The thrill of touching him makes me lightheaded. A small thing, my hand on his forearm, but it feels like the prelude to so much more. Rather, I desperately want it to be a prelude to so much more. “Is it so hard to believe that I can be sober and want you?”
“Yes,” he says shortly.
“Devan.” Now it’s my turn to inject censure into my tone. Who the hell could look at this man and not want him? Sure, he’s not ripped, and he’s got a shitty attitude, but there is more to life than sunshine and muscles. He’s got a presence that dominates the room. Even without all that taken into account, he can’t pretend not to know that I want him. “I may have been blitzed last year, but I remember everything.”
A faint flush colors his cheeks and his jaw goes tight. The tiniest of reactions, but he might as well have held up a glitter sign saying he’s affected by me, too. “I should have stopped you.”
I’m so very glad he didn’t, for all that the memory brings as much embarrassment as it does desire. “But you didn’t.” I say it softly. “Surely I didn’t imagine how closely you watched me the entire time. You can’t pretend that was purely for safety reasons.”
“I should have stopped you,” he repeats.
“I’m glad you didn’t.” It’s the truth. I’ve never been able to quantify what I feel for Devan. It’s messy and confusing and I’ve hated him at times. But there’s no denying the craving I have that goes beyond simple desire.
It’s pure lust.
Last year, that lust bubbled over into action; at least on my part. It takes barely any effort at all to be right back in that memory of us in the backseat of that town car. Of the sound he made when my skirt slid up to reveal my panties. It should have stopped there, but I’ve never been on that great of terms with control. I wanted to see if he’d stop me or…maybe take over for me. So I slid my hand into my panties and brought myself to a messy orgasm while he sat there, his body so still it might as well have been a statue. No, he didn’t touch me that night. But, god, he watched.
I’ve masturbated to the memory of that sound he made and the heat in his eyes more times than I care to admit.
“Don’t stare at me with that look on your face, Hazel. The answer is no.”
“But—”
“No.”
Disappointment lashes me. I knew this was a possibility, of course. I’ve been fucking up this man’s life once a year for the last six years. He might feel larger-than-life to me, but he’s only human. I suppose I could have read too much into his reaction last year. Damn it. I sigh and lean back. Did I really expect him to say anything different? He’s never wanted me, even if he’s always done his duty. Demanding more of him after he’s already dealt with so much is too selfish, even for me.
I couldn’t have moved forward without shooting my shot, and it sucks that it wasn’t received well, but at least I won’t spend the rest of my life wondering if I should have at least tried. Disappointment won’t kill me tonight; it never has in the past. “Okay.”
He narrows his eyes. “Okay,” he repeats. “Glad we got that cleared up.”
“Same.” I turn and signal the bartender before he can stop me. It’s my birthday and I’ll be damned if I spent my first night free being bundled into a cab and sent home early. “Guess it’s time for Plan B.”
If anything, his eyes narrow further. “I’m not going to like Plan B.”
“Probably not, but as I’m twenty-five and you’ve washed your hands of me, you don’t really get a say.” I smile at the bartender as he delivers a second drink to me. “Thanks, darling. Nothing for the grump next to me.”
“Hazel.” That delicious thread of warning in my name. “Explain.”
“Oh, right.” I don’t take a drink, but I do pick up the glass. “I decided that since it’s my twenty-fifth birthday as of right now, it’s time to celebrate properly. I can’t do that alone. I’m taking someone home tonight. Not home-home, but I’ve booked a hotel room. Safety first and all that.”
Devan blinks. He looks a bit like a cat that just got swatted with a newspaper. “If not me, then someone else. Just like that.”
“Did that sting your pride?” I give him a slow smile, though my chest aches still from the rejection. “I’d prefer to take you upstairs and rock your world until dawn, but if you’re not interested, I’m sure someone in this bar is.”
“I never said I wasn’t interested.” He stops short, but finally curses. “It’s not appropriate.”
Now it’s my turn to blink. “Appropriate.” I should let it go. Despite the spoiled rich girl routine, I do know how to take “no” for an answer. Devan has most assuredly told me no. Pursuing this further is a recipe for disaster.
Except…he just opened the door he slammed in my face two minutes ago.
I shake my head, trying to focus. “Devan.” I promised myself I would let it go, that I would keep things even remotely classy, but how am I supposed to keep myself from responding to that? Appropriate? The very concept is laughable. “You watched me masturbate in the back seat of a car last year. Are you really going to argue about what’s appropriate right now?”
His eyes go molten for the breadth of a moment before he locks it down, but it’s too late. I’ve seen it. Holy shit, I didn’t imagine his reaction that night. Devan McGuire…wants me. A whole hell of a lot, if that look was anything to go by.
He glances away. “Like I said before; that shouldn’t have happened.”
I want to argue. I want to argue so badly, I have to press my lips together
