He peeks inside the envelope and his eyes widen. “Can I have a word?” Tipping his head at the bar, he and I start toward it, leaving Brielle to wonder what’s going on.
“What the fuck is this? You’re trying to buy me off because you know I’m pissed about you and Macey?” he asks, shoving the envelope in my face.
“That’s a gift. Keep it. I’m happy for you that you’ve found someone worthy of your affections this time. It has nothing to do with my involvement with Macey.” That’s the absolute truth.
The bartender heads over and we each order a drink, trying to figure out this new wedge between us. I thought things would blow over, but it’s growing worse.
Hale picks up his drink and the glass of champagne he ordered for his bride-to-be. “You know where I stand. Don’t fuck this up.” He heads back toward Brielle, leaving me to wonder what I’m really doing here.
I sip my Scotch slowly, surveying the room. Christ, everyone’s here. Oliver and Chrissy, and even a few members from the club are standing near the piano, chatting amiably. Everyone but me was included in the celebration, it seems.
When I spot Macey, it’s like all the air has been sucked from the room. My breathing hitches, and my hands ache to touch her. She’s stunning, entirely fuckable. She’s heading toward the bar, but she hasn’t seen me yet. Her gaze is on the floor, the long stem of an empty champagne glass between her fingers. She walks slowly, taking her time, and her eyes remain downcast as if she’s deep in thought.
I hate that some of the lively spark she’s known for seems to have slipped away. The urge to kiss her mouth, her neck, her chest flares inside me, and I have to tamp it down. Her hair is twisted into a fashionable knot at the nape of her neck, her dress is a deep plum color and strapless, drifting all the way to the floor. Her nails are still painted black.
She looks incredible. I haven’t seen her since I left her after our scene, and it strikes me again just how gorgeous she really is with that understated beauty. But leaving the way I did was the only option. Still, it torments me that I couldn’t provide her with aftercare, that I couldn’t be the one to draw her a warm bath and shampoo her hair. Nothing good would come of such intimacy, though, which was why I forced myself to leave.
“Hello,” I say when she’s closer, and her head snaps up.
“Oh. Reece.” She stops where she’s standing, as if she’s afraid to come any closer to the dangerous and unpredictable animal.
“Hi.” So much for a tempting pickup line. This woman turns me into a caveman capable only of uttering only single-syllable words. I’ve been trying to clear my head of the images of her hands bound with my ropes, the luscious spill of cleavage over her lacy bra, the expression on her face as I pushed her to her limits as she tried to hold back her orgasm. She did beautifully, and damn, she felt even better than perfection. But now, standing close enough that I can smell her sweet scent, I know I’m fighting a losing battle.
She lets out a deep exhale. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I wasn’t invited.”
Her brows squeeze together. “Seriously?”
“I’m always serious.” I take another sip of my Scotch.
“So, I’m not the only one mad at you then,” she says confidently, her stance straightening.
“You’re mad?” This is news to me.
“You’re a selfish asshole and an idiot. Chrissy told me about your kink. I feel like a fool. I thought our history meant . . . You know what? Never mind, I don’t want to start a fight at my brother’s party.”
“My kink?” Now I’m really fucking confused.
She lowers her voice. “You only fuck in the mouth or the ass.” Her tone is biting.
She’s looking at me as if this information is disgusting, or like she feels sorry for me. But what am I supposed to say?
“It’s been that way for a long time, yes.” It’s just one of the tactics I employ to ensure I don’t fall for a woman. No sharing a bed, no intimacy, no sex. At least, not in the traditional sense. I hate the way her worried gaze latches onto mine, as if she’s trying to solve a riddle. “You thought I was going to make love to you? Sorry, sweetheart, I’m not that guy anymore. This is me. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll leave it. Good luck.” And with that, she lifts her chin and strides away, her heels clicking across the floor as her long, graceful legs carry her toward the exit.
Fuck. Why do I feel like someone’s punched me square in the chest? Rage boils unchecked inside me, and I want to hit something.
I down my drink, and am about to make a hasty exit myself when Oliver approaches.
“How are things progressing with Macey?” he asks, planting himself on the bar stool next to me.
“Just fucking terrific,” I lie, poorly. I couldn’t wipe the grimace off my face right now if I tried.
“Sarcasm. Another defense mechanism?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Careful. I’ve already taken shit from Hale tonight, and now Macey. Do you really want to fuck with me right now?”
Oliver orders a bottle of beer when the bartender approaches, but I know this conversation is far from over. His nostrils are flared, and a vein throbs at the base of his neck. “Listen. For once in your goddamn life, listen to me.”
He’s never taken on a rough tone with me, never been anything over than jovial. My head is spinning. “What the fuck have I done to piss you off?” Suddenly it strikes me, and I let out a bark of laughter. “Don’t even tell me you’re pissed off I kicked you out of that scene with Macey?”
“Of course not. God, will you listen to yourself?” He sets his beer down on the bar top and turns to face me, his eyes locked on mine and his expression serious. “I’ve known you for years, Reece. I’ve listened to the rumors, I’ve watched you take subs into your private room. In all that time you’ve never once asked for my help. But then suddenly you did, and I knew Macey was different. Just like that. I could see it in the way you looked at her, in the careful way you were with her. It wasn’t a game to you. You touched her like her skin was something to be worshipped, like her body was the most precious thing to you. And you looked like you wanted to murder me when I touched her. This girl means something to you. Don’t try to deny it.”
“She did. A long time ago. Not now. Not anymore. Besides, Hale would never fucking allow it, so it doesn’t even matter.” Something tells me if she didn’t just walk away from me, it probably would have fucked up my friendship with him for good.
“I know you want everyone to see you as this successful business owner and in-control Dominant. And you are those things—no question. But what I see is a man running from his past.”
I want to scream at him, to tell him that he’s wrong, to knock him on his ass. But fuck, this is Oliver. He’s practically a therapist—a sex therapist, but whatever. The guy knows his shit. That’s why he works for me. It’s why his waiting list for new clients is more than six months long.
“Fight for her. Go after her, talk to her. I know she means something to you.”
“Yeah, but is it worth fucking up my friendship with Hale?”
He gazes at me like he feels sorry for me. “If she’s worth it, you’ll figure it out.”
I feel like someone stomped on my chest. It’s hard to breath, and even harder to see straight. “I have to go.” I don’t know where; I just know I need out of this suit and tie that’s trying to strangle me.
On my cab ride home, my mind is whirling. I consider texting Macey, just to check on her, to try to understand what I did wrong. All she wanted was a fun hookup, and I thought that’s exactly what I gave her. But then I realize texting would be a pussy move. I need to call her. Hear her voice.
It’s about to go to voice mail when she finally picks up.