As I placed my glass down, I faced Brandon again, only to find him already watching me. “What?” I asked.
His hand moved to stroke his stubbled cheek. “I haven’t seen you here before. Have you just moved to the city? Pretty girl like you could do well here.”
Brushing back my hair from my shoulder, I shook my head. “Brooklyn born and bred.”
“Really?” he asked, and took another drink. Swallowing, he asked, “And what is it you do here in Brooklyn, Talia?”
My face adopted the same neutral expression I was used to displaying.
Shrugging, I replied, “I help run the family business.” Brandon nodded, and I returned the question. “And you?”
“Import and export, mostly.”
“Sounds interesting,” I said sarcastically, and Brandon dismissively waved his hand.
“Hmm … It pays well,” he said with finality, then his fingers found their way into the bottom of my hair.
I remained still as he stared at the gold strands and I took a deep breath willing myself to find him attractive. His top lip hooked into a crooked, disbelieving smirk. Dropping my hair, his index finger then lifted to trace the edge of my jaw. I felt the need to push his hand away. Even as hot as he was, I found his touch repulsive.
“You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, Talia. Do you know that? Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are? All that long blond hair, your tanned skin, your dark brown eyes…” I stilled as his gaze turned hungry and stared predatorily at my lips.
Pulling back, Brandon reached out for my drink, and brought it to my mouth, the sugar-coated rim kissing my bottom lip. “Drink, Talia. Drink this, then I’m going to taste it on your tongue.”
His free hand dropped to my leg and drew lazy circles, traveling farther and farther north. I tried to be into it. I really did. But I felt like I was betraying 221.
I felt like I was betraying myself.
Brandon’s head dipped and his bright blue eyes met me over the rim of his glasses. “Drink.”
Tipping my head forward, I opened my mouth to accept the drink. I took a small sip. I didn’t think I could stomach any more, and Brandon pulled the glass away and threw me a devastatingly handsome smile.
His hand lifted to stroke my hair. “Do you feel more relaxed?”
“Mmm…,” I mumbled, slightly jarred at how forward Brandon had suddenly become. His mouth approached my mouth and, to my shock, dusted a soft kiss on the corner. Pulling back, seemingly happy at my shocked-still state, he took my hands, and asked, “Dance with me?”
Brandon pulled me from my seat. I grabbed my purse, throwing the strap over my shoulder. Brandon guided me through the heaving mass of hot bodies, the two of us immediately merging with the frenzied mob the club had morphed into.
Brandon kept pulling me along, his pace picking up the deeper into the throng we penetrated.
I frowned, wondering why we were headed to the other side of the dance floor. “Brandon?” I called, but he obviously hadn’t heard me over the too-loud music.
I tried to pull on Brandon’s hand but his grip tightened and he still didn’t look back. Fear immediately drenched my body as we fled the dance floor and headed for a darkened exit door.
“Brandon! Stop!” I shouted, but my plea was drowned out by the sound of the heavy bass.
Brandon pushed through the exit door, dragging me with him until I staggered into a dark and secluded alley. Hearing the exit door slam behind me, I swung around just in time to see Brandon loosen his tie and crack his neck.
My heartbeats sounded like cracks of roaring thunder in my ears. I backed up, trying to get away, only to hit a wall. I froze, my eyes darting to Brandon … Brandon who was stalking … his expression no longer seductive and friendly, but cold and damn-right fucking insane.