Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(77)
“Leaving?” Charles asks.
“I am. Nice to meet you.”
“I’ll see you around,” he says. “You can bet on that.”
“Okay, well let Zere know I had to leave, but wish her the best. I left my gift on the table.”
I take swift strides across the ballroom, escaping before Maverick can extricate himself from the conversation. I’m going back to my hotel and ordering a bottle of something sent up to my room. Something to dull this throbbing between my legs and this ache in my chest. I scan the crowd for Chapel, but no sign. I don’t see the two people she was leering at earlier either. There could be a threesome already in progress somewhere.
Hovering at the entrance, I want to leave, but also need to make sure Chapel is okay before I go. I’d love to lock myself in a stall for a few minutes and sort my thoughts, but there’s a long line for the restroom. My gaze falls on the door of the coatroom, which is, by some miracle, slightly ajar. Before anyone comes, I dash in and close the door behind me. The noise of the music and of my own thoughts dies down as soon as the door shuts. I draw in one deep, cleansing breath after another, hoping to slow my heart’s thunderous pace.
Zere didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, but I felt obvious. Caught, like if you blew forensic dust over my body, Maverick’s handprints would show up clearly on my ass, my back, my thighs. Like just looking at me, everyone would know.
A few lamps illuminate the space with soft light. It’s not a true coatroom. More like a makeshift dressing room with a dark-paneled privacy divider, maybe for changing behind. A small table against the wall holds an ashtray, which indoors feels like an artifact these days, and a whiskey tumbler. There are a few rolling clothes racks lined up with wraps, scarves, and other random items. I set my clutch on the table and take out my phone to try Chapel. The buzz of a text notification startles me so badly I drop my phone. I bend to retrieve it and pause, resting on my haunches as I read the screen.
Chapel: Girl, not one, but TWO! You said let you know if I pulled. Got ’em!
Me: Good for you. Be safe.
Chapel: You still flying out tomorrow?
Me: Yup.
Chapel: You leaving the party soon?
Me: Yup.
Chapel: Alone? Or did you pull?
Me: Alone.
The word “alone” may as well be in all caps, highlighted, underlined it stands out so starkly.
My heart literally burns, and it has nothing to do with the short ribs I grabbed from the hotel’s buffet earlier. I have never had with anyone else what I have with Maverick. Not just the sexual attraction… which is not insignificant, but the camaraderie, the aligned values and work ethic. Shared convictions.
The way he makes me feel.
The way he makes me laugh.
The way he makes me think.
God, the way he sees me. He’s generous. Not even talking about money, but generous with his affection and praise. He’s mere yards away, and I’m fleeing in the other direction.
Alone.
I stand, prepared to go, when the door behind me opens and then snicks closed. I don’t have to turn around to see who it is. I know how he smells. My atoms ignite and italicize, leaning in his direction every time he enters my radius. It’s like my body doesn’t just know him now, but can predict him. The pull between us is barometric.
I don’t make a sound and barely move a muscle, and for a few seconds neither does he, but then he speaks and I even somehow knew exactly what he would say.
“Wagwan, Gorgeous.”
CHAPTER 29
MAVERICK
I’m not sure how to play this.
I wasn’t going to press Hendrix at the party. It’s Zere’s night and I wanted her to feel my friendship and support, but I’ll be damned if Hendrix is leaving this place without at least talking to me. So when I saw her dip out of the party, I excused myself and told Zere I’d be around. Her new guy visibly relaxed. I wanted to tell Charles there’s no need to worry. The woman I want is literally running from me.
“Leaving?” I ask once inside the coatroom. The muscles in her back stiffen as I approach. “Or just hiding from me?”
“Leave me alone, Mav,” she says, still not facing me, but turning her head enough to offer a clear view of her profile.
Full glamour tonight, her face is a vibrant palette of rose cheeks and matte red lips and long, fluttery lashes. So different from the fresh-faced woman with two damp braids tucked beneath a baseball cap, laughing with me in Waffle House. Just as beautiful, though. Just as magnetic. I imagine the long hair she wears tonight streaming over us, curtaining us as she takes the top, riding me in my bed. I have Charlotte Thomas sheets, bespoke, literally made to my specifications with twenty-two karat gold woven into the fabric, and I want to see Hendrix come all over them.
“Leave you alone?” I push the stream of long hair aside and over one shoulder to expose her back. “It’s too late for that, Hen.”
I run the knuckle of my index finger down the shallow basin of her spine. To my fascination, a shiver trembles through her shoulders and goose bumps prickle her arms. She doesn’t pull away, so I risk resting my hands at her hips.
“You look magnificent tonight.” I press closer until the curve of her ass rests in the cradle of my hips. I’ve been hard since the moment I saw her and do nothing to hide the evidence pressing insistently into her softness. She gasps and drops her head forward.