Because of You (15 page)

I should have come to my senses long before now, but nothing else matters except feeling his lips on me. I should be embarrassed that I’m acting so out of character. I don’t dance like this, I don’t get turned on like this, and I don’t feel things like this. I should be walking away before a photographer notices me on the dance floor and takes a picture that will be flashed all over the front pages of all the magazines.

Our movements slow until we are barely rocking our hips together, our bodies still pressed as close as we can possibly get, and I can’t make my feet move to put distance between us if I tried.

I let out a small whimper at the first feel of his warm, wet lips against my neck. A rush of heat and desire explodes between my legs, and I dig my nails into his hip to keep my knees from buckling when he pulls back slightly and snakes his tongue out to lick my sweat-glistened skin. His lips reattach to my neck, and I feel his teeth graze roughly against the sensitive skin there. I've never imagined that something like this could feel so good, and I never want it to end. I don’t care that we’re on a dance floor in the middle of hundreds of people or that my mother will most likely have a field day with this when she finds out.

I want more. I want to feel something I’ve never felt before. I want that explosion of desire and need, and right now it feels like this nameless, faceless man is the only person in the world who can give it to me. I want to forget my problems for just one minute, focus on absolutely nothing but touch and sensation and a thrill of excitement that’s been lacking in my life for far too long.

“Do you even care that I could have been your stalker manhandling you out here on the dance floor?”

The sound of Brady’s deep voice in my ear is like a bucket of cold water thrown down my back. I jerk around and out of the warmth of his arms, staring at him in shock and embarrassment.

I was rubbing myself up against a guy who obviously wants nothing more than to humiliate me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I shout angrily over the music, trying to will the reddening of mortification on my cheeks to go away before he notices.

Brady closes the distance I put between us, slides his arm back around me, and pulls me up against the front of him.

He looks down between us, and his nostrils flare as he gets a great view of my breasts which are pushed up against his chest; they practically spill out of the top of my dress with the force of his grab. He quickly brings his eyes back up to mine, and they are cold and hard as they bore into me.

“I came here to make sure you were safe. And it’s a damn good thing I did since your bodyguard is too busy with his hand on the ass of some slut up at the bar,” he growls.

I break eye contact and glance over to where he’s pointing with his thumb. Sure enough, Finn has his back to the dance floor while he chats up a redhead.

Looking back at Brady, I have to force myself to stand my ground as I stare at the anger rolling off of him. His legs are planted in a wide stance, and I can see a vein pulsing on the side of his neck. He really is pissed that Finn isn’t paying much attention to me.

“You know, I’m a big girl and I’m pretty sure I can handle dancing at a club without someone babysitting me,” I fire back, shoving against his chest until he releases me.

Standing that close to him just reminds me of what it felt like moments ago when I was dancing with him—how lost I was to the feel of his body moving in perfect sync with mine and his arms burning like a brand around my waist as they trapped me against him.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” he throws back, narrowing his eyes at me in disgust as he looks at my pupils. “Do you even care that you were grinding your ass all over a stranger like a—”

My mouth drops open and a gasp escapes past my lips, the color draining from my face when he pauses with his assessment of me.

“No, please, continue. Grinding my ass all over like a what?”

I know exactly what he's about to say before he thinks better of it. Slut, whore, tramp… I just want to hear him say it.

He refuses to take the bait and continues to stand stock still in the middle of the dance floor, his hands clutched into fists at his side as the anger rolls off of him.

“For your information, I don’t drink. Ever. And you may run hot one minute and cold the next, and your moods change so fast you’re giving me a constant headache, but last time I checked, you weren’t a stranger. And what the hell WAS that anyway?” I demand, throwing my arm out to the side angrily and pointing to the spot where we had been dancing moments ago.

“It was my way of showing you how vulnerable you are. You had no idea who I was. I could have pulled a weapon on you at any point, and you would have been helpless against me,” he snaps back, taking another step towards me and invading my personal space once again.

I push down the pang of disappointment that his words bring, reminding me that he couldn't have cared less about being close to me; he just wanted to prove a point.

“Give me a break with this stalker bullshit! You and I both know there is nothing there. You’ve been here for a week and haven’t found anything, so save me the melodrama.”

A new song comes over the sound system, and I recognize it as one of my own. I’m not in the mood to listen to people screaming the lyrics, patting me on the back, or jumping up and down to the beat, not when I’m trying to cool down my libido and pretend like Brady’s close proximity isn’t tying me up in knots.

I shoulder past Brady, quickly shoving my way through all of the sweaty bodies that surround us, until I’m finally off of the dance floor. I can just make out Brady shouting at me, asking me where I’m going, but I ignore him and the crowd swallows me up as I angle my body and squeeze through the mass of partiers to get to the exit for some fresh air.

The bouncer standing by one of the side doors gives me a curt nod and holds open the door for me. I step out into the warm night air and take a deep breath, my ears ringing now that I’m out of the close confines of the club. The music beats are replaced with the distant sounds of traffic from the nearby highway as I hear the door click shut behind me. I close my eyes and tilt my head up to the sky, enjoying my first moment of peace all evening. Before I can fill my lungs completely with fresh air, a hand is clamped roughly around my mouth, and I’m pulled up and off of my feet.

After the shock wears off that someone has just grabbed me while I'm alone on the street, I don’t immediately begin to fight. My first thought is that Brady has followed me out here and wants to teach me another lesson.

As the man crosses the street, I realize too late that this isn’t Brady. Brady is lean and muscular, not built like a linebacker with arms the size of tree stumps. I frantically begin kicking out my legs in front of me and squirming as hard as I can. My screams are muffled by the large, sweaty hand that pushes harder against my mouth, and my weak attempts at getting free are no match for the giant who towers over me and clutches my back against the front of him. He’s dragging me away from the building and across the street. My eyes desperately search around for someone, anyone to come outside and notice me. His arm is banded around both of my arms, forcing them to stay put at my sides so I can’t even claw him or pound into him with the fists I’ve made. I’m still trying to scream around his hand, my voice straining with the effort, but he only squeezes onto my face harder—so hard I can taste blood in my mouth from my teeth cutting into my cheeks. I jerk my head angrily from side to side, trying to dislodge his hand while I continue kicking my feet out as hard as I can. He’s holding me off of the ground as he hustles backwards, further and further away from the side door of the club, and my high heeled feet hit nothing but air. One of my shoes flies off and clatters to the ground.

Why did I come out here alone? Even if there wasn’t some strange guy sending me letters, I KNOW better than to do something this foolish.

The man suddenly stops walking, setting my feet on the ground but keeping a tight hold on me. He leans his face to one side of my head, and I can feel his sweaty, stale breath against my ear. I shudder in fear and revulsion as he traces his tongue along my earlobe before whispering into my ear.

“You’re going to be mine someday very soon, princess. I’m not ready for you just yet, but I will be. And you’re going to be ready for me,” he states menacingly as the arm wrapped around my arms and waist moves lower, the fingers of his big, meaty hand sliding in between my legs right where my short dress stops.

Oh God, don’t let him do this. I don’t want his hands on me.

I’m so busy squeezing my eyes shut and trying to block out the way his callused fingers feel on the inside of my thighs as they inch upward, it takes me a moment to realize his grip around my mouth has slipped and he’s not holding on so tight. Without giving a second thought to what I’m about to do, I open my mouth wide and clamp down as hard as I can on the knuckle and finger of his right hand. The man lets out a shocked, painful scream as I squeeze my jaw together as hard as I can. His hand between my legs immediately drops, and he shoves me roughly away from him. Only having one shoe on throws me off balance, and I stumble, tripping over a bump in the sidewalk, and fall down hard on my knees. The palms of my hands scrape against the concrete as I use them to brace my fall. Ignoring the pain that shoots up my knees and my arms, I let out the most blood curdling scream I can muster as I awkwardly try to push myself back up to my feet and scramble away at the same time. I continue to scream as I crawl and stumble my way back towards the club, back towards people who will help me.

I see the door of the club that I came out of burst open and slam against the opposite wall, and a feeling of relief washes through me. A feeling that is quickly snuffed out when rough hands clutch a handful of my hair and yank me backwards roughly. My feet slide out from under me, and my butt slams onto the sidewalk so hard that pain shoots up my tailbone and I cry out. I fling my arms behind my head to smack and scratch at the arm that is dragging me away from freedom, my feet slipping and sliding against the ground trying to gain traction.

I tilt my head back to try and finally get a look at who is doing this to me, but all I see is a fist coming towards my face and then nothing but black.

I hear her scream as soon as the bouncer throws the door open. It echoes through the alley, and there is so much pain and fear in it that my heart momentarily stutters in my chest. I take off at a frantic run, shouting over my shoulder for the guy holding the door to call 9-1-1.

I can see her just across the street, crumpled to the ground, blood covering her knees. A large man wearing nondescript clothes and a ski mask over his face yanks her back by her hair, his fist raised above her head. I push myself harder and faster, my legs and arms pumping and my adrenalin spiking as I make it to the other side of the street, but not before I watch the man slam his fist into Layla’s face.

Seconds later, I ram my body into the side of his like a fullback during the Super Bowl. We both crash to the ground, my body landing on top of his and pushing him into the dirt. I’m pretty good at hand-to-hand combat, but this guy is three times my size and he fights dirty. I take an uppercut to the chin and a knee to the groin before I can get my bearings and throw my fist into his jaw. With an elbow to my chest that knocks the wind out of me, he shoves me off of him, scrambles up off of the ground, and takes off running in the opposite direction of the club. I quickly push myself up to my knees, whip my gun out from its hiding spot tucked in the back of my jeans, and take aim at his dark silhouette as he weaves in and out of parked cars before disappearing down another side street.

“Son of a bitch!” I shout, smacking my hand down on the ground before turning around to check on Layla, stowing my gun back in its holster as I move.

She’s out cold a few feet away from me, sprawled on the ground with dirt and grass stains all over her dress, cinders and blood covering her hands and knees. A lot of blood. Entirely too much for my liking. I need to get her the fuck out of here and fast. The cuts are small from what I can tell, but they are bleeding like a bitch. Sliding my gun back into place, I crawl over to her lifeless form and gingerly smooth her tangled mess of hair off of her face. I wince at the sight of the bruise that’s already starting to form on her cheekbone. As sirens in the distance start to get closer, I see groups of people gathering just outside the club door out of the corner of my eye, and I know I need to get her out of here immediately before someone takes a picture.

I cup Layla’s uninjured cheek in my hand and gently turn her face towards me.

“Come on, baby, wake up. Let me see those beautiful blue eyes.”

My thumb strokes her cheek softly as I continue to coax her awake, scanning her body for other injuries I might have missed.

I swear to Christ if that asshole touched her anywhere else…