The Perfect Wrong, page 3
Before I can unglue my tongue, he pounds his empty glass down on the counter with a loud clink! and grabs my hand.
“Um...I don’t know. I’m not much of a dancer and...you won’t even tell me your name?” I whisper.
“Come on. This is supposed to be a party and you should look like you’re having fun.” He pulls me along, leading me away with one arm slung over mine, shepherding me across the sand to an empty spot with mellow flames contained in rocks and string lights glowing overhead like fireflies.
“My name’s Chris,” he whispers hotly in my ear.
Chris.
My footsteps slow until I’m not moving.
It fits him, I guess.
The kind of hard, single syllable name worthy of bearing whatever big bad mystery he’s hiding. Probably a hard life, a secret life...a lonely one, maybe?
I don’t have time to dwell on it.
Chris has me yelling the instant he throws me over his shoulder. He hoists me up and swings me around for a frantic second before he pushes my bare feet back into the sand with ease.
Right where he wants me.
“Get out of your head, princess, and try to keep up,” he says, lacing his thick fingers through mine. “Surely you’ve done a slow dance on the beach before?”
“Duh!” I lie.
And I think he knows it, too, because he’s smirking fit to kill during the next sixty seconds with my feet tripping all over his.
But eventually, I find my groove.
It’s easier to keep up when he does most of the work, holding me tight, slowly leading us in winding circles.
When his eyes sharpen too much like broken sea glass, I look away, eyeing our shadows spinning on the beach.
Oh, but the way he holds me...there’s no escaping that.
I honestly don’t want to.
This man makes what should be an awkward, odd night dance with a stranger man feel weirdly natural.
“Too fast for you? Too rough?” he asks, whirling me in a slow spin with his hot breath in my ear.
God.
I’m not even sure what this feeling is.
Pulsing is the best word that comes to mind, except it’s my entire body. I can feel my happy heartbeat in my toes.
My brows knit together.
“Delia?” he whispers.
“Keep going,” I tell him, trying to unravel why I feel so conflicted.
Everything about him feels glorious, his strong hands burning in mine. But every moment together is also a reminder.
That stupid summer pact, still taunting me.
We dance on for another wild minute. I actually crack a smile and laugh when he swings me out before reeling me back in again.
But he must see the restlessness in my eyes, the sadness, the worry.
“Princess, what’s wrong? Bad memories?”
“No, it’s just...” I trail off, stumbling over my next step.
That’s when I feel the tear rolling down my cheek like a hot knife.
Oh.
Oh, crud.
“I’m s-sorry,” I stammer, ripping away from him and almost tripping on the sand. “It’s not you, Chris. You’ve been great. I just...I have a lot on my plate right now. And it’s late and I should go.”
But before I can dart away into the darkness, he catches me around the waist.
Almost enough force to knock my breath out, but he’s so very gentle as he holds me.
“Only if you talk to me first,” he whispers, pressing his jaw softly against my neck. “You don’t know me, I get it. Still, what the fuck kind of man would I be if I let a girl as stunning as you run off crying?”
2
Black Dragon
This night has officially taken one hell of a turn for the weird.
I also meant every word I growled in her ear when I dragged her so close she’s almost bone-deep, pressing her against me, all soft curves and shattered feelings and this fragrant sweetness that makes my nose tingle.
“Delia, talk to me,” I demand again.
For a minute, I feel her broken sobs, this deep poison in her soul bleeding out.
“I can’t, Chris. You won’t understand. It’s stupid.”
I snort loudly in her ear. “Try me. I’ve lived in rooms the size of a shoebox with other dudes for most of my adult life. Whatever dumbass thing you think is so unforgivable, I promise you I’ve heard ten times worse.”
She sniffs, drawing a deep breath. “...so you are in the Navy?”
“Former,” I say, hoping it’ll help draw the truth out.
A secret for a secret.
“You swear you won’t laugh? Really and truly?” she asks, turning to face me all doe-eyed.
“If I laugh, go ahead and kick me square in the balls. I figured you wanted to earlier for trespassing anyway. I won’t even fight it.” I make a quick cross over my heart.
That wins me a smile, and what a fucking smile.
Even when her eyes are drowning in hurt, Miss Delia is a looker with her honey-dark eyes and luscious black locks spilling down spotless skin as inviting as virgin canvas.
She rocks the perfect California tan and a Puritan’s innocence.
Curves for miles.
Strawberry-pink lips I want to fucking bite.
God help me, I would—if only she wasn’t falling to pieces in my arms.
“O-okay,” she whispers, heaving out a sigh that makes her small body ripple. “My best friend and I made this stupid pact.”
“Pact? What, like a bet?”
She nods.
“I’ve got one more semester left at Berkeley. My dating life—” She pauses, turning her eyes away before she says, “—my sex life, I mean, it hasn’t been the greatest.”
“So? Sounds like typical college shit to me,” I tell her. “All the sex you can stand with people who’ve got no fucking clue about fucking.”
Another raw laugh slips out of her. “Are you always this blunt?”
“Yeah, but it makes you happy.” I shrug. “So what about your sex life, Miss Delia?”
For a heavy second, she bites her lip, dragging her eyes to mine with effort.
“I’ve had quite a dry spell,” she whispers, wincing. “And Marnie, she’s way more outgoing. Everything comes easy when she gets around like a hummingbird. She thinks I’m wasting my time, missing the whole college dating experience or whatever. So, she gave me until the end of summer.”
My head is spinning, or maybe it’s just the blood loss in my brain from everything flowing to my dick.
Dry spell?
Is she pulling my goddamn tail?
I can’t imagine this chick having a dry spell with anything bedroom-related.
Hell, I shouldn’t imagine it.
Because every second I do just hardens my stare and adds hellfire to my blood. Every searing pulse in my skin screams at me to solve Delia’s problem for her.
Ideally by dragging her off to the nearest crop of rocks and fucking her soul out.
“What, you’re saying you’re on a deadline to hook up?” I growl. Too harsh.
I immediately regret the hurt look she gives me.
“Sorry. Guess I’m just surprised to hear you’re having such a rough time,” I say, pushing her hands into mine and pulling her closer. “You’re young and hot. I hate that I have to tell you that. Shit, you’re a knockout, princess, and I don’t just mean your body. You’ve got a brain in your head if you’re not blowing it out at these parties. You’ve got money. You’ve obviously got friends.”
I stop, gesturing to a couple passed out asleep under a blanket about twenty feet away. I’m sure they’ll wake up in a few hours with one wicked hangover.
“But I don’t have, um, prospects,” she says quietly, like she’s biting her tongue.
Fuck.
I can’t fathom why this is so hard for a girl who might as well be California royalty.
Does she have some weird disease?
Is she completely mental?
“What happens if you don’t give this Marnie what she wants by autumn then? Death by dildo firing squad?”
She rolls her eyes. I hold in a smile.
“Worse. She gets to choose who I sleep with when school starts up...”
“What the hell?” Anger and shock surge up my throat. I’ve heard of arranged marriages, but arranged hookups? “Lady, you’re smart enough to know you can tell her to pound sand. Don’t do anything for a goofy-ass pact that’s got zero legal weight.”
She looks down quietly before she says, “Oh, she’d totally let me wiggle out of it. It’s just...it’s not that easy for me. I agreed because I thought I needed an extra kick in the butt.”
My grip on her hands tightens as she looks up.
Her eyes are full of shadows and gold in the string lights overhead, stretched between the bar’s decorative sunshades, hanging above us like fireflies.
“What kick?” I echo gently. “Why are you so hard on yourself?”
“Because. I’m tired of being the boring girl. The good girl, especially at these stupid parties,” she rushes out. “I’m sick of being so flipping indecisive, of overthinking everything, of being alone while everybody else is pairing up and having the time of their lives.”
The hurt simmering out of her feels too real.
I also sense she isn’t done, so I squeeze her fingers again, urging her to let the rest out. She’s been holding on to this venom for a while.
I should know better than anyone how unhealthy that can be.
“And...and honestly, until tonight, I thought I’d just give up and let Marnie have the last laugh, as pathetic as that sounds. I thought I’d just let her choose because maybe she should.”
Her face falls as she wipes another rogue tear away.
With my breath lodged in my throat, I reach up and cover her hand, pushing it down and swiping the tear off her skin.
“Until tonight, huh? What changed?”
When she turns her face up to meet my eyes, I have my answer.
Her eyes glow so brilliantly they’re almost like lacquered wood.
They’re beaming a message that rips me completely the fuck in two.
Until you.
Fuckity.
Whatever I expected I might run into tonight with diving exercises outside my usual range, it damn sure wasn’t this.
Now, I have a choice to make with a dozen wicked consequences, and about ten seconds to decide.
As soon as I’m sure she’s sobbed her last, I wrap her up tight in my arms, gazing into those beautiful eyes.
They’re so conflicted they’re white like paper smeared with ink.
I draw her closer. My lips make a vow my brain has to match.
I’m going to make this princess whole.
3
Rose-Colored Glasses
I. Am. Reeling.
I expected him to hate me after I opened up, to say some cruel thing, to laugh in my face.
It might’ve been easier if he had.
Because at least then I wouldn’t be totally boneless.
But I also wouldn’t be a melting heap in his arms, fused to the hottest kiss of my life, digging my nails into his powerful neck and moaning until I’m delirious.
Mystery Chris swipes his tongue against mine with fire, with passion, with desire.
He drinks me in with empathy.
And in one brutal, beautifully unexpected kiss, this stranger rips the veil of my entire world in two.
Holy hell.
My panties feel like they’re so drenched they’re barely there, but somehow I grind against him, clinging to his thick neck for dear life.
The throaty way he rasps when he tears away from my lips renders me freaking blind for the next ten seconds.
“Say the word,” he whispers.
“The word?” I whisper weakly.
“Say you want this, princess, and I’ll show you what you’ve been missing. I will end your dry spell. I will make it rain so damn hard, you can drown your idiot friend in an ocean she’ll never be good enough to taste.”
Oh my God.
Even his eyes are blistering, not just his touch, crackling like teal-green flames.
“Of course, if it’s too much—” he starts.
“No.” I shake my head, running my tongue along my lips. “No, Chris. Please. Give me rain.”
His eyes ignite a shade brighter and he grins.
“See? I knew you’d be fun, Delia. Storm’s coming, but not until I’ve softened you up,” he breathes against my lips. “I’ll take you away, woman. Every goddamned place I see you begging to visit in every glance. You just have to trust me. Let me steer. After tonight, I’ve got you.”
I’ve got you.
Goddamn.
I think those words might echo in my head forever, and I wonder why he’s so magnetic. So undeniably bad for me that he’s actually good.
An electric shudder ripples up my spine.
Everything about this man screamed power before.
But once he guides me into dancing again, leading me effortlessly across the sands, around the fire, weaving our shadows together like rich black velvet, I start to get an inkling of just how incredible he is.
Just how right he might be to win my silly bet with Marnie and break my personal, unsexy curse.
There’s something visceral every time I breathe him in, that intoxicatingly Chris smell of old pine and testosterone and sandalwood gliding off him.
No question, this is a man—not another college boy—and he brings an edge so sharp I want him to cut me to pieces.
Chris handles me with strength and elegance as we dance deep into the night.
I offer up my trust.
He gives total control.
Everything he promised and it’s barely begun.
Soon, we’re awash in music and heated touches, soft lights and filthy anticipation.
I go spinning out on the next song, skittering across the beach before he snaps me back to his hot skin, his teasing kisses, his raw temptation.
He makes me want in a way I’ve never wanted anyone before.
By the time he kisses me again, stealing my breath, I’m dying to feel his mouth crushing mine and never letting up. I’m aching to feel those lips all over me with the same wicked confidence as his hands on my hips.
If he’s thunder, I want to be his whole damn sky.
I want him to fill me.
His hands are everywhere now—just enough to tease, but never lingering to tear at my clothes.
Something I wish he’d do until I remember we’re still messing around in the open.
Oops.
I’m glad I stopped drinking when I did—one more round would’ve knocked me on my butt for sure with his dance moves.
Ditto for the swarming butterflies he’s stirring up from head to toe.
I’m far more drunk on adrenaline, on the fire coursing through my blood, on the red, red lust plucking every nerve until I vibrate with admiration, wanton desire, ruthless excitement.
Obsession, or at least the start of it.
Crazy need.
We dance on for what feels like ten minutes, but it could be hours. I’m breathless by the end, wiping a pleasant sweat off my forehead.
On my last spin, his hands sweep across my ass, grabbing it hard and pulling me into him.
Oh, this is it...
My teeth dig into my bottom lip.
My legs part automatically.
I’m only against him for a second, running my hands slowly down his chest, but I feel the hard, rough promise below his belt.
His bulge pushes against my belly insistently.
The invitation there makes my whole body numb with white-hot pleasure.
I’m dizzy as he finally stops moving and settles us in the sand for good, still holding me close, both of us breathing like we might fall over.
A sharp clapping noise makes me jerk up.
I look around and realize it’s a couple drunken party people applauding us. A smiling couple sits at the bar, watching intently.
Yikes.
I’m about to keel over from embarrassment when I look at him and—
He can’t be serious.
Oh, but he is.
Chris sweeps a low, exaggerated bow like some regency hero man, brushing it off like it’s nothing.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take them more than a second to return to their private fun.
“Holy shit, Chris. Where did you learn to do that?” I’m still winded, my lungs fighting to replenish precious air.
“A man learns a few things when he’s been around the world. Tonight, my world is just this beach,” he says matter-of-factly.
My heart skips.
The way he’s looking at me says it’s not just the beach.
There’s a hunger in his eyes, a feral look I’ve only seen my short-lived boyfriends wearing a few times before.
But for the first time in my life, I’m beaming back the same desire, my eyes huge and pleading.
Please.
Show me the moves you only use when you’re alone with a girl.
“I knew you had a dancer in there somewhere, Delia.” He pushes his chin against my shoulder, moving his lips to my ear. “You move like an angel when I make you. Will you give me the same sweetness when I take your pussy to heaven?”
Oh, God.
He does not mince freaking words.
We walk deeper into the darkness and he grinds against me again.
Another wonderful preview of what happens when that angry, impatient hard-on waiting behind his jeans comes out.
My hand slides down between us, and I grab a fistful of his shirt.
I have to taste him.
Craning my head up, I breathe harshly, demanding a kiss.
I barely need to ask before he drives his firm, strong lips against mine.
Bastard kisser.
Wonderful, arrogant bastard.
Masculine heat floods my mouth.
Just like the secret agent man I imagine he is, Chris blitzes my lips.
His tongue darts through the seam of my lips, intense and decisive, shoving his way inside, chasing my whimper with his growl.
I can’t hold back the moan.
It detonates deep in my belly, pulsing into his mouth, just like he’s stealing some secret part of me that wants to be looted.
