Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats Book 1), page 30
“I love you, you’re the best,” she stammers her words as she throws an arm around me.
“I love him so much,” she adds, pointing straight at Andrew, glass in hand like it’s a wand.
Then Philippa pretends to cast out a fishing line and reels it in, her tongue between her teeth, concentration fierce like she’s actually trying to catch a marlin.
We turn just in time to see Andrew take the bait, grinning as he steps onto the dance floor.
With Broderick in tow.
Fuck.
Oh, fuck.
Riley grabs my wrist. Her eyes find mine—wide, wild, do not panic.
But it’s already happening.
Andrew sweeps in, wraps his arms around Philippa, and they start to dance, her squeal echoing over the music, limbs loose, drunk on love and liquor.
Then Broderick.
Steps beside me. Resting his hand on my shoulder, warm, steady, sending a pulse straight through me.
“Elena,” he says, leaning down and brushing his lips against my ear, voice low against the beat, the warmth sends a shiver down my spine.
I freeze for a half-second. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the way he smells—woodsy and delicious.
“I’d like my phone back, please.” His voice is low, but his request cuts through my lust.
What? No! All he’ll do is stay on it for the night and sulk in the corner. Not on my watch.
“No phone, Brody! Have some fun.” I grab his arms like strings on a puppet, flinging them around as I sway my hips into the beat. Riley whoops behind me, our own personal hype girl, hair flying, face flushed.
Broderick laughs—low, real, unguarded—his head tipping back just enough to make my chest tighten.
“Let loose, dance with me,” I yell, gripping his arms and shaking them harder. “Woooooo!”
His smile deepens. Dimples cut through. Eyes catch the neon and glitter, bright and open—so him, it hurts.
Then Riley stiffens beside me.
I barely register it before a cool hand wraps around my arm and tugs.
I turn and let go. Dropping Broderick’s arms.
Alex.
Fuck, I totally forgot all about him. I’m such an asshole.
He doesn’t say a word, just steps in, palms my face, and kisses me.
He’s sending Broderick and me a clear message. His lips press like he’s stamping his name into mine. I lose myself in him—for a breath, for a heartbeat—before pulling back and spinning around, grinding into him. His hands find my hips, firm, pulling me into the rhythm as he moves to the beat of the song.
Beside us, I catch it.
Broderick taps Andrew’s shoulder. They exchange a few words, then Philippa slips her hand into Andrew’s, and the three of them disappear off the dance floor.
Gone.
A tall stranger slides up beside Riley, and just like that, she’s in motion again—arms around his neck, laughing, hair whipping in time to the beat.
“He wants you,” Alex whispers, voice dark and smug against my ear as he nips the tip with his teeth, it sends a jolt right between my thighs.
“Who?” I ask, not bothering to turn.
“The best man,” he chuckles, smug and close.
“Does he now?”
I know that.
Broderick told me himself. That almost kiss. The pause between us, heavy with things unsaid, the question of what ifs still clinging to my skin like sweat.
I turn, facing Alex fully, my arms sliding around his neck, my body flush against his.
“And what are you going to do about it?” I challenge.
He smiles, slow and sure, fingers tightening on my hips. “I don’t even have to try.” His lips brush my jaw, his voice oozing confidence. “And Elena…I don’t share.”
Everything in me stills.
It wasn’t my intention to make Alex jealous, and to be truthful, I hadn’t expected it, but something about the way he says it strokes something inside me. The need to be wanted, to be chosen. To be enough.
He’s making it so clear. He wants me.
This sexy, magnetic man—watched, chased, desired by so many—wants me.
Doesn’t he deserve to be chosen, too?
Chapter 22
Dangerous Woman
Strobe lights carve the club into shards of color and smoke. Alex bonds with some of Andrew’s friends over a few sloppy lines of cocaine, clapping him on the shoulder, shouting something I can’t hear over the bass hammering through the floor. Who knew men were so simple?
We move like a current, tangled and messy—lips, hips, my knees buckling between the shots Philippa, Riley, and I slam back. It’s wild to see my sister like this, loose and laughing in a way I’ve never seen before, head tipped back, hair clinging to the sweat on her neck.
Somewhere in the haze, I feel him. Broderick.
Leaning in the shadows with a drink, jaw set tight, watching. Brooding.
I want to go to him. My body leans that way without thinking. But the pull of Alex is too magnetic, too intoxicating, dragging me back under the crush of bodies and bass.
The night unravels fast, slipping through my fingers in a blur of heat and sound, until someone yells for the limo and we spill into the street—a mess of limbs, laughter, lipstick smudged and shoes forgotten—bringing a whirlwind of chaos back to the pristine, proper gates of Montgomery Estate.
The debauchery of the rich and uninhibited.
We clamor through the front doors, the sound of cackling echoing off marble floors, kicking off heels, jackets dropping like breadcrumbs behind us.
Alex tugs my hand, pulling me up the stairs two at a time, his mouth finding the crook of my shoulder, careless and breathless. We tumble into my room, the door slamming shut behind us.
I lock it. Learning from past mistakes.
He presses me back against the wall, hands skating under the hem of my dress, mouth teasing mine with that crooked smile he knows makes me stupid.
“Do you want to fuck?” he murmurs, voice low and rough against my jaw.
It’s the first time he’s asked for it.
I let my head fall back, eyes fluttering shut. For a second, the word yes burns the tip of my tongue. Not like this, not while Broderick still lingers in the quiet place of my mind, not while we’re both sloppy drunk and him high on cocaine.
“Not tonight,” I whisper, threading my fingers into his hair, tugging gently. “But…maybe we can do other things.”
His grin is slow, wolfish. “Other things,” he repeats, savoring it.
I nudge him back with a laugh, stumbling toward the bathroom, my dress sticking to my skin. “But first, I need to get cleaned up.”
Alex leans in the doorway, lazy and seductive. “Maybe we get cleaned up together,” he suggests.
The bathroom is all marble, lit by the soft spill of gold from the bedroom. I twist the taps, watching steam swell thick in the air, clinging to the mirrors, curling around the edges of the room.
Behind me, I hear Alex, the soft tug of his shirt slipping free. When I glance back, he’s standing bare, unapologetic.
My throat tightens.
I’d seen pieces of him before—him shirtless, his cock in my mouth earlier—but this…Seeing him completely is something else entirely.
He’s a marvel.
Alex steps closer, voice low and careful. “Can I undress you?”
I nod, my body already trembling before he even touches me.
“Elena,” he murmurs, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, “you’re stunning. Don’t hide from me.”
He turns me by the hips until I’m facing the mirror. I catch sight of myself, a wild mess. My hair is no longer sleek, my ponytail looser. Eyes burning. Lips swollen from too many stolen kisses. I should feel embarrassed. Instead, I feel alive.
Slowly, agonizingly, he drags the zipper of my dress down, the sound of it splitting the air, thread by trembling thread.
His fingers brush the straps, grazing my skin, sending a violent shudder through me as he peels the tight fabric away from my shoulders. The dress puddles at my waist, the bra unclasped with a flick of his hand, falling away.
Cool air kisses my flushed skin, the contrast biting, making me arch back into him without thinking. He pulls the dress down further until I’m left standing there in nothing but a scrap of lace, breathing hard, every inch of me bare to him.
Alex presses his mouth to the curve of my shoulder, his breath warm, the scrape of his stubble rough and electric. “You know what you do to me?” he says, voice wrecked, barely a thread of control left.
He cups my breasts in both hands, molding me against the hard line of his body, his erection pressing hot and insistent against the small of my back.
I whimper, helpless, boneless in his arms.
“Imagine how this would feel inside you,” he murmurs against my skin, hips rolling in the barest suggestion, enough to make my thighs clench tight.
My breath stutters. Apprehension and desire weaving together, low in my belly, sharp enough to ache.
Alex feels it—me tensing—and slows immediately, brushing a kiss over my shoulder like a promise.
“But not tonight,” he whispers, echoing my words. He’s toying with me.
He steps back just enough to guide me toward the bath, fingers sliding down my hips, hooking into the lace of my panties.
“One more thing.” He’s almost laughing under his breath as he drags the last scrap of fabric down my legs. I step out, shivering.
Alex’s hands frame my hips for a beat, then trail lower, giving my ass a playful squeeze that makes me yelp softly, giggling and aching.
He guides me carefully up the steps, into the bath. The water is hotter than I expect, a searing kiss against my skin, and I gasp, sinking under anyway, letting it scald the night off my body.
Alex climbs in behind me, arms bracketing mine, pulling me back against his chest. His hands are everywhere—easy, slow, unrushed—tracing the slick line of my thigh, the curve of my hip, like he has all the time in the world.
I tip my head back onto his shoulder, feeling the wet slide of his mouth along my neck, my body melting against his in the heat and the quiet.
Alex pulls a cloth from the rack next to the bath, dipping it into the water, soaking it, before he drags it lazily over my shoulder, my collarbone, and the slope of my breasts. He lets the cloth float before reaching over to pump some soap from the dispenser and lathering it in his hands.
He rubs my shoulders, slick and wet, then my collarbone.
“You have no idea”—his voice is rough around the edges, almost to himself—“how fucking perfect you are.”
He glides his soapy hands over the swell of my breasts, circling lazily around my nipples until they tighten into stiff peaks.
“Everything is so new to you,” he says, and I hear him smiling, my body twitching and gasping under his touch.
“Alex,” I moan. My cheeks flame.
Then he’s gone, dispensing more soap into his hands.
Fucking tease.
He works it into a thick, silky foam and trails it down my torso, teasing along the hollow of my navel.
Then lower.
He pauses at the apex of my thighs, my back pressed into his twitching cock.
“May I?” he asks.
“Please,” I plead, teetering on the edge.
He slides his hands between my legs, the lightest, slickest touch. Nowhere near enough pressure to satisfy the ache blooming there.
He hums low in his chest, the sound vibrating against the tile. “Fuck,” he says softly “Your body is perfect.” He continues to soap every inch of me. Thighs, hips, stomach, breasts. Methodically, almost cruel in how careful he is not to give me what I’m hungry for.
“I could make you come just from touching you like this.” He drags the soapy cloth up the inside of my thigh, stopping just shy of where I’m throbbing for him.
“But not tonight,” he murmurs, the words curling against my ear like a secret he’s savoring. He says it with a smile in his voice, not anger, not disappointment, just pure, wicked patience. He presses a kiss to the side of my neck, slow and wet, teeth grazing lightly at the end, making me shiver.
A tease. A promise. A game he’s far too good at playing.
Alex’s breath is the only sound in the dark.
After our bath, we bundled ourselves into bed, clean and still flushed.
I was wrecked from the dancing, drinking, and teasing, and Alex was out within minutes, cock still hard, pressed thick and insistent against my thigh, a silent reminder of what I hadn’t let happen tonight.
And yet, here I am, wide awake, staring at the ceiling that I can’t even see.
Alex wants me. Makes me feel beautiful. Chosen.
So why am I thinking about Broderick?
His face tonight at the club.
Even now, curled against Alex, I see Broderick’s fingers on my lip. The what-ifs that continue to haunt me.
I press my face into the pillow and try to block it out. My head starts to throb as sleep evades me and an inevitable hangover creeps in. I need comfort food. The thought alone makes my stomach protest loud enough to echo off the walls.
Carefully, I untangle myself from Alex’s heavy arm and grab my purse from the chair. I pad out of the room barefoot, each step muffled by the thick carpet, and make my way downstairs to the kitchen.
The house is quiet, the echoes of tonight’s shenanigans nothing more than a ghost now, secrets held by marble halls and too many closed doors. I’m not even sure what time it is—some ungodly hour where everything feels still.
As I round the corner toward the kitchen, the low hum of voices pulls me up short.
It’s Broderick. Talking to someone.
“Do you think it’s serious?”
His voice is low, tired.
“I don’t know,” the other man answers. It’s Andrew, I think.
“What do you think she sees in him?” Broderick asks.
The realization hits me hard. They’re talking about me.
A pause. Then, “Bro, do you like her?”
“No, no,” Broderick says quickly. “I’m just looking out for her. She’s Phil’s little sister.”
The words slam into me, cold and sharp.
But…he said he liked me.
Was that a lie? Or is he lying now, to Andrew?
Is he looking out for me?
Doubt creeps in, bitter in my mouth. I shouldn’t even feel this way. I’m with Alex.
“Right,” Andrew replies, the disbelief unmistakable in his voice. “It’s been almost a year since Lauren.”
Who’s Lauren?
“Yeah,” Broderick says. “Work’s been…busy. Things are good. Momentum’s good. Profits are strong. We’re changing communities.” He sounds proud—all the right words, all in the right tone—but underneath, I hear it.
That loneliness.
I didn’t think someone like him would be lonely. It tugs at my heart. He lost his father, like I lost my mother. I can hear the sadness, I know it too well.
Andrew doesn’t let it go. “Yeah, but when the work’s done, Brody, who do you come home to?”
There’s a soft sizzle, something dropped into a pan. Eggs maybe. Bacon. Whatever it is, the smell hits a second later, warm and mouthwatering.
“Alright, man,” Andrew says. “I’ll leave you to it. You and Elena did a great job planning everything. Thanks again. You’re like the brother I wish I had.”
“You know I got you.”
Footsteps approach. I flatten against the wall, holding my breath as Andrew steps into the hallway, four water bottles cradled in his arms like precious cargo. Hangover insurance.
I wait until Andrew’s footsteps fade, the silence swelling thick and heavy again.
Circling wide, I slip down the other side of the hall. If I come in through the second entrance, maybe Broderick won’t suspect I heard anything I wasn’t meant to.
I take a steadying breath before padding into the kitchen, heart pounding relentlessly against my ribs.
I’m not much of an actress—
“El.”
I freeze.
Look up.
And there he is.
Shirtless.
Oh, dear God.
Every muscle on him is carved and golden under the low kitchen lights, skin kissed by the sun, a dusting of chest hair catching the glow. His pecs and abs ripple. I must look like a deer caught clean in the headlights. Where Alex is all lean and polished, Broderick is bulk and rugged edges.
“Oh,” I stammer. “Sorry—I thought everyone had gone to bed.” At least I don’t have to pretend to be shocked, because at the mere sight of his perfect body, now I am.
Broderick chuckles, soft and rough. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I laugh awkwardly, placing my purse on top of the counter and tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Something like that.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Yeah,” I answer quickly, desperate to steer the conversation somewhere, anywhere else. “Whatcha making?”
“Grilled cheese,” he says, flipping the sandwich in the pan with a lazy flick of his wrist. “You want one?”
My stomach answers before I do, grumbling loud enough for both of us to hear.
“Please.” I huff, cheeks burning.
An easy grin spreads across his face. “Alright. Grilled cheese coming right up.”
I lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him move—the way his back flexes when he reaches for a plate, the low-slung waistband of his sweatpants teasing the edge of indecency. Those dimples, burnt into my memory.
His body is perfection. I bite my lip swallowing my desire.
I shouldn’t be ogling him like this while Alex is upstairs.
“I’m sorry about earlier…” I say, the awkwardness of the situation of Broderick, Alex, and me, all entangled in my mess.
He shrugs. “We’re good. You’re with him, I’ll get over it.”
The thought of him getting over the idea of us doesn’t quite sit well. It’s selfish and fucked up of me. Am I so desperate to feel wanted that I’m greedy for it?
