“I’m not the same man I was back then, Easton.” He looked down at me. “I take care of what’s mine now.”
His hard stone eyes held mine, and there was nothing that I didn’t want him to prove. Would he be rough but never hurt? Get me to want more?
Make me never want to leave?
I turned away from him and stepped off the sidewalk, instantly pummeled with heavy raindrops as I walked into the street.
Water filled my flats, and my skirt and shirt instantly stuck to my skin. I closed my eyes, feeling him behind me, watching.
The cool rain soaked my hair, and I threw back my head, letting it cool off my face.
Why him? Why had he been the one to push his way in, and why had I allowed it?
A wall of warmth hit my back, and I felt his hand take my hip. I turned my head, and he caught my face in his hand and covered my mouth with his.
Tyler.
I darted out my tongue, brushing it against his and feeling my breath catch in my throat. My skin buzzed, desire pooled between my legs, and I snaked my hand up, holding the side of his face as I dived in, kissing him greedily.
I flicked his top lip with my tongue and dragged out his bottom lip between my teeth, taking time to let him do the same to me.
His hands fell down to my stomach, pulling me back and holding me to his body as his lips worked mine, leaving me breathless.
The rain spilled over us, plastering our clothes to our bodies, and his tongue darted out, licking and sucking the water off my jaw and chin.
“Tyler,” I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut, because he felt so good it almost hurt. “Tyler, this is wrong.”
I pulled away from him and turned around, breathing hard.
It wasn’t easy to say no to something you wanted, but I was taught that while some mistakes can be overcome, others should never be made. In our hearts, we always know what’s right and wrong. That’s not the struggle.
The struggle is wanting what’s wrong for you and gauging whether or not the consequences are worth it.
“I like your kid,” I told him. “And I love my job. You’re in the public eye. We can’t do this.”
By now my arms hung at my sides, weighing a thousand pounds. I wasn’t tired, but for some reason I felt exhausted.
He tipped his chin down at me and inched forward.
“Easton, you’re coming home with me,” he stated as if it were a done deal.
My weary heart pumped harder, begging me to agree. If you don’t give in, you’ll always want him.
Go home with him. Get in his bed. Self-destruct, because some rides can’t be stopped.
But I couldn’t.
What if things turned bad? I couldn’t just not see him.
And New Orleans might be a large city, but there were almost no degrees of separation from you and the stranger on the street. Someone – anyone – was bound to see us together, and it would be only a matter of time before we were found out.
No.
I looked up at him, speaking softly. “Take me home, please,” I told him. “To my house.”
His eyes narrowed and his jaw hardened, but I didn’t wait for an argument. Spinning around, I dashed across Royal and continued walking down the quieter side street, toward the parking garage.
The rain had drenched my clothes, and I folded my arms over my chest to ease the chill seeping through my skin.
I could hear his footsteps behind me, and I walked quickly to avoid any further discussion, speed-walking past a hotel entrance and continuing down the sidewalk.
If he pressed me further, I knew I’d be tempted to give in.
But he hooked my elbow, bringing me to a stop as I twisted around to face him.
“I like you, okay?” he said, letting his gaze fall and looking like it was hard for him to admit that.
He stepped closer. “I like you a lot, and I don’t know why, because you’re fucking miserable to me half the time,” he mused. “You rarely smile. You never laugh, but you love to argue, and for some reason I want you around. I want you to know things about me, and I like telling you shit. Why do I feel like I’m in the wrong here?”
I bowed my head, hoping he wouldn’t see the smile his words had caused. He was absolutely right. I was a miserable person half the time, and it was odd that he liked me as much as he did.
And in a different situation, maybe I’d give him a shot. Maybe.
“Marek?” I heard a voice boom through the storm. “Is that you?”
Tyler and I pulled away from each other, and I peered around him, seeing the group of men standing underneath the canopy of the hotel entrance we’d just passed.
Tyler twisted his head, his face immediately turning stern at the sight of the four men in suits, smoking cigars.
He took my hand and walked us back to where the men were standing, and I noticed he kept me slightly behind him instead of at his side.
“Blackwell.” Tyler’s deep voice sounded impatient.
Mason Blackwell – whom I recognized from TV and his involvement with city council – looked completely at ease and in good humor, something I’d never seen from Tyler.
His black tie was loosened, and his hand rested in his pants pocket. He wore an easy smile, and I could smell the odor from the cigar hooked under his pointer finger as he grinned at Tyler.
But from Tyler’s rigid stance, I could tell he wasn’t as comfortable with Blackwell.
“They’ve instituted curfew on the Westbank,” he told Tyler. “But the party still goes strong over here.”
His white teeth disappeared as he brought the cigar to his mouth and puffed away.
A few young women, dressed in short cocktail dresses, came bursting out of the hotel doors, giggling and stumbling, before they stopped at the group of men, each cozying up to a different gentleman.