The man was coming on to her, Peyton realized, and yet instead of stopping him, like the old Peyton Lane would have under any other circumstance, she led him on, acutely aware of Luke staring across the room at her.
That’s right, Mr. Meaningless Fling!
Let him see Peyton was not pining away for him and could clearly gather some generous attentions elsewhere. Even if the man was absolutely gross.
“And you look like a movie star yourself, you remind me of…” She tapped her chin, thinking. “Let’s see, let me think of a mean, macho, motorcycle man.”
“I get that a lot,” he said, puffing up his hairy chest, clearly excited. “Maybe Grease, that sort of thing?”
“Are you kidding me?” She snapped her fingers. “Yes! You could be Danny’s twin brother!”
“Really? And you like Danny?” he prodded.
She bit her smile, suddenly having fun. “Who doesn’t like Danny Zuko?”
Phillipo appeared ecstatic, but Gary, who was still at her side, was the opposite.
“Excuse me?” Gary said in a high-pitched, annoyed tone of voice. “Phillipo, go get her a soda,” he said pointedly.
“Want something to drink, sugar?” Phillipo asked her, his gaze falling to her lips.
“Just sparkling water if there’s any, thank you, Danny,” she retorted.
He smiled at her and lingered for a moment longer, as if he couldn’t bear to leave her, not even to fetch her a soda.
When he finally left, Peyton was so nauseous over her own actions that she had to ask where the ladies’ room was. After Gary’s mumbled explanation through the orgasmic shouting woman inviting everyone to PARTY!, Peyton headed toward the hallway she assumed he’d meant.
She opened the first door but found herself in a spacious, dark closet. There were shelves stacked with boxes of all sizes, and a neat row of coats at the far end. She turned to leave but smacked into an expanse of unyielding male chest and before she knew it she was thrust into the darkened room with a bigger, stronger body, the door slamming shut ominously behind them.
Luke’s scent assailed her. Powerful. Drugging.
And her anger whipped upward like a cobra.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed in outrage.
Her eyes strained to see him in the dark, but his scent was as familiar to her as her own, and for a moment it made her dizzy.
“What do I think I’m doing? You’re at my fucking party,” he angrily hissed as he took a threatening step toward her. An innate survival instinct made her instantly take a step back.
“It’s nice to see you again, Luke.” Her tone dripped in sarcasm. “At least now I get to see the real you.”
He took another step forward, and the move urged her to start backing away from him with more fervor. There didn’t seem to be enough air in the tiny little room for both of them, but she still fought to bring air into her lungs, breath by breath.
“What the hell are you doing here, Peyton?” he demanded.
“The whole city is here. Why can’t I?”
He caught her arm and squeezed, backing at the same velocity as she. “Because you’re too damned good for this. You look like you’re ready for dinner with Hillary Fucking Clinton. Why the hell are you here? Don’t you see you don’t fit here, damn you?”
The rage was eating at her insides so fast and deep, she barely checked the impulse to hit him. She’d never been so angry or so jealous in her life.
Gritting her teeth, she shoved his hand away, struggling to keep her head on her shoulders and her voice level. “I’m sorry, Luke. It seems like it was just getting interesting for you, with two beautiful ladies just for you, and here I come just to spoil your fun!”
He laughed darkly. “Is that what you think was going down here?”
There was a long silence, and Peyton almost burst while trying to keep it, but she just couldn’t keep quiet anymore. “You lied to me, you…you bastard.” Her voice betrayed the hurt she felt, and she hated it. But she just had to say it. It had been in her mind constantly, torturing her senseless for the past weeks.
“You lied to me, too.” His voice was gruff and low, and it had dropped several notches as he kept approaching.