I lift a shoulder to my ear and offer a coy smile. “It looked like a nice place to have a drink, and I felt like I could use one. What about you? You stood someone up tonight.”
“I did.” His teeth graze his lower lip, as if he’s biding his time until he can finally devour me. “He’ll get over it.”
I realize now, that I haven’t thought about Rhett since we walked in here. Keir is distracting, exactly as I’d hoped, and this is a good sign.
I know enough about Keir to know he isn’t a lover, not in the literal sense of the word. He isn’t a serial monogamist. He isn’t a relationship guy or the kind who brings flowers and takes a girl out on a picnic date. He’s the guy you screw when you’re trying to get over the one who broke your heart. He’s the guy that makes you forget the other guy, the one that pushes you forward when you find yourself treading the same dark and lonely waters that once nearly drowned you.
Keir isn’t Rhett, this much I know to be true.
Rhett was a career politician with presidential aspirations, one of the youngest senators ever to be elected in Georgia. His gentle charisma, old-fashioned manners, and charming, southern burr made him feel like a safe choice. I should’ve listened when he warned me not to fall in love with him, but I stupidly assumed it was just one of those things guys said.
“What?” he asks, mouth twisted. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“What way?” My nose wrinkles. I didn’t mean to stare.
“Like I remind you of someone.”
I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. “I’m thinking about how much you don’t remind me of someone.”
His eyes light. “I hope that’s a good thing, Rowan.”
“It’s a very good thing, Keir.”
Chapter Two
Keir
I tug the zipper of her dress, and she exhales, her body melting against mine as she gazes out the window before us. Rowan presses a hand against the cool glass, steadying herself, and my hand slinks up her belly and between her round breasts before stopping above her collarbone.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask. It’s called consent, and it’s called one last chance to save herself because I won’t be going easy on her. I don’t make love. I fuck. And I made that perfectly clear two minutes ago when she slipped her panties off and tossed them aside with reckless abandon and a single raised eyebrow. With her face cupped in my hand and my thumb pressed beneath her jaw, I feel her swallow. And then she nods.
Over the past hour, Rowan has informed me that her parents have no idea she’s here in the city, and they have no idea she’s ever tasted liquor. Or a man. The restrictions placed upon her are suffocating. She’s bored with convention and conservatism. She’s a rebel. A girl after my own heart.
And she hasn’t said it, but she’s a girl with a broken heart. I see it in her eyes. Those round-as-saucers baby blues that look clear through me every time she finds herself lost in thought. I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it half the time, but she is. She stares at me, and she’s here, but she isn’t.
Rowan takes the tip of my finger between her lips, gently sucking, rolling her tongue around the pad, and my cock swells, pressing against my suit pants.
“I want to make something very clear tonight, Rowan,” my voice is low against her ear. “After tonight, you’ll never hear from me again.”
“Do you promise?” She turns to face me, eyes lifted onto mine.
My mouth pulls in the corner. Seems as though there’s a very good chance we’re on the same page. Then again, this wouldn’t be the first time some pretty little thing waltzes into my life pretending to be the perfect one-night stand.
Rowan bites her lip. “I just want to have fun. I don’t want to walk out of here wondering when you’re going to call me or if you like me. I only want tonight. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Do you have any idea how many women say that?”
“I mean it.” Her palms flatten against my chest, and her eyes are stormy, and her brows furrow. “I don’t want anything from you after this.”
I tug on the sleeve of her dress until it slides down her body and pools at her feet. Her skin is hot to the touch, and her pouty, fuck-me lips are begging to be crushed. My hand lifts to her jaw, and I’m milliseconds from going in for the kill when her clutch begins to vibrate.
She pushes away from me, gazing across the room, and I exhale, releasing her from my hold.
“Take it.” I don’t disguise my annoyance.
“No, it’s okay.” She moves close to me again but her eyes are over there.
“You sure?”
Her head bobs. And then she sighs. “Just . . . give me one second. I’m sorry.”
I take a seat in an overstuffed Chesterfield armchair, watching Rowan slink across my apartment in nothing but a matching lace bra and thong set the color of sin. It’s all I can do to keep from eating my fist right now, and as soon as she’s finished with her phone call, I’m going to make her turn the fucking thing off.
“Hannah, slow down.” Rowan paces the kitchen, circling my island. “I can barely here you. Where are you?”
She ends the call a minute later and rushes across the room, grabbing at her dress on the floor by the window.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “My sister . . . she goes to Georgetown and she’s at a party, and she’s drunk, and I think she’s on something or maybe someone slipped her something. I don’t know. I could hardly understand her. I need to go find her and get her home.”
Rowan shimmies into her skintight dress, and I mourn the sexiest piece of ass I’ll never know. After she tugs everything into place, she turns to face me. Her lips part, like she’s going to say something, but she stops.
“What?” I ask.
“I was going to say call me sometime,” she says. “But I don’t want to give you my number because I don’t want to wait around for your call. And I don’t want your number either because then it’s a thing, and I don’t want to make this into a thing.”
“You’re a smart girl, Rowan Aldridge.”
She steps into her heels, her height lifting an extra several inches as she turns to face me. “Well aware.”
“You have a smart mouth,” I tell her, sipping my bourbon. “If your kid sister weren’t being such a cock block right now, I’d be putting it to good use.”
Rowan chuffs, moving toward the door. “You’re exactly like I expected.”
I begin to ask her to explain. I’ve always been curious about my reputation in this city, and I’ve yet to find a single person unafraid to give me the straight truth. But she’s gone. She doesn’t care what I have to say. The door closes behind her, and I don’t chase after her because, well, I don’t chase.
Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I drag my thumb across the screen and type her name into a search engine. I might not be running after this woman, but my curiosity is officially peaked. And that’s a first.
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Never is a Promise
The Never Series - Book Two
COPYRIGHT 2015 WINTER RENSHAW
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED