“I’m really sorry about that,” Dillon says, glancing worriedly at me as he pulls me along the narrow hallway. A few bodies loiter inside a large room on our left, but no one bats an eye as we pass by.
“It’s not your fault your psycho radar is out of whack,” I deadpan. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. I’m too wet, sticky, and pissed off to care.
“I’m pretty sure it is my fault.” He shoots me a sheepish look as he leads me into a small coatroom. Coats and jackets hang off hooks on the wall, and a variety of bags are stuffed into open cubby holes on the other side of the space. “I only brought her to your party to wind you up, and now she’s like a dose of bad breath I can’t shake.” He removes a black duffel bag from one of the holes, dropping it on the ground.
“Nice analogy,” I drawl, plucking at the wet material clinging to my flat stomach as he rummages in his bag.
“Here.” He thrusts a wad of black cotton at me while bending over his open bag. “These might help too.” He hands me a pack of wipes.
I arch a brow, holding the items away from my wet shirt, and he grins. “Don’t judge. It gets hot as fuck under stage lights.” Straightening up, he claws a hand through his hair. He points over my shoulder. “Toilet is right across the hall. Take as long as you need. I’ll be right here.”
I knock on the door of the single toilet, to ensure it isn’t occupied, before I step inside. The scent of lavender and jasmine floats through the air as I lock the door behind me. From the schedule pinned to the wall, I can see this bathroom has only recently been cleaned.
Stripping out of my wet shirt is harder than it looks. “Ugh.” I throw it into the sink, rinsing it under the hot water as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Yep, I’m sporting a nasty case of panda eyes, and my Ireland face paint is a streaky mess of color on my cheeks. Using a couple of wipes, I scrub my face clean. My purse is downstairs at our table, along with my gloss and mascara, but right now, I couldn’t give two shits that I’m wearing no makeup. I am so over this and ready to call it a night.
Thankfully, my bra is only slightly damp, so I leave it on as I use another couple of wipes to clean my stomach, chest, and my arms. After toweling dry, I slide Dillon’s plain black tee over my head. Predictably, it swamps me, skimming way below my butt. I twist the material into a knot under my boobs, and it looks more presentable. Spritzing some of the complimentary spray, I hope it masks the scent of cider that still seems to cling to me. I wring out my ruined shirt, balling it up, hoping Dillon has a spare plastic bag I can put it into. After going to the toilet and washing my hands, I emerge to find Dillon in the hallway waiting for me.
A dark glimmer of lust flits across his retinas as he drinks me in. “Fuck me.” He claws a hand through his hair. “You look too fucking good in my shirt.” In two seconds, he’s across the hallway, pinning me against the wall. His strong, muscular arms cage me in as he leans in close. Too close. Spicy notes of his cologne invade my senses, and I gulp over the lump clogging my throat.
Dillon is gorgeous, and I already know sex with him would be out of this world because he oozes sexual confidence from every pore. But I can’t do this to myself again. I can’t put myself in another world where girls have ulterior motives and I’m collateral damage. Whatever this is between us ends here. “I need to go,” I say, gently pushing at his chest as I avert my gaze.
“Don’t do that.” His fingers curl around my chin, and he forces my eyes to his. “Don’t shut me out. I know you were into it downstairs.” His fingers creep up the side of my face. “I promise I’ll tone down my default setting if you don’t push me away.”
His eyes lower to my mouth. A flash of silver glints at me when his tongue darts out to lick his lips. Carefully, he presses his body against me, and my nipples harden the instant his chest touches mine. He rubs his nose against mine, as his fingers caress the side of my neck.
God, his touch does intense things to me, and I’m putty in his hands.
Arousal coils in my belly, and my body is screaming for a release only he can give me. The shirt drops to the floor, and I grip his waist. A needy moan escapes my mouth when his lips replace his fingers on my neck, and he plants a slew of drugging kisses along my traitorous skin. My hips arch against him as raw need courses between my legs. “I know you want this as much as me,” he whispers with his lips edging dangerously close to my mouth. “Stop fighting it. Give your body what it needs.”
His finger rims the low band of my jeans, and I jolt out of my lust-fueled bubble. “No.” I push more firmly at his shoulders. “I can’t do this.”
He instantly withdraws, stepping back and giving me space. His eyes scrutinize mine. “What are you so afraid of? I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
I’m horrified when tears fill my eyes. “You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know you can keep,” I rasp, avoiding his outstretched arm as I brush past him, racing along the hallway and out through the exit door.