Wanted (8 page)

I nodded. “Tired. Just tired.”

“All the more reason to go inside.”

Again, I nodded. I didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think. Guilt and grief were screwing with my head, and I wasn’t at all sure what to do about it.

We took the elevator from the parking level to his eighth floor studio, and as we stepped through the door, I realized I was holding my breath—but whether that was because I was craving or dreading his touch, I really didn’t know.

It didn’t matter though, because all he did was turn around and shut the door. “How does a cup of hot tea sound?” he asked, after he’d locked both dead bolts and put on the chain.

It sounded horrible, but I nodded anyway. Tea sounded soothing. It sounded calm. But I didn’t want calm. I wanted hands on my body. I wanted electricity. I wanted to be consumed in a lightning storm, destroyed by passion. I wanted to get lost in pleasure so intense it burned away everything until I was a blank slate, the horror of the last few days all but forgotten.

But this—I didn’t want this.

More, I didn’t want Kevin.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Don’t be silly. It’s no trouble.” He started to turn toward the tiny kitchen, but must have seen something in my eyes, because he stopped. “Angie?”

Would everything have changed if he’d kissed me right then? If I’d seen fire brimming in his eyes, would I have stayed? Would I have lost myself in his touch, gotten high on the drug of sex? Would I have let him take me where I wanted to go—and would I have stayed there with him?

I don’t know. I don’t think so. I didn’t doubt that Kevin was a good man, but he wasn’t the man I wanted, and I deserved more than the runner-up. So, for that matter, did Kevin.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I shouldn’t have come here tonight. I shouldn’t have—” I shook my head, as if shaking off the thread of my words. “I
am
a wreck tonight. But I really just want to be alone.”

“No.” My words spurred him to action, and he reached out, his hand closing around my wrist. “You’re distraught, I get that. Stay. I’ll take care of you.”

I shivered, because that’s what I wanted. For someone to take care of me so that I really could slip away and lose myself in that ultimate thrill of surrender. But not with tea and cookies and a warm bubble bath. That was never going to take my edge off.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I promised, already moving away, trying to avoid the walls that were squeezing in around me. “Right now, I have to go.”

I was tugging open the front door locks when he gripped my elbow. “I’m not letting you go back there. Not tonight. Not when you’re like this. Grief messes with people, honey. I see it all the time.”

“I’m just going to crash,” I lied. “I want to sleep in my own bed. And this isn’t your decision,” I added when he looked ready to argue. “I know you want to help, but I need the space.”

He just stood there, his fingers digging into my bare arm, exposed in the sleeveless black sheath I still wore.

“Kevin …” I heard the apology in my voice, along with the plea.

“Dammit—fine.” He released me and held up his hands, fingers spread, and in that moment I imagined him talking to a suspect, patronizing them. Telling them to just be calm and everything would be okay.

Unfair, maybe, but the direction of my thoughts only made me more determined to get out of there.

“Now,” I said. “I’m going now.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No.” I drew in a breath, tried to calm the panic that seemed to want to spring out of me. Couldn’t he see that I needed to run—needed to
go.
“I just—I want to be alone. Please.”

He should have yelled at me and called me a liar and told me to get the hell out. Instead, his eyes softened and he nodded. “Fine. But I’m putting you in the cab. Tomorrow,” he said as he gently stroked my cheek. “Tomorrow, we talk.”

It took a solid seven minutes for the cab to arrive. I know because I looked at my watch seven times during the period. I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I glanced around the darkened neighborhood. The lights were out at Yolk, one of my favorite breakfast places, and just looking that direction made my stomach growl. I’d eaten nothing since that morning, I realized, and had to acknowledge that hunger might be contributing to my moodiness.

A black Lexus with tinted windows turned onto McClurg, slid to a stop in front of Fox & Obel, a high-end grocery store one block down, and idled there. Because I am always—
always
—aware of my surroundings when I’m outside, I noticed. But since there’s nothing inherently wrong about a car waiting at a curb, and because I had Kevin right beside me, I paid it little attention. Then I erased it from my thoughts entirely when the bright yellow cab turned off East Grand and came to a stop right in front of us.

Kevin opened the door for me, and I slid in, feeling as though a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. He leaned in to kiss my cheek, then firmly shut the door. I expected that would be that, so I was surprised when he tugged open the front passenger door. I held my breath, not wanting to argue, but damn sure ready to do just that if he was planning to break his word and come with me. But all he was doing was giving the driver the address—and paying the fare in advance.

“I have cash,” I said.

“I’ve got it,” he said firmly, and because I’d turned down the tea, I acquiesced on the cab fare.

The moment the cab pulled away from the curb, I breathed easier. Kevin was sweet, of course, and I knew that he genuinely cared about me. But he didn’t give me what I needed. Then again, I wasn’t entirely sure what I needed, though the possibility of continuing what Evan had started on the roof was certainly on my list.

For a moment, I entertained the fantasy of knocking on Evan’s door, throwing myself in his arms, and kissing away his protests. But there is a huge gap between fantasy and reality.

Besides, I had no clue where he lived.

Fuck.

Antsy, I shifted on the seat. We were on Lake Shore Drive now, getting close to the condo, but that wasn’t where I wanted to be. I wanted someplace so loud I didn’t have to think. Someplace I could go and be someone other than Angelina Raine, the good girl. The senator’s daughter. The entrepreneur’s niece.

Stop it, already.

I drew in a breath and forced myself to just lean back, close my eyes, and enjoy the ride. I knew damn well that I needed to not be that girl. I needed to be Angie, not give in and be Lina, who would let her grief and her frustration and need just take over.

To my credit, I got as far as the condo. But when the cab pulled up in front, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go back in there. Not while I felt so frayed and at loose ends.

“Drive,” I said, my voice raw. “Just keep driving.”

He glanced at me in his rearview mirror. “You sure about that, sugar? Because that man of yours was adamant, and I have the C-note to prove it.”

I exhaled loudly through my nose. I should have figured Kevin wasn’t just giving him the address.

I pulled out another hundred and handed it to him. “Drive,” I repeated.

He did. And as he pulled back into traffic, I noticed a black Lexus by the curb across the street. The same one? I shifted in my seat, intending to get a better look, but the cabbie’s demand to know where we were heading pulled my attention away.

“Someplace loud,” I said. “With a dance floor. And tequila. And not one single person I know.”

“Gotta be more specific than that, sugar.”

I pulled out my phone. “Give me a second,” I said, wondering how the hell folks survived in the Dark Ages before smart phones.

The Poodle Dog Lounge seemed like the best of a ragtag collection of possible clubs. It was located on a relatively run-down block right on the edge of Wrigleyville, but was well-lit enough to reassure me that I’d be safe getting from the cab to the door. I wanted an adrenaline rush, yes, but not the kind that came from avoiding thugs in dark alleys or drug deals in shadowed corners.

And, just in case the club wasn’t set up to hail taxis, I tucked the cabbie’s card in my purse. “My friend got your card, too, didn’t he?”

“Sure did, sugar.”

I held out a twenty. “This is to buy me a message. If he calls you, you tell him you dropped me at home, and the last time you saw me, I was heading into the lobby.”

“Not too sure I feel right about that, little girl.”

I managed not to roll my eyes, then pulled out yet another twenty. “Feel better now?”

He plucked the bills from my fingers. “Honey, I’m feeling just fine.”

I stood on the sidewalk to get my bearings and was a little surprised when the burly bouncer at the head of the line waved me over. To be honest, I was even more surprised there was a line, especially on a Wednesday. I hadn’t exactly selected a high-class club in a high-class neighborhood. Then again, any club that wanted a shot at being thought of as cool needed to at least go through the motions of being exclusive. And apparently this one had killer drink specials on Wednesdays and live music from some legitimately up-and-coming bands.

“You on your own, beautiful?”

I raised a brow. “So what if I am?”

The bouncer waved a hand, indicating the door. “No cover for single ladies with an ass as sweet as yours.”

I wavered between rolling my eyes and thanking him, and ended up doing neither. I did, however, accept his invitation and headed inside as the eyes of the still-waiting women—some conspicuously single—burned a hole in my apparently fine ass.

The inside of the club was exactly what I’d hoped for. Dark and loud and semi-sleazy, with a crowd congregated around the bar and a mass of bodies on the dance floor. I stood out a bit in my funeral-black sheath and pumps, but I didn’t much care. I wanted a drink. I wanted the music. And I wanted to lose myself on the dance floor, eyes closed, body moving, and my imagination running wild.

I wanted escape, dammit. And right then, this place was the best that I could do.

I sucked in my stomach and turned sideways to squeeze through the crowd toward the bar, a journey that was at least as treacherous as crossing Lake Shore Drive against the light. When I finally reached the polished-but-sticky oak bar, I held up my finger to get the bartender’s attention, and quickly learned that while my sweet ass may have gained me admittance to this den of iniquity, after that, the perks fell off considerably.

“Fuck,” I cursed, after the bartender hurried by in front of me for a third time without even sparing me a glance. The word held more venom than the situation probably called for, and I realized that not only was I irritated by my utter lack of alcohol, but I was also just generally angry. At my uncle for dying. At the universe for taking him. At Evan for getting me worked up, and at myself for fantasizing about a man I couldn’t have and shouldn’t want. And at Kevin, for not actually being the man I wanted.

“Fuck it,” I repeated, then pushed away from the bar. I didn’t need the drink, all I needed was the buzz, and I weaved my way onto the dance floor and edged in next to a drunk blonde who was on the verge of a wardrobe malfunction. She was dancing with two guys—or, more accurately, they were dancing with her. Her eyes were shut, her head back. As far as I could tell, she was entirely oblivious to their attention.

I let my body absorb the music, channeling my roiling emotions into the pounding thrum, letting the beat blast through me as I eased in, only inches from a bruiser of a guy with a buzz cut and bare arms that sported some of the most impressive snake-and-dagger tattoos I’d ever seen. His eyes caught mine, and he grinned, a familiar, hungry expression on his face. Because I was in that kind of mood, I danced closer, arms above my head, hips swaying. Getting close, but not touching. Teasing and playing.

Apparently, Bruiser wanted more than a tease, because he moved in. He smelled of alcohol and tobacco and lust, and though I wasn’t the least bit interested in getting naked with him, I was more than happy to dance-flirt, feeling my blood pumping in my veins. Feeling
alive.
Because I was tired, so damn tired, of feeling numb, and when he put his hands on my waist and tugged me close, I closed my eyes and gyrated to the music. I wasn’t there with this guy. I was somewhere else. With someone else.

Hell, maybe I even
was
someone else.

Because that was the trick, wasn’t it? When I let myself go, I was getting out of my skin. Shedding the guilt and the pain and all the damn secrets and—
fuck it.

With desperate abandon, I pressed my body hard against his. He let out a low moan of pleasure and cupped my ass, pulling me tight against him so that there was no mistaking his arousal.

I drew in a breath and tilted my head back. I saw the lust in his eyes. Saw the way his lips curved. He was bending close, either to claim my mouth or to whisper that we needed to get the hell out of there. I didn’t want him, this stranger. I wanted everything I’d lost and everything I couldn’t have, and I just wanted to run away.

But how can you run from yourself?

I stiffened, anticipating his words, and knowing damn well that I’d say yes to whatever he suggested—and then hate myself tomorrow.

And then it all shattered.

I heard myself cry out as the bruiser was shoved roughly aside—and then heard my gasp of surprise when I saw the man who’d so cavalierly tossed him away.
Evan.

I stood there, completely frozen, as Evan stepped closer to me, his expression thunderous. But beneath the anger in his eyes I saw a heat that shot through my belly to settle between my thighs. Holy shit. This was it, my fantasy, and while part of me leaped with celebration, another part wondered when the hell I’d started hallucinating. Because this couldn’t be real. How the hell could this possibly be real?

“What the fuck, friend?” Bruiser snarled, giving Evan’s shoulder a shove and soundly destroying my theory that I was living in some sort of dream state. “You wanna get away from my girl?”

I started to say that I was most definitely not his girl, but the brimstone rose in Evan’s eyes and I opted for the wiser course and stayed quiet.