He crooked a thumb toward the house. “Come on, don’t be a douche. Go get showered and changed. I’ve seen homeless people who look better than you.”
Reid flipped him off, but rose from his chair. Maybe Jace was right. He’d done nothing but work on Hank’s case and worry about Brynn since he’d come home from the hospital. Maybe getting out of the house would help his sour mood. He headed into the house, Jace hot on his heels. He glanced over his shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“To help myself to the rest of your beer supply.”
Reid walked into the nightclub already itching to leave. After three weeks of holing up in his quiet house, the blinking lights and heavy rock beat overloaded his senses. He pulled at the sleeve of his black T-shirt, the snug fit irritating the healing bullet wound. Jace clapped him on his good shoulder. “Come on, there’s a table over there, next to the dance floor.”
Super. Just what he wanted to watch all night—happy couples having vertical sex.
He followed Jace, sank into one of the modern leather chairs, and prepared to brood. As soon as he could wrangle a waitress, he ordered a stiff drink and started his mental clock. One hour, and then he was leaving. His indebtedness to Jace only went so far.
Once the drinks arrived and he had sufficiently drained his and ordered another, he leaned toward Jace. “Who do you know in the band?”
Jace put his hand up to his ear to hear him over the thumping music. “What?”
He cocked his head toward the stage at the female-led rock band. “How do you know the band?”
The corner of Jace’s mouth tipped into a wry smile, and he pointed over Reid’s shoulder with his straw. “I don’t. But she does.”
Reid craned his neck in that direction and froze. Son of a bitch.
“She calls me every day to check on your recovery, you know,” Jace said. “I may have asked her what her plans were for the night.”
Reid gripped his drink so hard he was surprised the glass didn’t splinter. “I’m going to fucking kill you, man. You have no right to interfere.”
Jace shrugged. “So don’t do anything. Enjoy a few drinks and watch that dude take your girl onto the dance floor.”
Reid whirled around again to see Brynn take some yahoo’s hand and rise from her seat. He couldn’t see her face, but the short hem of her snug black dress taunted him, the sweet skin of her thighs and calves beckoning him to touch, taste, and devour.
But before the fantasies started weaving in his head, the guy’s hand slid onto the base of Brynn’s spine. Possessive. Presumptuous. Something dark and primal snapped inside Reid. He surged upward, no longer able to hear the music over the blood rushing in his ears.
Mine.
Brynn tried to muster a smile for the guy, Mark or Mitch something, who’d asked her to dance, but she knew she was failing miserably. She could think of fifty other places she’d rather be than here at this stupid club, but she’d promised Melody she’d go out with her this weekend to see her new boyfriend’s band. She knew Mel was worried about her and was trying to get her mind off everything, but beyond a lobotomy, she doubted anything was going to accomplish that.
Luckily, the crowded dance floor and loud music saved her from having to make small talk. She moved along with the throng, sweaty bodies bouncing around her on all sides. Mitch/Mark kept a palm on her hip and a pelvis grinding in her direction, the playful spark of interest firing behind his rimless glasses.
She closed her eyes, not having the energy to feign interest back, and turned herself over to the hypnotic pulsing of the bass and the small buzz she’d gotten from her two glasses of wine. Thump. Thump. Thump. Her muscles moved in time, but her mind drifted, her thoughts going to the same place they always went these days.
Warmth oozed over her skin as the hands on her hips suddenly became broader, stronger. The amorphous body heat against her back more defined, solid. Tossing her head back, she leaned into the steely wall, inhaling the scent burned into her olfactory glands. Mmm.
She didn’t want to open her eyes, wasn’t ready for the fantasy to slip away.
“Think this jerk-off can make you come apart like I do?” asked the deep, familiar voice.
She startled at the words, her lids flying open. Her dance partner had been absorbed into the crowd and now large, familiar hands gripped her waist from behind. Her movements stuttered off the beat, and her knees almost went out from under her.
His lips brushed against the back of her neck. “You know what it fucking does to me to see some other guy touch what’s mine without my consent?”
What was Reid doing here? She had used her safe word, had walked away. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. But she couldn’t make herself form a protest. Instead, she tilted her neck to the side, providing him better access, her body acting on its own volition.
The brush of lips became a scrape of teeth. “That’s right. Give in to it.”
The hand on her waist drew her closer, bringing her ass against the hard ridge in his pants. She let out a little gasp, molten heat flooding her sex. “Reid.”
“You feel how much I miss you, sugar,” he said, his voice like warm milk on a cold night. “Have you missed me?
His palm slid down, cupping her vee and making her arch against him. “God, yes.”