Greatest Distraction (Distracted #1) (24 page)

Dane wasted no time in following through his promise, lifting me from the chair and carrying me into the living room, depositing me on the couch. I watched as he backed away a moment, making his way to the door and ensuring the bar lock was firmly in place before coming back toward me. His steps were sure, a masculine swagger in each movement, forcing a smile from me. I loved when he did that, when he acted like he was going to open a present and already knew what it was, only with more passion. The confidence he exuded was one of my favorite things – it wasn’t cockiness, it was just Dane.

He stopped a few feet from me, looking me up from my feet to my head, his eyes resting on my breasts before moving to my face. I shivered from his gaze alone and my insides delighted; I knew if he could do that just looking at me, it was going to be an awesome night.

“Lose the tank top,” he said huskily, his voice an octave lower than usual.

I cocked my head, weighing his words as I caught him wink at me. Oh, it was going to be like
that,
was it? We hadn’t played like this before, but I can’t say it was a turn off. I lifted my shirt and let it drop to the floor. I was
so
down.

“Shorts.” Dane still hadn’t moved, remaining in front of me but making no effort to touch or help undress me.

I complied, shimmying out of my tight shorts – hesitating only momentarily to decide whether or not to dispose of my panties as well. I wasn’t a mind reader – I didn’t have to be to know removing them would be his next request. I hadn’t worn a bra under the tank so panties were the last bit of clothing. And, no, I hadn’t been flashing nip to his dad – the shirt had one of those built-in boob shelves. Thank God for small favors.

“Hey, come back
, beautiful,” Dane said, pulling me from my thoughts. He was finally close enough to touch, but when I raised a hand to do just that, he stepped back out of reach.

“Ah, there you are. No touch. Stay. Right. There. Just like that
… keep looking at me,” he demanded, moving back to the stereo on the entertainment center. He pushed a button and Trey Songz ‘Love Faces’ began filtering through the air, the surround sound speakers creating a cocoon of music. Normally I would’ve cracked a joke, snickering that he’d chosen a cheesy ‘sexy’ song, but not today. His eyes taking in my naked body, on display like art, paired with the lyrics of the song was almost inexplicably sensual. If he didn’t do more than look soon, I was going to flip out; it was already difficult to sit still, the heat inside me growing. Who raised the temperature in this freaking place?

“Come here,” he instructed, holding his out outstretched to me. When I placed my hand in his, he pulled, lifting me to my feet and pressing me against his body. I was very aware that I was naked, my breasts rubbing against the cotton of his shirt as he began swaying us to the beat of the song. His hands gripped my hips, our bodies moving together; I couldn’t stop the panting of my breaths. It was so erotic. It was torture.

“Dane,” I said, my voice rough, pleading.

“What,
Ryen?” His lips teased my ears, his words a whisper.

“Stop. Teasing. Me.” Why was he still dressed? And when the hell did my living room turn into an erotic dance floor? Seriously, he needed to ditch the duds, like, now. Five minutes ago would’ve worked for me too.

The man holding me merely laughed and tried to pull me closer, to hold me tighter, but I stepped backward. My patience for this game was slowly evaporating – directly correlating with the heat in my blood. The more aroused I got, the more my patience disappeared. Dane took a step forward but, again, I moved away. Our close dance had morphed, turning into another kind – until the backs of my knees hit the couch, forcing me to sit.
Well, shit.

“Nowhere else for you to escape,” Dane told me, standing between my legs. Fed up with his shenanigans, I grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged. He bent at the waist to help me pull it over his head, revealing his chest and abs.
Score! Halfway there,
I inwardly cheered. My inner clapping was halted when I reached for his pants, only finding skin; he’d dropped to his knees in front of me. As he parted my legs and placed soft kisses along my thigh, a party of a different sort began in my mind.

His mouth was warm as he breathed along my center and I shivered
; the anticipation was killing me. The moment his tongue caressed me I was lost. My hands fell to his shoulders, his head, everything and anything I could reach. I was trying to keep myself from exploding into pieces, holding on to myself to avoid the inevitable. When his fingers joined the mix, entering me, stretching and exploring me, I lost the battle entirely. My body ripped apart, all the stress of the evening lifting from me, pleasure skyrocketing me up and around as the world spun. A sound burst from my lips, half scream and half cave woman grunt, primal.

I floated back to Earth, my hearing slowly returning and picking up R&B music still filling the room. My limbs were like Jell-o and I started when I felt fabric grazing first my foot then my ankle, my skin hypersensitive.
I glanced down to find Dane sliding my panties and shorts up my legs, re-dressing me.
But he didn’t get off,
the voice in my head panicked, still foggy and distant in my post-orgasmic bliss.

“What?” I asked, unable to form more words than that.

“What, what?” he answered my question with his own – that’s
still
annoying – as he snatched my tank from the floor.

“But you
… you haven’t … didn’t…” I stammered as he motioned for me to raise my arms. I did and he slipped it over my head, gently pulling the fabric down my body.

“Tonight was about you.”

“Why?” I was dumbfounded, completely confused. He and I had been intimate a few times – okay,
a lot
of times – since meeting and this had never happened. Both of us always got happy endings. A one-sided fiesta wasn’t what I ever hoped for.

“Because I said so,” he told me authoritatively before lifting me off the couch and taking me into the bedroom. According to the bedside clock it was only nine-thirty, entirely too early to sleep.

“But—” I protested as Dane waved me off.

“No ‘buts,’” he said from over his shoulder as he disappeared from the room. I listened, now alert, as his steps sounded down the stairs
.

I sat like a lump on a log, confused but sated, for what seemed like forever. It felt wrong for him not to be rewarded – yes, I said rewarded – for giving me pleasure. It’d been fantastic, blissful. He’d made all my worry, the stress of meeting his father, frustration over arranged business marriages, everything, just disappear. Now there I sat, worried about what it could all mean. Self
-doubt is a jealous bitch, I tell you.

After twenty freaking days of waiting, and by twenty days I mean five minutes, Dane reentered the room, his hands full.
He was carrying a fancy real-silver tray, one that Elle and I reserved for ‘special occasions’ – what those were, I’m not sure … I’m basically saying it was never used – full of various things to snack on. Fresh strawberries, chocolate, two flutes of champagne, a bowl of what I assumed was either yogurt or whipped cream, and two movies.  I watched as he placed it on the dresser, turning to put a movie in the DVD player that I’d kept in my room for days when I wanted to watch something in bed. It was rare that I ever used it, but I liked to have it just in case. My eyes trailed his back, catching slight glimpses of his tattoo as he moved.

“What does your tattoo
say?”I blurted. Sure, I’d traced it many times, but every time I thought about asking what it meant I got distracted. Usually by him, but still.

“
Più di mio padre, tutti di mia madre,” he said, enthralling me with the way his tongue caressed the foreign words. It sounded beautiful, but to be inked into his skin permanently, I knew it had to have a deeper meaning than just pretty syllables. As predicted, he continued, “It roughly translate to ‘more than my father, all of my mother.’ Of course, if you were to throw it in Google translate it would be butchered, like most translations, but that’s what it means.”

“Huh,” was all I could say as he flashed me a smile and fiddled with the buttons on the player before bringing me my glass of bubbly. Taking a sip, I was a bit confused on what constituted the need to have the expensive drink
– it was good champagne, not something you’d drink unless a special occasion … usually.

“What are we watching?” I asked, the curiosity finally getting the better of me. He’d, inconveniently for me, hidden
the cases of the two options as he’d chosen, and placed them out of sight once the disc was in.

“
The Godfather
,” he announced proudly, a smirk pulling his lip up. I spit the drink all over myself, shock coloring my face and my eyes wide before I laughed. Was he serious?

“Are you serious
?!” I asked, unbelieving. The irony and the hilarity of it was so extreme that it was almost too much.

“Yep.”

“And the champagne?”

“Well, I figured surviving your first run in with a mob boss should mean something,” he told me as he moved to sit next to me, fluffing pillows behind his back and pulling the tray between us on the bed. His mouth moved as the beginning started, quoting as
Amerigo Bonasera claimed his belief and love of America. Okay, apparently he’d seen this movie many times – I’d seen it maybe once, but I was surprised that either I, or Elle, owned it.

Soon, we were both laughing as Dane did impressions, mimi
cking Don Corleone and turning him into his father. My side hurt and my eyes watered; it was painful but cathartic at the same time. Leave it to this man to turn something potentially deadly into something I could laugh about. I would’ve never thought it would be possible, but, with Dane, a lot of things were possible.

We sat like that for hours, well into the night when we should have been sleeping – he had to work in the morning. When I’d said something about it, he’d merely shrugged, smiled cockily, and informed me he was the boss – he could come in when he pleased. We ate the fruit and foods, not caring about crumbs on the bed, and sipped expensive champagne for no other reason than we were alive. Dane had to run downstairs at some point to grab the bottle, and we took turns passing it between us instead of using the glasses.

For the second movie?
The Godfather Part II
of course.

Dane left me around nine or so, I think. My memory of him climbing out of bed, showering, and kissing me on the forehead was rather fuzzy, dreamlike. When I woke for real, it was after eleven and I stretched, still relaxed and only slightly stressed about our run in with the Don last night. Despite everything his father had said, Dane told me not to worry, to forget about it, and I was going to do my best to do just that.

Deciding to go through the pile of colored envelopes piling up on my counter, I made a bowl of yogurt and raspberries. Situating myself on the couch, the bowl perched on my knee, I opened them and made piles of ‘interested’ and ‘no way in hell.’ You couldn’t pay me to go to some of them, the events over the top and bordering on pompous, like the one that proudly stated ‘The Socialite Gala’ in bold lettering. I should’ve known when it came in a pink envelope.

One of the many caught my eyes. The writing was gold on an emerald
-green envelope, and much different from the others. It was a script I recognized: Dane’s.
Hmm, that’s interesting
. He hadn’t mentioned an event, or an invitation, and I put my now empty bowl on the coffee table before smelling it. It smelled like Dane, his cologne, and I smiled, thinking how he would’ve written this just for me. It was a gamble though – he’d seen the stack, sitting where it had for days on the counter, untouched. He hadn’t even placed it on the top, instead slipping it somewhere in the middle. I lifted the flap and pulled the expensive card stock out and read it.

Miss
Ryen F. Macek

Mr. Brian D.
Ranucci proudly requests your presence
for the grand unveiling of Murdock Designs, Birmingham
to be held the Thirtieth of April, Twenty-Fourteen,
nine o’clock at 640 20
th
Street North, Birmingham.