Chapter 3
TUCK
Her pale-blue eyes devour me, from my backward hat and heavy scruff to my expensive leather loafers. She takes my hands, traces the calluses, and then drags her index finger from the tip of my middle finger to my palm. She unsnaps the black leather cuff I wear and strokes the ragged scars on the underside of my wrist, lingering for a moment, then dips her head and kisses them.
It’s barely even a touch, and I groan.
She looks up. “You work with your hands. Maybe you’re a carpenter or own a construction company, a successful one judging by your suit. You don’t have a faded line on your ring finger, so you’re not married. You’re a physical person and not a stranger to fighting.” Her eyes trail back up and lock with me. She laces both of our hands together and chews on her bottom lip, and I can’t see her true expression, but ...
“What is it?” I ask softly, sensing her hesitation.
She presses our masks together, nose to nose, and stares at me. “You have the most incredible eyes, green with yellow sparks. Tiger eyes. I see a dark side there.”
I huff out an uneasy laugh. “What? No.”
Her lips quirk. “We all have darkness. People you see on the street, people you work with, people you love, people you hate. If there’s no darkness, then there’s no room for light. And when that darkness hits you, and it will, all that matters is that you keep going, one step at a time until you’re up and back on your journey.” She dips her head, sneaking a glance at me. “Sorry. Tequila makes me chatty.”
Before I can reply, Deacon and Snow White show up, and Princess Bride turns to them and hugs Snow White. I huff as I realize they know each other. No wonder she laughed at my description of her.
When a fast song hits the speakers, they turn back to us, take our hands, and tug us out to the dance floor. Jasper and his twins join us. We dance, one song after another. Time blurs as people mill around us. When a slow song comes on, I ease her into my arms. We sway together, our bodies brushing against each other. You’d think we wouldn’t make a good fit with the size difference, but we do, her head pressed against my chest as my nose dips to her hair. My hands stroke her back, sliding inside the fabric at her waist to touch the lace of her panties.
This is what I know.
She doesn’t know who I am, and she wants me, not the famous footballer.
I lean down to her ear. “Be wicked with me tonight. I’ll make you forget the guy who hurt you.”
Before she can reply, Jasper pulls me aside, demanding I get cake “because he’s a great fucking party planner and it’s my tradition,” but I barely focus on what he’s saying.
I don’t want cake anymore. I want her.
But he insists, even telling them it’s my birthday, so as a group, we head upstairs to the food area. I grab a slice of chocolate cake off the dessert table, then slide in the booth where they are. My princess hikes up her dress and straddles my lap as she faces me. Her core slides against my groin, and my hands clench around her waist.
Jasper yells out encouragement to her as she flips my cap off and runs her hands through my hair. Giggling, she forks over bites of cake to me, then some for herself. “Happy birthday, my prince,” she murmurs in my ear.
As soon as the cake is gone, I ignore everyone as I sweep her up in my arms bridegroom-style. With the others hooting behind us, we venture up to the next level. I ease her down in front of me as we stop at a room with a window where the blinds have been left open. Several people are having sex, a mishmash of arms and legs.
One of the guys, in midthrust, falls off the bed and bangs his head on the wall. Another man bends to help him, loses his balance, and falls on top of him. We step away to laugh.
Holding hands, we take another set of stairs to a quieter level. She picks a room, and I follow her inside. I shut the blinds and lock the door while she roams around.
My gaze lands on a big bed with black satin sheets. There’s no theme, thank God, and just like Brogan said, condoms are on the nightstand. There’s a small fridge stocked with water and a bathroom off to the right.
“There’s a giant purple dildo,” she muses as she points to a shelf with an array of toys.
“You won’t need it,” I rumble as I take her in my arms and press my forehead against hers. “Unless you want me to use it?”
“Maybe I’ll use it on you.”
“Funny.” I card my fingers through her hair. “Do you come here often?”
“My first time.”
“But you’ve had one-night stands?” I mean, I assumed. She’s probably in her late twenties, she’s bold—
She grips the steel pipe in my pants. “Yes.”
“Fuck, that feels good,” I groan as she strokes me. Our breaths mingle as she unbuttons my shirt and tugs it out of my slacks, then tosses it over her head.