Sebastian gathered my hand back in his while Ash talked to the small group of friends who were meeting us at the club. The five of us headed out the back door and into the night, the November sky cool, the sounds of revelry riding on the air.
The SUV that had dropped us off sat waiting, but it was a black Maserati convertible parked behind it that Sebastian went straight for.
My steps faltered and my mouth dropped open.
I was supposed to be dishing out the surprises this weekend, not the other way around.
At my reaction, Sebastian just gave me an offhanded shrug and tugged at my hand as he walked out ahead of me, turning to face me and taking a few steps back. “Made a call when I ordered your stuff for the room. Figured we might want our own ride for the weekend.”
“I would hardly call that a ride.”
“What? It has wheels.”
And I knew without a doubt this was for me, because Sebastian’s tastes so obviously leaned toward the mean, blacked-out cars with big engines and muscle and guts. This car was sleek, small, and fast, pretentious luxury at its finest.
“You’re insane, Sebastian from California.”
His laughter was free and full, and filled me whole, my lungs pressing firm at my ribs as I relished in the sound.
“Can’t blame a man for taking care of his girl.”
“More like spoiling her.”
He tugged me hard, making me fall into the warmth of his chest. His heart beat steady and strong. Fingertips brushed along my jaw as the words went soft. “Don’t mind doing a little of that, either.”
I relinquished, and Sebastian helped me into the soft leather of the front seat, ambled around the front, hopped into the driver’s seat, and started the car.
We followed the SUV to the club Ash had arranged for Sebastian’s party, back when Sebastian thought it was just going to be him and the guys and a few of their friends out for a night on the town.
A kaleidoscope of lights blazed from the strip. Every casino and hotel was lit up like a torch that promised gratification found in no other place than this city. The top was down and the air was cool, and my heart beat a thunder of contentment in my chest. One of my hands was secured on Sebastian’s thigh, the other weaving through the rushing air where my arm was draped over the windowsill.
Ten minutes later, we pulled up to the valet right behind the Escalade, and Sebastian ran around and helped me out. He kept his hand in mine, his head lifted without the reservation he typically wore around the media, as a volley of camera flashes erupted the second we stepped into view.
A red rope held back a line of partygoers dressed to impress, hopeful to make it inside. A few of them called out for Sunder as the band strode right toward the entrance. Some singled out Sebastian, calling his name to grab his attention, as they lifted their phones and snagged pictures. He smiled in their direction—the man all happiness and excitement—without an ounce of bristling hostility that normally accompanied being in the public eye.
And I realized sometimes love soothes some of that anger away.
I clung to his side. The force of my smile, this joy inside me, was more than I could understand.
“Delaney Rhoads,” someone shouted from the line.
On instinct, my eyes flashed that direction, not sure what to do. Whether I should run or hide or lift my chin in pride the same way Sebastian seemed to do.
Sebastian hugged me a little tighter, quiet support, voice casual when he called out, “Her name’s Shea, man. Don’t forget it.”
Someone laughed and hollered, “Shea,” and I just smiled and offered a timid wave, allowing Sebastian to lead me through the entrance of the overflowing club.
Inside, it was darker than night yet brighter than day, bodies lit up like silhouettes in the strobes of light. Professional dancers were suspended from the high cathedral ceiling in cages as the crowd raved below, coves of booths and tables tucked out of sight around the dance floor.