. All that smooth, creamy skin on display is the most powerful drug to an addict like me. I want to touch her so bad it’s damn near killing me. “That dress you’re wearing is driving me crazy.”
“Does that mean you like it?” She glances down at herself, then lifts her head, amusement etched all over her face. I have no answer for her but I think she can tell. “It’s like armor. I felt so brave today wearing it. Facing you this morning. Facing Zachary this afternoon. The meeting I had, that I feared would go terribly, ended up being successful. And now … with you again. More armor.”
“You feel the need to protect yourself against me?” Smart girl. She impresses me every time I talk to her, I swear.
Not a good thing either, admiring her. I need to remember she’s nothing. Nothing to me.
If I keep telling myself that, maybe I’ll convince myself it’s the truth.
She nods, her full lips pursed in amusement. “Tonight is going to be torturous. I can tell.”
“Torturous how?” I can think of many ways I can torture her. Every one of them would bring her agonizing pleasure …
“You like to make people wait for things, me especially. I think you enjoy the anticipation. All that longing, waiting to see something, taste something, watch something.”
Ah fuck. This conversation is turning into a sexual one. Usually I don’t mind. Typically I’m the instigator. But the last thing I need is to get all riled up with Violet and then be left hanging, unable to do anything about it while we walk into a restaurant and have to make nice.
I’m no longer in the mood to make nice. I’d rather lift up the fabric of her dress and fuck her in the backseat of this stupid car.
The stupid car comes to a halt, jerking us both in our seats, and then the driver is climbing out, going around the front of it so he can open Violet’s door first. She thanks him profusely, which makes him act the fool, and he nearly slams the skirt of her dress in the door. Then he’s opening my door, all stern and expressionless, nodding at me when I start to stuff a twenty-dollar bill in the front pocket of his shirt.
“Stop ogling her like you want to lick her from head to toe or I’ll crush your nose in with my fist,” I tell him pleasantly, slapping his chest after I shove the twenty in his pocket. “Got that?”
“Sir, yes sir.” The driver practically snaps to attention and I send him one last menacing glare, taking hold of Violet’s arm as I guide her into the restaurant.
“What was that about?” she murmurs questioningly after I open the door for her.
“Don’t worry about it,” I reassure her with a quick shake of my head.
The restaurant is huge; it had once been a warehouse that was recently converted and they played up all the exposed pipe, beams, and brick walls as part of the theme. I’d come here often enough when it first opened that I became friendly with the manager, who explained to me the theme behind the restaurant, the menu, and the drinks at the bar. Casual but elegant comfort food, with a sort of old-fashioned speakeasy vibe—that’s what the owner had been going for.
I think he pretty much nailed it.
“Ooh, I love what they’ve done with this place,” Violet says as she takes it all in before turning to smile at me. “I’ve heard the food is excellent.”
“It is.” I lead her to the front podium and offer up my name to the woman who’s standing behind it. Her eyes light up with interest and she grabs some menus, then asks us to follow her. We do so, me placing my hand on the small of Violet’s back, pressing my fingers into her skin. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t tense up, doesn’t relax, but I can tell she’s hyperaware of my presence. She seems slightly on edge and I like it.
Hell, I revel in it.
The hostess leads us to the back of the restaurant, to a wall that has four thick wooden doors lining it, all of them closed. “Number three is your room for the evening,” she says as she leads us to the second door, resting her hand on the handle. “Please let me know if you need anything else. Your server should be right with you.”
She pushes open the door and we both walk inside, the hostess flashing a friendly smile at us before she pulls the door shut behind her. The space is cool and quiet, and the giant rustic wood table that sits in the center of the room could fit at least twenty people around it.
“We could have a conference here and your entire team would fit comfortably,” Violet marvels as she walks toward the table, resting her hands on the back of one of the chairs.
“Yes.” I approach, stopping just behind her, so close I can breathe in her deliciously addictive scent. “But I’d much rather be with you tonight. Alone.”
She says nothing, merely stares at me from over her shoulder, those velvety eyes drinking me in. I can’t tell if she likes what she sees or if she hates me. I can’t get a read on her and that drives me insane. I can read people. That ability alone has got me far, both when I was a punk kid and now in my career.
But Violet? I can’t get a solid read on her and I don’t get why.
Chapter Nine
Violet
Throughout dinner Ryder was a perfect gentleman. He made polite conversation, keeping any overtly sexual undertones out of it. Oh, he flirted. He flashed the occasional smile that made me a little dizzy. He plied me with plenty of wine, too, and I wondered if that was because he saw how I reacted at the party last night. Fueled by my anger, fueled by the alcohol, ready to do battle with Zachary.
I still can’t believe I behaved that way. If Father had seen me like that, he would have been mortified. Rose was still upset that she hadn’t been able to witness me raging at my jerk of an ex.
Typical.
I couldn’t help but think as the dinner went on and Ryder was so polite, so subtly charming, that he was like some sort of predatory animal lying in wait. Calculating his next move, soothing me, tricking me into believing all was well. And then he’d strike. Capture me completely and take me as his willing victim.
And I feel willing, as wrong as I know it is. I want him. It’s wrong, but I do.
“The inspiration file.” He pulls it from out of nowhere, though I knew he’d brought his briefcase in with him. I take the file, our fingertips brushing, the jolt his touch elicits every single time surging through me. “Take a look. Tell me what you think.”
His tone is casual but beneath it I hear the edge, though I can’t quite decipher it. Is he nervous? Prepared for me to challenge his team’s choices? Afraid I might hate everything I see?
My fingers shake as I slowly open the file, my breath catching in my throat when I see the first image. It’s of a woman with long, dark hair, her head thrown back, her eyes not quite closed, deep red lips parted. Her hand rests at her neck, her arm between her bared breasts. The photo is sensual, not sleazy, but the woman definitely appears as if she’s in the throes of passion.
I flip it over, refusing to look at Ryder, to let him know that I’m already off center and I’ve only looked at one image.
The next photo is of a stack of French macarons, each one a distinct, vibrant color. The image, each delicate cookie, is beautiful in its simplicity.
I scan over each photo carefully, surprised at how different they all are yet still somehow work together. One is a photo of a sky and a woman’s hands rising toward it, a delicate, bright orange butterfly resting on the tips of her fingers. A bouquet of colorful wildflowers is in one image; a stark green field with a single sunflower growing in the center, rising toward the sun, in another.
It’s the last photo that gets me. A couple wrapped around each other, staring at each other. The woman is heartbreakingly beautiful, her dark brown eyes sad, her bold pink lips parted. The man has his hands on her, one gripping her face, the other holding her backside, his gaze intense on her face, their foreheads pressed togethe
r. They’re completely focused on each other and I can feel the connection between them.
I stare at the image for so long, the silence between us grows heavy. Unspoken words and thoughts float in the air and as time ticks on, I’m afraid to look up and meet Ryder’s gaze.
The photo speaks to me and I can’t explain why. The man … it’s as though he owns that woman. That she’s everything to him and he doesn’t want to let her go. She looks as if she’s fighting a war within herself. Or maybe a war with the man and the passion that he feels for her. She wants it, needs what he can give her, but she’s also fearful of him, of what he represents. All while he looks like he just wants to possess her in any way he can.
“She reminded me of you,” Ryder says, his deep, rumbling voice startling me. I glance up to find him watching me, his eyes fiery, his expression somber.
“How?” I ask in a whisper.
“She looks like you. The dark hair, the dark eyes, and her sad expression. She looks frightened.”
“He looks like he wants to own her.”
“Doesn’t every man want to own a beautiful woman? Or at the very least, take care of her?” He doesn’t smile, doesn’t so much as blink, and I return his gaze, feeling ensnared.
Trapped.
“You make her sound like a possession.” And I sound like a breathless fool.
A wolfish smile appears and I know I should be frightened. His entire demeanor has changed. The polite business associate is gone. “Is there anything wrong with a man wanting to possess a woman?”
“Yes, if he’s controlling.”
“But what if she likes it? What if she wants to be possessed?”
He’s trying to push me and I’m not sure why. “I would never want any man to possess me.”
The smile fades and his eyes darken. “Then you haven’t met the right man yet.”
I have no answer for him. Instead I slap the folder closed and push it across the table toward him. “I like the photos.”