Anya didn’t sound sorry at all. “Harper.” Victor gave me a nasty grin. “Shouldn’t you be spending your Friday night with your girlfriend instead of flirting with another man’s date?” My smile iced at the indirect mention of Stella. If we weren’t in public… “You’re right,” I said amicably. “Have fun with your date.” Victor’s grin wavered at my agreeable response. A hint of panic crept into his eyes as I stood and dropped a hundred-dollar bill in the tip jar. “Where are you…” I left without listening to the rest of his insipid question and made a pit stop at his prized sports car. I may not have a gun on me since Valhalla didn’t allow weapons inside the club, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have other, less obvious weapons at my disposal. Two minutes and one planted device later, I got into my car and drove home. When I pulled up to the Mirage, I watched the security footage from outside Victor’s house on my phone. As expected, he’d left soon after me; his car pulled into his driveway less than ten minutes after I parked. He and Anya exited the car and entered his house. I waited until the door shut behind them before I activated the device. I couldn’t hear the footage, but I could hear the boom in my head as his car exploded into flames.
By the time Victor ran out, it was already a twisted, blackened hunk of metal beneath the raging fire. For the first time that night, I smiled a genuine smile. Much better. I tucked my phone into
my pocket and straightened my jacket as I stepped out of the car. He could probably guess who was behind his car’s untimely demise, but he wouldn’t do a damn thing about it. He was lucky I didn’t blow it up when he was in it. Unfortunately, the relief I gained from fucking with Victor was short-lived. Every step closer to my apartment reminded me of what happened with Stella. We lived in the same house, yet I could feel her slipping away. You’re not my boyfriend. I’m not sure if we’re even friends. My jaw clenched. I’d bought her the watch in hopes it would bridge the distance that’d sprung up since New York. That’d backfired. I’d gone to Valhalla hoping to take my mind off her. That’d backfired as well. I could’ve gone home with any woman I wanted, and I chose to come home to the one who didn’t want me. A caustic laugh singed my throat. Fate was a fucking bitch.
*
I loosened the knot on my tie as I entered my house. My earlier self-loathing flamed hotter in my chest. I’d made a career out of not losing my cool, but I’d lost my cool when Stella attempted to return the watch. That’s all we are. Nothing more, nothing less. Why are you doing any of this?
Because I’ve never wanted someone more, and I’ve never hated myself more for it. That’s fucking why. The echoes from our conversation swathed the air. I’d intended to go straight to my room, but I stopped when I caught sight of curly dark hair peeking out from the top of the couch and the scent of Stella’s favorite lavender-scented candle. It flickered on the coffee table, next to long, bare legs and a scatter of drawing pencils. I dragged my gaze over the expanse of smooth skin and cotton shorts until I met a pair of wary green eyes. “You’re still up.” Alcohol and desire roughened my observation. Stella was usually in bed by now, or at least in her room. I didn’t believe for a second that she went to sleep that early. Why had she been avoiding me? It couldn’t possibly be because I’d refused to tell her about Magda and Vivian.
That conversation had been trivial at best. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get some drawing done.” She returned her gaze to her sketchpad. “Where were you?” Despite her casual tone, visible tension lined her shoulders. Some of the ice finally melted. The trickles of warmth sluiced through my veins and pulled a dark smile out of me. “Why do you ask?” “You were gone for hours. Curiosity is natural.” She was good at bluffing; I was better at detecting bullshit. I crossed the room until I stood behind her. Our reflections gleamed back at us in the window, so sharp I could trace every detail of her face—the long, thick sweep of her lashes, the slight tilt of her catlike green eyes, the delicateness of her chin and the elegant curve of her cheekbones. “I went out for drinks.” My casual drawl didn’t match the beat of my pulse. I wanted to wrap her hair in my hand and tug her head back until those eyes were on mine. To mark that perfect skin with my teeth and claim her mouth in a kiss so fucking deep it would erase the notion that we were just housemates. My hands flexed before I forced them loose. Not yet. I’d waited too long to waste all my hard work on one impetuous moment. If Stella sensed the danger gathering behind her, she didn’t show it beyond a further tightening of her shoulders. Her pencil flew over the page, sketching and shading in the details of a floor-length gown without pause. “Yes. I can smell the alcohol.” Tightness hampered her casual response. “Scotch…and perfume?”
“Jealous?” Silk wrapped around my soft, mocking tone. “I have no reason to be.” She continued sketching, but the strokes were faster, angrier. “We’re just roommates.” “That’s not an answer.”
I tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. My voice turned coaxing while her pencil slowed.
“Ask me what you really want to know, Stella.” Her lashes dipped before they swept up and her eyes met mine in the window.
Stella could don a cold facade all she wanted, but she had a soft heart, and she wore that heart on her sleeve. I could pick out the dozen different emotions swirling beneath those jade-colored depths—anger, frustration, desire, and something darker, more unknown. “Who were you with?” Indifference clung to her words, but it was tattered enough for me to spot the underlying vulnerability. She cared, and that hint of emotion slayed me more than any strike of a sword could. “Three women.” I pressed my hand against her shoulder, forcing her to still when she jerked at my response. “They were at the same bar as me,” I said. “I could’ve fucked any of them. Made them do every filthy, debauched thing I could think of. Their mouth on my cock, my hands in their hair…” Stella’s lips pressed together. Pride lit a defiant spark in her eyes, but rawness stretched her features taut, and I detected a small tremble beneath my touch. “Yet I didn’t touch them. I didn’t want to. Not one tiny fucking bit.” I lowered my head, my chest on fire from how close she was. Every breath brought her deeper into my orbit, but I would’ve traded all of them if it meant I could have her, all of her, for just one moment. “Perhaps I should’ve.
Perhaps then, you’d understand how I feel.” My breath grazed her cheek as I slid my palm over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm. “I’m not a jealous man, Stella. I have never envied someone for what they have or who they’re with, and yet…” My fingers glided down to her wrist.
“I’m jealous of every person you smile at…” A brush over her fingers. “Every laugh I don’t hear…” My touch dipped to her knee and made a slow, languorous journey up her thigh. “Every breeze that touches your skin and every sound that pours through your lips. It. Is. Maddening.” I paused at the hem of her shorts. My heart thundered, slipping into a primal rhythm that matched the roughness of my voice. The air swirled with uncaged desires so potent they threatened to consume us both. Stella had stopped sketching altogether. Her pencil lay slack in her loosened grip, and she was still, so still, save for the frantic music of her pulse. I heard it over the hot rush of blood in my veins.