Nathan stepped aside when an actual catering employee approached him from behind. The hallway was the quickest route from the party to the kitchen, and he may not have been the only person who’d seen Matt sneaking off with a “friend.” A few more servers slipped past him, but they seemed more interested in balancing crowded trays than spying on party guests. Only one person stood motionless, staring at the door that Matt had closed behind him.
Rachel. With her curly hair and leather dress, he almost didn’t recognize her. This wasn’t the woman with the blank eyes of a mannequin in Matt’s viral video. This was the Rachel who drove his Camaro like a race car driver and slid into his texts, seducing him with proper comma usage and tiny secrets dropped like bread crumbs.
Everything made sense now. The drive-in cocktails, her chaotic emotions, and the bitter rants about marriage. She already knew her husband was cheating. That’s why she stood motionless instead of chasing after him and demanding answers. She was intensely focused on the door, like if she glared hard enough, she could see the face of the woman who’d slipped in before she’d arrived. Nathan might as well have been invisible.
She spun around and stalked toward the kitchen. Nathan followed her. Rachel’s rapid pace and his obvious pursuit startled the servers into wide-eyed stares as he followed her out the side door. It was nearly pitch black. Unlike the front of the house, there were no streetlamps or decorative lanterns to light their way.
He was about to call her name when she stopped and crouched to pick up something from the ground. She straightened, standing in front of a gray Maserati. He saw the rock when it was too late, after she’d already wound up like a baseball player. The window shattered, spraying glass at her feet and setting off the piercing wail of the car alarm.
Nathan spun her around. He gave her a moment to realize who he was, grabbed her hand, and ran. He heard shouting and dodged a flood of light from a door opening. Valets spilled into the parking lot, frantically searching between the cars.
They rounded a corner, and Nathan pulled her into a grove of fruit trees. They weaved through oranges and lemons until they reached the garden shed near the back. He pulled her inside. Moonlight briefly illuminated her face before the door shut and they were both covered in darkness.
There were no footsteps or sirens. Nathan heard yelling, but it sounded far away. Rachel’s eyes caught the light, and they were all pupil, black and glittering. He touched her cheek. “Are you okay?”
She pressed against him and exhaled a soft “Nathan” on his lips. He’d never liked his name. Nathan, Nathaniel, the shortened Nate everyone insisted on using. But he’d never heard it that way: whispered like a prayer. Lust flooded his body like the tide dragging him beneath the ocean. Maybe they were both drowning. But instead of doing the right thing, and pulling back, he dove deeper, drinking her in until there was no saving either one of them.
Their kiss was rough and greedy, as if at any moment she’d be snatched away. Everything else receded until there was nothing but the wet glide of her tongue, the press of her fingers against his neck, and her warm breath against his lips. Rachel made the sweetest sounds, little gasping moans, that made him hard enough for her to feel it. Blood rushed through him, plummeting so hard and fast that he felt high, or drunk, or both. She broke the kiss to catch her breath, and the loss of her mouth made him dizzy.
The voices outside were louder and the faint wail of a siren too close for comfort. “Come with me,” he whispered, and kissed her palm. “Let me take care of you.”
CHAPTER NINE
Rachel had a habit of picking at loose threads. It was something she’d done since childhood. She would pick holes in furniture, pry apart dress seams, ruin the stitches on crocheted hats—all because she couldn’t stand the sight of a dangling string. She could never shake the hope that she could fix something broken without it unraveling.
But she had gotten arrogant. The dress, the taunts, lying her way into a position she wasn’t qualified for—pick, pick, pick. But Matt had won anyway. He was always two steps ahead in the twisted game they were playing. And she was the one who unraveled. When Nathan found her standing next to Matt’s car, she might as well have been those glass shards scattered beneath their feet.
Rachel didn’t get a good look at Nathan until they were in the car. He was dressed in a white shirt, unbuttoned enough for her to see the tattoo on his throat. His clothes looked expensive and tailored. Dry-clean only. When she was his age, she washed everything with cold water and prayed the colors didn’t bleed.