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Authors: Veronica Larsen

Entice (Hearts of Stone #2) (10 page)

BOOK: Entice (Hearts of Stone #2)
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"Bingo." Amelia's wandering eyes widen when they land on a short blonde in a purple dress, standing on the other side of the room. "Look at that. Hair slicked back in a bun. Dress down to her knees. This girl came from somewhere super conservative."

"Or maybe she's just not into getting laid."

"I'll be right back," Amelia whispers before heading off in that direction.

With Amelia gone, I notice giggling noises coming from beside me. A group of three much younger ladies stand there, visibly wasted.
 

When my eyes lock with one of them—a brown-haired girl with bangs cut over her eyes—she stumbles forward and hugs me. I shrink back in surprise and try to resist the urge to knee this stranger in the stomach. She pulls away just in time.
 

"Your hair color is so pretty
,
" she says in what is either an accent or a tongue weighted from the effects of liquor. "Lila,
look
—" she gestures enthusiastically to get her friend's attention, standing on wobbly legs as she towers over me in her giant heels "—should I get this brown-to-blonde color? Isn't it super cute?"

The one called Lila says, "
Yes!
" with exaggerated importance. It's obvious by the way her
Happy Birthday
crown sits crooked atop her head that she is drunk enough not to care about her appearance. We chat for a few minutes. Everything I say elicits hysterical laughter from her. She slams a fifty-dollar bill on the bar and announces that, in honor of
my
birthday, she's buying us all another round of shots.
 

It's December. My birthday is in August. But when Lila plops the crown on my head, that crescent-shaped plastic with rhinestones on it sends a surge of excited energy flowing through me. This crown is freedom. This crown is attention.
 

It's my motherfucking birthday.
 

I allow my tipsiness to overtake me, giving in to the urge to repeat the phrase "It's my
birthday
" enough times to elicit congratulations from nearby strangers, who proceed to buy us drinks.
 

I swallow back another shot and slam the glass back on the counter. Almost immediately, my eyes are drawn to a man further down the bar, speaking to someone I assume to be the manager because, as I slip around intoxicated people, he disappears behind a doorway marked
Employees Only
.

The second man does a double take as I approach, taking in the sight of the blue dress I'm wearing.

I slap his arm. "Rowen!"

He remains unsmiling. "It's Owen."
 

I know that. I do. But for some reason, I find it amusing to pretend that I don't.

"Oh,
that's right
." I snap my fingers. "
Owen
. How are you, man? How's it hanging?"

"It's…hanging fine, thanks. I'm actually on my way out."

"But you just got here?" I squint. "
Didn't you just get here
?"

"I came to have a word with a friend."
 

I shake my head. "You should stay. It's my
birthday
."

"I did overhear that."

"You did?"
 

"Yeah. I spotted you across the room and I thought, here we are running into each other again. It's all starting to feel a bit too…coincidental…." he trails off on purpose, eyes glinting with meaning.

"You—what? You think I'm stalking you?" Even in my drunken state, my pride bubbles to the surface. "Really? So, you think I go home to a wall covered in pictures of you and touch myself?" I pause for a reaction but he merely stares back politely. "Oh, yeah. I bet you wish that were true. Bet you wish I spent hours just…masturbating to you and trying to figure out where you'll be next. All so I can stage a convenient way to run into you because, you know, you're so fucking friendly."

"Is that a confession?" He doesn't allow himself to smile, but there's no denying he's enjoying this.

"Just so you know, coming here wasn't my idea. And if I hump my pillow at night, it's most definitely not to thoughts of you." That's a lie, but he doesn't need to know that. "Anyway, let's not forget who was obsessed with who here."

"Was. Past tense. Let's not forget who crossed the bar to reach the other."

Damn him and his perfect comebacks. Why the hell do I keep going out on a limb, trying to get him to warm up to me? What did I expect when I walked across the room to reach him? Did I think he'd suddenly be easygoing and friendly? Or do I enjoy the sting of rejection?

You know what? Fuck this. He is killing my buzz.
 

Failing to come up with anything witty to say, I turn to walk away without another word.

"Wait," he calls out.

I turn to him again, and catch various expressions chasing each other across his face. He takes in my features in a way that makes my skin flush, before turning his head for a fraction of a second, only to bring his eyes back to mine, shoulders relaxing in surrender.

"Stay," he says, and the word floats through the air, brushing the skin at the nape of my neck in a way that feels so good.

I pull my chin up. "Why should I?"

"I'm trying not to be a jerk."

"Well, try harder."
 

When I attempt to turn away again, his hands close over each of mine. And with a soft tug, he draws me back to meet his eyes once more.

"Okay."

"Okay?" I ask, gloating in the way he's all but admitting he craves my undivided attention. I crave his, too.

"I'll try harder."

"Good—" I pat the part of his chest between his open jacket. My hands meet the hard muscle under his shirt. Jesus, he's solid. An involuntary smile tugs at my lips. "Let's start over. I'll buy you a drink."

I flag down the bartender and order us each my favorite beer without even thinking to ask him if it's what he wants. Owen takes the bottles from the bartender and slips him a wad of bills before I can whip out my wallet. I scoff in protest but he hands me the beer as consolation and sets his down behind him.

"Happy Birthday," he says.

"
Thanks
." My cheeks warm under a grin as I remove the stupid crown from my head and toss it onto the bar. "Do you not like beer?" I ask, eyeing the way his sits forgotten behind him.
 

"I'm not drinking."

"Oh. Why didn't you just say so?"

"I have a feeling there's no stopping you tonight."
 

Before I can consider his words, a new song cuts on and its beat seems to infect my bloodstream. Somehow, though I barely recognize the song, I'm convinced it's
my
song. Excitement floods me, I resist the urge to cheer loudly and announce to the room that this song, this amazing piece of sound, is
my
song.
 

I need to dance.
 

My body is grooving before I decide to let it. Owen sits there at the edge of the stool, legs parted wide, watching me with undeniable amusement.

Of course, I don't understand why he isn't responding to the music in the least. Can't he feel it inside?

"Why are you so uptight?" I ask. "I'm sure you get laid a lot."

"I'm not uptight."

"Oh, yeah? Prove it. Dance with me."

He takes in the details of my face in a gradual, controlled way. The way a person does when they're allowing themselves to really look at something for the first time.

"Dance with me," I say, again.

His lips part and I'm sure he'll say yes. Instead, he says, "I don't dance."
 

"Well, I bet I can get you to move."
 

I start dancing in front of him, winding slowly as though I'm gearing up for a sensual move, raising my hands over my head to trail my fingers over the opposite arm—but then my arms wrench into sharp, mechanical movements as I start doing the robot.
 

He laughs. Actually laughs. His face lights up like a bolt of lightning shooting across the room, his features losing their edge in the momentary glow.
 

I realize I'm staring at him. Hard.

The alcohol is a warm blanket over my brain and I'm so distracted by the sight of his smile that I lose my footing, nearly toppling over. His hands fly to my waist to steady me, and in the process, I'm pulled between his parted legs.

I go very still, despite the erratic beating of my heart. Our proximity pumps my body full of whatever it is that makes you crave someone. He feels it too. I can tell by the way his lips part slightly but words forget to come out.

"Told you I could get you to move," I whisper, peering down at the crotch of his pants. Insinuating I'm referring to something else. Because I am.

"You've got me there," he says, hands still gripping my waist. The longer they lay there, the further the warmth of his touch spreads over me and the thicker the haziness that floats across his face.

All I can hear is the sound of my pulse. I'm unaware of our surroundings. It's just us. Just this.
 

He doesn't speak. Doesn't have to. Whatever is on his mind, he says it with his hands, one of which slides downward until his fingertips begin to trace the hem of my dress, drawing a line on the bare skin of my thighs where the fabric ends. Leaving a trail of sensations that spread across my body and crank up my internal thermostat.
 

The seconds lurch slower than my hazy thoughts. My senses sharpen beyond the alcohol's reach. I rest my forearms on his shoulders, aware of every inch of his body and the air that separates it from mine.
 

As he moves his face to meet mine, a small hand closes over my shoulder from behind and pulls me away. I stumble backward and see Amelia standing there. She wraps an arm around my shoulder and smiles at Owen. "Hi there.
Sorry
. I need to speak to my friend for a second."

I'm stunned and disoriented as she leads me a few feet away. My mouth takes a few seconds to catch up with my brain. "Why'd you do that?"

"The cab's here. Remember? You said two hours. Didn't think you wanted me to leave you here."

I throw my head back. "You totally cock blocked me."
 

"Nope. I saw you dancing the robot in front of him. You cock blocked yourself."

"Whatever, just go. I got this."

She shakes her head. "Emily, I can't leave you behind. Drunk. With some random guy who…." She turns to Owen. I do the same and we see him sitting there in his leather jacket, looking right back at us. Amelia lowers her voice. "Who looks like he's either in the mob or part of some undercover FBI stint investigating the mob."

"He's not some random mob guy." I snort, aware of how heavy my tongue feels as I speak. "He's
Owen
…he serves me
breakfast
every morning. Well, twice. But he's beautiful. We like the same
beer
. And he's going to have my
babies
." I nod vigorously even as Amelia gives me a slow, but steady shake of her head.

She pats the side of my face. "Okay, sweetie, stop talking. You're drunk."

"Seriously," I say, mustering every morsel of sobriety I can manage. "It's okay. I know him. We went to high school together. He's not homicidal in the least."

Amelia fixes me with a serious expression as though trying to decide if she should really leave me. She's insanely overprotective of the people in her life and a bit on the paranoid side. I grab her phone from her hand and take a picture of Owen. The flash lights up the spot where he stands. His eyebrows pull together in a 'what the hell?' expression.

"Here," I say, handing Amelia back her phone. "Now you've got his picture as collateral."
 

"Fine. Text me when you get home—or…wherever," she finally says.

I nod a little too enthusiastically and watch her walk off. When I turn back to Owen, he's getting up and straightening his jacket as though he's gearing to leave.

"Did the impromptu photo shoot scare you off?" I ask as innocent as I can.

"No, not at all. I've just stayed longer than I was supposed to—" He looks after Amelia as she disappears beyond the front doors ahead. "Did your friend leave you? How are you getting home?"

"I guess in a different cab. Hers is probably taking off right now and I can't run in these heels."

"I'll give you a ride."
 

He says this like it's the most innocent phrase that could come out of a man like him. For the record, it's not. Hearing that combination of words leave his lips makes my mouth water.

"Yes, please. I'd like very much for you to give me a ride," I say, smiling wider than necessary.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

The moon is a crescent overhead as we make our way out into the dark parking lot. Sounds of traffic are dulled by the hum of music and conversation pouring out of the bar's front doors. The cool air works to sober me up.

Owen hands me a motorcycle helmet. "Have you ridden before?"

I hesitate, weighing the helmet in my hands. I haven't. But I'm tempted to lie and say I have just because I hate admitting I'm inexperienced in any way. It's just…the way he asks, it's as if he's hoping to show me things I haven't seen before. And I'm left battling the excitement he stirs in me, like I'm some teenage girl.

I glance at the slab of machine, so open and exposed.
 

"No," I admit. "First time."

Owen must notice something on my face because, after asking me where I'm going, he says, "Don't worry, that's not far. The ride will be quick and easy."

I want to make a joke about preferring it long and hard, but I catch him looking at me for way longer than I think even he intends to. Somehow, in those few seconds, the residual noises of our surroundings dull a few octaves, leaving just the rustle of a breeze sweeping in to tangle a strand of hair in my eyelashes.
 

Owen's hand comes up to my face, fingers sweeping over my eyebrows, taking the strand of hair with them, and tucking it behind my ear. I freeze at his touch, feeling my chest rise on a sudden intake of air.
 

BOOK: Entice (Hearts of Stone #2)
13.88Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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