Pressure Point (Point #2) (15 page)

“You-you know Blake?” Ryan stumbles over the words, clearly shocked.

I’m frozen in my own dazed state and unable to put a coherent thought together.

“Of course, she didn’t tell you.” Blake shakes his head while shooting me an affectionate look. “Stella doesn’t want any special treatment. Now you know, right Ryan? Treat her with care.” There’s an edge to Blake’s tone. It’s not a request.

“Sure, yes, of course.”

Watching Ryan get put into place gives me back some of my confidence. “How about those raffle tickets?”

My client quickly buys a few then scurries off without a second glance, leaving me alone with Blake, who conveniently still grips me to his hip. The moment Ryan disappears into the thick of the crowd, I step out of Blake’s embrace and cross my arms protectively across my chest. Unlike Ryan, Blake’s eyes stay focused on my face. Chivalry’s not dead—this time around, at least.

Why would he check you out? He’s not attracted to you other than when he needs a warm body.
My stomach twists at the thought.

“Stella.”

“Whatever possessed you to show up was wrong, Blake. I don’t know why you’re here, but it’s not to see me.” I spin around on the stiletto heels that thankfully give me a bit of height and start to make off in the direction of the raffle table where I can deposit the iPad.

This time when a hand closes around my shoulder, only a luxurious, pleasant sensation fills me. His suit jacket brushes against my naked skin and I want to sink backward against him and let him cocoon me against his strength. It’s wrong. Too wrong. Warm lips graze against the shell of my ear and he speaks in a whisper. “Saw a Channing Tatum lookalike getting up close and personal with another guy. Seems like you didn’t have a date last week.”

My back goes ramrod straight and embarrassment replaces all that pleasantness.

Turning enough that my chin looks over my shoulder, I enunciate the words sharply. “Leave. Me. Alone.” There’s not enough time for him to respond before I storm off in a huff. Not the sexiest or most suave thing I’ve ever done, but the man pisses me off! Violet would be proud that I stood up for myself, but probably tell me to listen to Blake. So why do I only feel bitter disappointment and confusion?

On shaky legs, I return the raffle collecting items to the next ticket seller then set off for backup. I scour the dance floor until I catch Felix skirting toward the bar. I practically run toward him, grabbing the elbow of his white seventies man blouse.

“What’s with the crazy eyes?” he asks in amusement.

“Blake’s here.”

Felix’s dark blond eyebrow shoots to his hairline in surprise. “Come again?”

“Any idea where V is?”

“She’s missing in action, probably dealing with a wayward waiter. Let’s take a shot; you look like you need it.”

I cast a look over my shoulder—weak sauce!—scouting for Blake. Leaning against a pillar, eyes pinning me in my spot, he stands with his arms folded across his chest. The only thing I can focus on is the memory of that chest pressing me into his desk.

“He’s looking at you like an ice cream cone.” Felix steers me toward the bar and orders two lemon drops.

“An ice cream cone?”

“That man wants to lick you from head to toe.”

“Felix!” I squeak at the man wagging his eyebrows at me. “Stop that. Blake’s a former football player. Ergo, a competitive guy. Not responding to his flowers probably kickstarted his need to win or something,” I say.

“Yeah. I’m sure he did the research to find out where you’d be tonight, threw on a suit on a Saturday night, and donated five thousand dollars to our charity all because you bruised his tender ego. Now drink,” Felix commands.

He shoves the shot in my unsuspecting hand and there’s nothing for my stupefied body to do but automatically down the sweet liquor. The liquid slides down my throat with ease. The glass jumps when I slam it on the bar and I lean across the bar to grasp the silky material of Felix’s shirt. I yank him closer and hiss, “Five thousand dollars! You’re serious?”

“As a dog with a bone.”

“I don’t believe it,” I mutter to myself. What in the hell is going on? First, Blake was a distant friend. Thanks to the psycho who pointed a gun at Zoe, we grew closer. Then with the slam of a laptop shell, we became lovers. And now, he’s appearing in my life after a month of nothing with flowers and donations to my company’s fundraiser.

“Am I back in Calculus? This equation doesn’t add up,” I grumble.

Felix tosses his head back in a deep laugh, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each chuckle. “Better figure out the math because he’s on his way over here.” Cotton balls fill my ears, my senses cut off from observing anything other than the object of my affection as he introduces himself to Felix. At first, he’s simply standing close, too close, and then the tips of his fingers land on my lower back. Blast my mom for being a promiscuous dresser back in the day. The halter gives anyone easy access to my skin. It’s not much contact, but his touch spreads all over my body like honey.

“Stella, a word?” Blake’s talking against my ear again. His tongue darts against the delicate shell and I know it’s on purpose. The seductive jerk.

“One,” I snap childishly.

“One?”

“Have fun, kiddos!” Felix sing songs and flounces off. I barely notice his departure.

“You asked for a word. That’s singular,” I explain snootily.

“Sassy is a good look for you.” The hand not on my back shoots out to the bar effectively trapping me against him. Inside a war wages:
I want him close. No! He’ll use you again.
“It seems that I need more than a singular word to get through to you, Snow White.”

My nose wrinkles at the familiarity, but inwardly, I’m swooning. The man thinks about me enough to give me a nickname, a very favorable one at that. My mom would call it romantic.

Don’t succumb to this.

“There’s no getting through to anything, Blake. You showed all of your cards last month.”

His eyes narrow dangerously and darken to a deep brown, nearly black. “We aren’t having this conversation shouting in a club. Let’s go.” He shifts his grip to my upper arm. It’s not painful, but it is commanding and he steers me toward the back of the cavernous club.

“Stop bullying me,” I snap, trying to wrench my arm free. When we reach a quieter hallway leading toward the administrative offices of the club, I manage to break free and take a step backward. Fury and shame overpower all of my other emotions. My tongue doesn’t hold back, the words ripping from me. “You treated me like a whore and now you want to speak to me? Not happening.”

I thought I saw him angry before? Nothing compares to the emotion sparkling in his deep brown gaze. He crowds me against the wall, voice taut. “Never call yourself that, Stella. Never.”

“Why not? You couldn’t be bothered to kiss me, couldn’t be bothered to use a condom,” I shoot back.

Blake’s expression softens in an instant. “I’m so sorry, Stella. You’ll never know how much I regret the way that I behaved. On our first time together, no less.”

First and last time,
I think angrily. His statement implies more times in our future and I see nothing lying ahead of us.

“Okay,” I say stiffly. The apology doesn’t make me relax. I’m defeated, devastated. Alone with the man who clobbered my heart in one swift blow. Shaking my head, I scoot around him. “Then there’s nothing else to say.” Using what little energy I have left, I hurry through the hallway and push open the door leading to the outside.

A blast of frigid air shoots through my shoulders the second that I step outside. It’s freezing and I’m hardly dressed for the plummeting temperatures. The cold distracts me momentarily, and I don’t hear his pursuit.

Blake catches my wrist and all the fight evaporates.

I don't have a chance to consider avoiding him. Blake prowls toward me, collecting me against his chest in a heartbeat. One arm braces my waist and the other hand splays across the width of my back. My mouth falls open to say
something
, but he leaves no space for me to speak. The moment he slams his lips on mine, my eyes shut out the rest of the world and I'm lost to him.

Automatically my arms twine around his neck. I tug him forward, needing to be closer. Needing to taste him, needing to know that he's real. And if only for this exchange, needing to know he's mine.

He tastes like spearmint. Clean. Fresh. Delicious. Consuming.

The man knows what he's doing.

Blake deepens our kiss, leaning into me enough that I arch over the arm bound to my lower back. My breasts mash up against his chest, the thin material doing nothing to hide my pebbled nipples that have little to do with the cold weather and more with the arousal tingling all the nerves in my body. I hold him tightly, giving into his demanding tongue. It's wet, intense, sloppy…
perfect
.

Tearing his mouth from mine, Blake takes a step back and jams his hands on his hips. His lips tilt into a confident smirk.

"Good enough of a kiss for you, Stella?"

Pleasure disappears behind burning embarrassment. Is he making fun of me? Before I realize what I'm doing, I charge across the damp alley, draw my hand back, and slap him clear across his smug face.

Shoot!
That stings.

The pleased expression Blake wears fades into shock and then...an emotion I can't discern.

"Thank you," I spit at him as I wipe my smarting hand along the length of my hip.

"For what?" He narrows his eyes, taking an intimidating step forward. "I let you do that, Snow White."

I shrug, pretending his mocking doesn't wound me deeply. "Maybe so, but now I know for certain that I'm nothing but a game to you. I'm too old to play."

Whipping around without pausing to gauge his reaction, I walk toward the club's back entrance. My hand is inches away from the ripping the door open when his hand clamps around my elbow, forcing me to pause.

"What?" I want it to come out viciously, but instead the fight diminishes into the chilly evening air.

"Stella, please wait."

I know my heart is at risk. It's tottering on the edge of a cliff, and a stiff wind could send it over the edge. He has the power. To scar me. To break me. To destroy me. But the moment that he murmurs my name, I relinquish control.

“Why?” I choke out. “Who are you? The nurturing big brother? The loving, compassionate guy I’ve come to know, or the conceited prick using me for my body? You know what; don’t answer that. I can’t do this anymore.”

I take a few steps back. Heartache, my steady companion, reappears. Without the distraction of his touch, I’m reminded that it’s bitterly cold outside and a stark shudder rolls through my entire body.

“You’re cold,” he mutters unhappily and shrugs off his suit jacket. Before I have a chance to argue, he drapes it around my back. Blake’s large hands settle on my upper arms and begin to rub vigorously.

“Why does my temperature matter?” I ask the question to this collarbone, refusing to make eye contact with the man who continues to torment my emotions.

“Stella –” there it is again, my name on his lips is tremendously distracting–“I want to start over with you.” Another shiver cascades through my shoulders and he makes a pained expression. With an arm anchoring me to his side, Blake leads me back through the door of the club and into the secluded hallway. I wrench out of his grip and put some much-needed distance between us.

“Start over with what?”

“A first date, we’ll need one of those.”

“You’re not making any sense, Blake.”

“It’s pretty simple. When a woman captures all a man’s attention, when she’s the only thing on this mind, he takes her on a date. Then another and another and another until he can convince her to be his.”

The words make my body go rigid in disbelief and my heart slow in my chest. I let my eyes fall closed as I shake my head back and forth. “Don’t say things like that to me, Blake.”

Even though I can’t see him, I sense him getting closer. Then his knuckles trail down my cheek in a whisper of a caress. “I won’t stop, Stella. This is going to happen and we’re going to do it right. That night last month… I don’t regret what happened between us because I wanted you.” His voice drops into a husky murmur. “I still want you, but not that rushed bullshit.”

Tilting my head backward, I peel my lids open to assess his tone. Intensity vibrates around him. He pins me against the wall, with his gaze, without so much as touching me. I want to trust his sincerity that I can practically see tattooed across his forehead, but if he hurts me again, I’m not sure that I’ll ever recover.

“Let me take you out tomorrow night,” he directs through a voice as smooth as honey.

“Don’t boss me around like one of your athletes.”

He smiles wryly. “They only listen to their coach.”

I frown. “I’m busy.” Thankfully, it’s the truth, and I don’t have to fake an excuse.

“Message received. Have I mentioned how much it turns me on when you stand up to me?” Blake says.

Gulp.
Yep, that noise came from my throat. How very sophisticated of me.

“What’s happening tomorrow?”

“Family game night.” I can speak easily about this safe topic. The Baccino cousins get together for food and games. It doesn’t happen every month, but a regular tradition for us kids, as our parents still refer to us despite our ages.

“Monday, then.”

Blake cups my jaw in one hand, preventing me from responding by sending a jolt of awareness through my body. Will this happen every time that he touches me? “Don’t say no,” he murmurs huskily. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere!” Violet’s voice breaks the spell between us.

Blake’s hand falls from my face to my hip, holding me in a possessive grip.
Mama
help me, but I love the pads of his fingers touching my body. I glance to my left where Violet watches us with unhidden shock.

“What’s up, V?”

“Raffle and announcement time. You’re supposed to be my lovely assistant.”

It takes all the strength that I have to shrug out of Blake’s jacket and lose the physical connection between us.