“And…” Chad draws out, a knowing grin on his lips.
“Turned on,” I shrug. “Wasn’t expecting to become a full-on voyeur before sipping my first cocktail.”
Chad dips his chin in understanding, a spark of mischief in his eyes before we step away from the show and glance around the party, purposely avoiding LL’s grand finale. Just as we move away from the first sexual landmine, we spot another, almost landing on a couple fucking mere feet from the two of us. I damn near jump back in shock, and Chad seems to grow uncomfortable too. I can feel his eyes on my profile as he leans in again. “Do you want to go someplace…”
I laugh. “Way too presumptuous, Chad.”
His white smile beams brighter due to the reflective lights as he moves to stand in front of me. Though he maintains a comfortable distance from me, he braces his palms on the bar on either side of me before leaning in. “Not at all,” he shouts, “just somewhere where I can actually hear you talk?”
It’s when he pulls back to wait for my response that unease hits me, and I glance over his shoulder. I almost flinch at the sight that greets me. Sitting deathly still amongst the chaos in the middle of one of the couches, with cutting hazel eyes unmistakably zeroed in on me, sits Easton Crowne.
Skin
Zola Jesus
Natalie
My throat dries instantly, the intensity in Easton’s gaze stifling my reply to Chad. My chest rises and falls rapidly from sensory overload as I drink him in. He’s dressed like he was this morning, short black boots with a metal ring clasp, dark cuffed jeans, and a black T-shirt. His hair damp from a recent shower, one side of it tucked behind his ear. The leather cuffs he wore today clasped around both wrists.
My cheeks heat from the desire spike due to the amber jade flames being thrown my way. It’s a heady mix, those eyes…and an expression I’ve never seen on him—accusation, possessiveness, lust, jealousy…judgment? We stare off for several seconds as Chad suggests he secure us another drink before we head downstairs. All I can do is nod as Easton and I stare off and remain planted, waiting at the bar. Despite my conflicted state, I can only hope my return gaze reads something like, I’m here, asshole. Now what?
Because he forced me here. He wanted to see my reaction to this. I’m sure of it.
I lift challenging brows to him, praying my skin doesn’t betray me as my ache for him escalates. He’s so fucking beautiful, especially sitting stock-still, a statue surrounded by a thousand-mile-an-hour world, expression filled with lividity. The joke’s on those surrounding him, though, because he’s the supernova, the one passing them at lightning speed.
Sadness laces the thought, and I briefly wonder if this atmosphere will eventually end up curbing his momentum or worse, deter him, as it has countless others. He’s made me aware of just how unappealing that fate is for him, but as it seems right now, it’s not the case.
Do I even truly know him?
That thought pains me more, that I might not—at least not after his actions today.
Chad’s subtle cologne wafts from where he stands next to me, and though it’s all wrong, the innate need to rub up against someone, anyone, to relieve the pulse between my legs and numb the growing ache in my chest starts to overpower me.
All l can feel now is the masculine presence surrounding me, but it’s the lone, extreme look of the man staring that’s weakening me with each passing second. Still, I’m determined to finish this fight with my dignity intact.
Doing my best to gauge Easton’s expression, a woman disrupts my view as she moves to stand in front of him, hovering between his spread knees. A spear of ice smashes into my chest, driving in deeper as I study her. Gorgeous—dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, curvy figure—absolutely beautiful. It’s the appearance of his fingers resting casually on her hips as she bends to talk to him that sets my insides ablaze.
“Natalie?”
Chad rejoins me, a vodka bottle secured in his hand and a mixer in the other as she walks away, giving me a full view of Easton without interruption—he slowly lifts his chin to me in summons. My chest visibly bounces once with my laugh and refusal.
My answering expression? Go fuck yourself.
“Oh shit, that’s Easton Crowne, isn’t it?” Chad shouts, following my gaze and tuning into our stare-off. Hands full, he bristles next to me, his lingering question breaking me out of my stupor.
Focus on Chad, who’s attainable, present, and who wouldn’t be a life-altering mistake.