It was some time later and we were straightening our clothes when I said smugly, "So you know that you basically promised me you wouldn't eat anyone else's cookies."
His smile was warm as he crowded me back against the wall, rubbing his big, hard chest against mine. "Angel, I promised you that a long time ago."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?"
~William Shakespeare
PRESENT
SCARLETT
I was drunk. Good and stinking drunk.
We were at the crew hotel in Seattle (not my favorite town) on a layover and we were trolling the lobby bar.
Okay, I was trolling the lobby hotel. My girls were just there for moral support.
I was planning to make up for the fact that I'd just spent a solid month being a pathetic, lovesick fool moping in my room, crying in my bed.
Staying at home. Hating myself. Wanting to disappear.
But I'd decided tonight that I was done with that.
I was on the hunt for a standin punching bag. I had decided about three drinks ago that I'd feel much better about myself if I put at least one man between me and my last memory of Dante.
I was looking around, a pout on my face. "No cute boys," I told the girls.
Demi agreed.
"I'm not sad," Leona said, studying me. "I don't think I want you to find a cute boy when you're in this shape."
They were sitting in a booth and I was standing next to it. I was not in a sitting mood. I was in a get some male attention mood. I just wished there were some males around worth being noticed by.
I'd already shot down two that just weren't cute enough. More specifically: reject number one wasn't tall enough and reject number two looked too wholesome.
I didn't like wholesome, never had. I craved sinister categorically.
"Don't speak too soon," Farrah said, eyes aimed at the door. "I'll let you have him if you want him, but damn, I sure don't want to."
I turned to see. And smiled.
It was my lucky day.
Either he was actually looking for me or it was a hell of a coincidence but, Dante's half-brother, Bastian, had just walked in the door.
He was standing there, scanning the room, and it didn't take him long to zero in on me.
He grinned.
I tilted my head and grinned back, then pointed my chin at the bar, heading there with a bouncing little strut.
He beat me to it, and watched me approach, his eyes all over me.
I was glad I'd turned myself out well.
My minuscule nude dress was basically man catnip. It hit all the right buttons: deep cleavage that left very little of my abundant breasts to the imagination, short skirt that showed off my sky-high legs. The whole thing was fitted to show off my flat tummy and hourglass figure.
Pink platform stilettos and sexy bedroom hair didn't hurt my situation, and my makeup had been on point before I'd gotten sloppy drunk. Who could say now? Who could care?
Not me. I felt sexy as hell either way.
"Hello, stranger," I said when I got within earshot of Bastian. "You look good enough to eat."
And he did. Three-piece suit, dark, messy hair, five o'clock shadow, a handsome as hell Durant face, and a devilish smile.
Yeah, he'd do.
"Look who's talking," he retorted, eyes on my catnip dress. "My God, woman, you are trouble, aren't you?"
I went to hug him, because drunk, and breathed into his ear. "You have no idea."
"Unfortunately, I don't." He sounded truly regretful about that as he put his hands on my hips and set me back just the slightest bit. "I'm sure you've guessed, but I came here to talk to you."
"How did you know I'd be here?" I asked him, cocking my head to the side.
His mouth twisted ruefully, and when he did that he reminded me so much of Dante that I wanted to smash something over his head. And cry. And run away. And kiss him.
"Facebook. You and your friends love to share your locations, and, you know, I live here."
I scrunched my nose up. "Facebook stalking me, are you?"
He was unapologetic. "Yes. It's a helpful tool. Actually, I was going to fly down to see you soon, but this worked out much better. Well, it did if you're up for a serious talk that I'd like you to remember in the morning."
"I'm not up for a serious anything," I told him and, because drunk, I pressed my mouth to his.
He made a little noise in this throat, a hungry one, and I licked his lips, brushing my breasts against him.
He set me away, but he was breathing hard.
"You taste good," I told him.
He smiled but not like he was happy. "Do I taste like revenge?"
"Exactly like that. Yum."
"Trust me, you beautiful, edible, dangerous creature, I would love to take you up on that, but it's a line we can't cross."
"There's no line I won't cross," I said, meaning it. I was feeling self-destructive to a dangerous, limitless degree. "God, do you know what he did to me the last time I saw him?"
"I heard a bit about it," Bastian said solemnly.
That surprised me. "What did you hear? And from whom?"