Fueled (16 page)

I sip my drink as I sit back with Haddie in the VIP lounge, my body swaying subtly to the beat of the music below. I need a quick break from being on my feet, my shoes starting to take their toll. I see Sammy guarding the stairs and avert my eyes immediately, embarrassed about any conclusions he’s drawn as to the less than innocent nature of Colton and my time alone.

I hear a high-pitched shriek as Sammy tries to avert someone from coming up the stairs. Colton, who’s immersed in a conversation, turns his head toward the commotion. He steps back to see who it is and a wide grin spreads across his face before he motions for Sammy to let whomever it is up. My curiosity is definitely piqued when I see one of the guys he’s talking to nudge him in an atta-boy manner.

 Both Haddie and I turn our heads just in time to take in the longest pair of legs I’ve ever seen in what I think is the shortest skirt ever made strut toward Colton. The rest of the woman is just as spectacular as she tosses her head, throwing her long mane of blonde hair over her shoulder so that it falls just above her perfectly showcased backside.

She grabs Colton in a longer than necessary hug, her lips kissing the corner of his mouth as she leans back, a huge smile on her perfect face. It’s when I see her that I suck in a breath, realizing who she is. Recognition dawns on Haddie at the same time, and we both look at each other in surprise. She is Cassandra Miller, the current darling of Hollywood as well as Playboy’s latest celebrity centerfold. And despite completing their greeting, her hands are still resting on Colton’s bicep, and her perfectly enhanced body is rubbing up against his with his hand resting politely on the small of her back.

I’m surprised by the twinge in my gut at the sight of them together. I’ve never been a jealous person, but then again, I’ve never been with someone as all-consuming as Colton Donavan.

I don’t like her hands on him.
At all.

Mine
. He tells me that all the time. It’s one of those possessive statements that I oddly find to be so damn arousing. And right now, I’d like to do nothing more than waltz up between the two of them and stake my claim on Colton as he did earlier to me in TAO.

But I don’t move. I just sit and watch them interact, talk, her giggle stupidly and bat her eyelashes at a ridiculously fast pace while she keeps her hand on him. Why don’t I move?

And then it hits me. They’re stunning together. Absolutely stunning and this is who most would expect him to be with: the blonde bombshell, fantasy for many a men with the devastatingly handsome playboy, the desire of women everywhere. The picture perfect couple by Hollywood standards. He may have come here with me, and will be leaving with me, but like every woman, I have my own insecurities about my looks and my sex appeal.

And right now, looking from the blonde beauty then back to myself, those insecurities have just been put on display for everyone to see. For everyone to scrutinize. Even if I’m the only one who seems to be doing it.

I bring my fingers to my lips in thought and a cat ate the canary grin starts to spread across my face.

Fuck insecurity.

Fuck perfect, long-legged blondes.

Fuck playing it safe.

I close my eyes momentarily, remembering the feel of Colton’s stubble scraping against the skin of my neck; his fingers bruising my hips as he helped me move over him; the look on his face as he came; the slight desperation with which he held me to him afterward in the room right next to where we’re sitting now.

I remember Beckett’s warning; trying to control Colton is like trying to grab the wind. He’s gotten the playboy title for a reason. The short time we’ve been together isn’t going to change that. Women are always going to be attracted to him, want him.

Cassandra obviously does. She’s a dead giveaway with her constant touching and monopolizing demand on his attention. With how she leans in to speak to him, her hand pressed to his chest, leaving it there as he puts his mouth to her ear in response.

I’m not going to be irrational and deny the fact that I’m a tad bit jealous—alcohol most likely fueling my insecurity. Or maybe I’m just hormonal…I don’t know. I’m a woman; insecurity is just par for the course in the grand scheme of things.

I snort out a laugh. Haddie looks over at me like I’ve lost it. “You’re okay with…” She lifts her chin in the direction of Colton and Cassandra.

I look at them a moment longer before I nod my head. “It’s not like I have to worry about him seeing her naked.” I laugh, referring to her Playboy centerfold spread. “A huge portion of the male population has already done that and probably jacked off to her.”

Haddie laughs out loud and shakes her head at me. I think she’s a little surprised by my lack of a reaction. “
True
. At least you don’t have staples in the middle of your body.”

“Exactly.” I smirk. “I have Colton
in me
instead.” I love the look of shock on her face as I suck down the rest of my drink. “I need a shot and I wanna dance. You coming?” I walk out of the alcove without looking to see if she’s following or not.

After downing our signature double shots of tequila, Haddie and I descend the stairs and enter into the rhythmic chaos of the dance floor. Songs come and go as we dance, and after a couple, I stop looking up at the balcony above to see if Colton’s watching me. I know he isn’t. That tingling of my skin telling me his presence is near is absent.

I’m thirsty and in need of a respite, so I motion to Haddie that I’m going to the bar to get another drink. Something to help dampen the dull edge of insecurity that is still holding my thoughts hostage.

I finagle my way up to the bar squeezing myself through the crowd, and prepare myself for a wait when I notice the numerous people in line. The guy beside me tries to start a conversation with me in his slurred voice, but I just smile politely and angle my body away from his. I focus my attention on watching the bartenders slowly inch their way back down the bar one order at time.

The man beside me tries again, grabbing onto my upper arm and pulling me toward him, insisting he’ll buy me a drink. I shrug my arm out of his grasp with an irritated but polite refusal. I think he’s gotten the hint, but I’m proven wrong when he places his hand on my hip and forcefully tugs me against his side.

“C’mon, gorgeous.” He breathes into my ear, the stale alcohol on his breath repulsing me. My discomfort grows, the hair on the back of my neck starting to rise. “Baby, I can show you a good time.”

I push against his chest, trying to separate myself from him, but he just tightens his grip on my hip. I turn to search the crowd for help from Haddie when the guy’s arm is suddenly yanked off of me.

“Get your fucking hands off of her!” I hear the growl a beat before Colton’s fist connects with his jaw. His head snaps back and the guy stumbles and trips over someone’s leg, landing on the ground. Despite my distaste for violence, a shiver of relief courses through me at the sight of Colton.

Before I can even react any further than shouting, “Colton, no!” one of the guy’s buddies takes a swing at him. His fist glances off of Colton’s cheek. I try to rush toward him, but my feet are cemented to the ground. Adrenaline, alcohol, and fear course through me. With lightning speed, Colton cocks his arm back to take another swing, murder in his eyes and an expressionless face. Before he can retaliate, Sammy’s arms close around him and pull him back. Colton’s rage is obvious. A vein pulses in his temple, his face is grimaced in restraint, and his eyes burn a threatening warning.

“Time to go, Colt!” Beckett shouts at him, a resigned look on his stoic face. “It’s not worth the lawsuit they’ll try to slap you with…” And then I see Haddie and several other guys from the crew in my periphery. The guys grab a still fuming but more collected Colton by the arms and take him from Sammy. Once Sammy knows that Colton’s taken care of, he turns to the men, dwarfing them with his sheer size, a look of amused contempt on his face as if he’s telling them, “Take a shot, I dare you.” They look at him and then back at each other before scattering quickly as security makes its way toward us.

I stand there shaking until Sammy puts his arm around me and escorts me out of the club.

When Sammy pushes open the door for me, the cold air of the night hits me like a refreshing blast after the stuffy, smoke filled club. He leads me to the outskirts of the parking garage where the lone limo sits apart from the rest of the cars in the lot. As we get closer, I see Colton’s back, his hands spread wide on the retaining wall bordering the edge of the garage, his weight leaning on them, and his head hanging down between his shoulders. I can sense the fury radiating off of him in waves as we draw near.

Beckett, who’s leaning against the open door of the car, meets my eyes as we approach, uncertainty evident in his before nodding his head at me and sliding into the car next to Haddie. Sammy stops, but I continue forward toward Colton.

The click of my heels on the concrete alerts Colton that I’m near, but he remains facing away from me. I trace the lines of his body’s silhouette against the expansive glitz of the Vegas strip, his imposing figure painting a striking contrast to the sparkle of lights beyond. I stop a few feet from him and watch his shoulders rise and fall in rapid succession as his tension slowly abates.

When he finally turns to face me, his shoulders squared, his eyes dancing with fire, and his jaw rigid with tension, I realize I’m wrong in thinking his anger is gone.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” His voice is ice cold.

His words hit me like whiplash, taking me aback with unbelievable force. I thought he was angry at the guy he punched, not with me. Where the hell does he get off being pissed at me? If he was paying attention to his date, he’d know the answer. “What do you think I was doing, Colton? That I was—”

“I asked you a question, Rylee,” he grits out.

“And I was trying to fucking answer it before you so rudely cut me off,” I spit at him, having no problem going toe-to-toe with him tonight. Maybe my intake of alcohol has taken a bit of the edge off, so I’m not intimidated by his intensity. His eyes pierce through the darkness and into mine.
Then again, maybe not
. “I was buying a drink, Colton.
A drink
. That’s it!” I throw my hands up as I shout at him, my voice echoing off of the concrete walls.

He looks at me, the muscle in his jaw pulsing as he regards me. “Buying a drink, Rylee? Or flirting around to get someone to buy a drink for you?” he accuses, taking a step closer to me. Despite the lack of light, I can see the fire burning in his eyes and the rage fueling the tension in his neck. Where is all of this coming from?

What. The. Fuck?
How dare he accuse me of paying attention to other guys when he was up there preoccupied with Ms. Bunny of the Month? I was being cool, not getting pissed off about how touchy-feely Cassandra was with him, trying to forgo the juvenile emotions I wanted to feel over it.
But fuck it
. If he’s going to get mad about a guy offering to buy me a drink and touching me even though I said no, then I’m sure as hell going to be pissed about her blatantly displayed attraction to him. Attraction that he certainly didn’t reject.

I’m done with this conversation. Alcohol and anger only result in words you can’t take back in the morning. And we’ve both had way too much to be rational. “Whatever. We’re done here,” I huff as I turn on my heel, intent on heading back to the limo.

“Answer me,” he commands as he grabs my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks. I see Beckett step back out of the limo, a wary look on his face as he stares down Colton over my shoulder. The silent warning is obvious, but the message behind it is unclear.

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m waiting,” he says, keeping his hand on my arm but stepping around to block my path toward the car.

“I was buying
myself
a drink.
That’s it
. Big fucking deal!” I jerk my arm out of his grasp, fatigue from the night’s events suddenly hitting me like a bat to the back of the head.

Colton’s eyes bore into mine as if he’s looking for my betrayal or confession of wrongdoing. “There was plenty of alcohol up top. Was that not good enough for you?” he taunts. “You had to go trolling for a guy to buy you one?”

His words slap at me, knock the wind from my sails. What the fuck is his problem? I can’t believe that he’d even think that first of all, but second—and shockingly so—I’m surprised by the quiver in his voice that hints at a touch of insecurity.

Like I could want something more after having him
.

I take a step toward him, my voice low but implacable. “I don’t need a man
or
bottle service to make me happy, Colton.”

He arches an eyebrow at me. “Uh-huh.” He snorts derisively, cleary choosing to not believe me.
He’s obviously dated some choice women.

I sigh, frustrated already with our conversation. “You’ve spent enough money on tonight. On me. On everything.” I huff. “You may be used to all of your
women
needing that to be satisfied. Not me.”