Hot Water (16 page)

And suddenly I realize I am in a club, making out with Rhys Bradley. And I quickly recall just how much he’d made my skin crawl. Nausea begins to bubble in my throat. I sit up straight, pushing him away. “I’m going to be sick,” I mutter, wrenching myself free and rushing toward the exit. Miraculously, I find a bathroom, and barely get the stall door shut before I throw up clear, vile liquid into the toilet.

I know where I belong. In my hotel room. I am going to lock myself in there, and not come out until it’s time to take a flight home.

I step out of the bathroom, into the dark hall and the blinking strobe. As I walk toward the VIP room, I feel a hand snake around my waist, and someone’s tongue running along my bare shoulder. I turn to see Rhys. He has a wolfish look on his face.

“I have to go back to the hotel,” I say. “I’m really tired.”

“What’s your rush, Cicily? We’re all here. Having fun. The night is young.” He runs a finger down my collarbone.

“It feels really late,” I say, trying to push past him. “I’ve really got to go. I’ll take my own—“

He stops me with a hand and backs me up against the wall. Then he begins to trace circles on my neck with his fingers. I can feel his breath there. “Don’t break my heart, Cicily,” his voice wavers. “You know how much I want you.”

“No, I don’t . . .“ I think of how he’d seen me, in the limo, pretending to be a whore. Of course he’d get the wrong idea. And what had I told Caden? That I rarely put myself in situations like this? Well, here I am, in a big one. “I don’t do things like that. Really.”

He ignores me and leans forward, his body pressing against mine. “You’re so beautiful. Show me what a good fuck you are,” he breathes in my ear. “Right here, baby.”

The hallway is deserted. The strobe light pulses with the mad beat of my heart as he covers me with his body. I feel his hands between my legs, pushing my dress up, fingers desperately flicking over the fabric of my panties, trying to pull them away. The nausea begins bubbling in my throat again.
This is not, not, not happening to me. Please let this be a dream
.

Caden

The quickest plane ride of my life was followed by the longest three days of my life. It was non-stop work, mingling, meeting colleagues, presentations. And I told myself it was what I deserved, because of the way I acted with Cicily on the plane. Things I’ve never told anyone. But for some reason, it doesn’t bother me that she knows those things about me. I
want
her to know me, to know that I’m not the type of lowlife who fucks around on his commitments for the hell of it. What bothers me is that if my father had been listening in, he would have disowned me by now. This is a fucking
business
trip, after all, and yet despite going through the motions, my mind has been on anything but business.

I haven’t closed a single deal. All the clients I was supposed to woo and impress, I’ve probably alienated. I wasn’t my normal, outgoing self, because try as I could to focus on Williams & Williams, I just wanted to be alone. To think. A few of them noticed. They said I must be getting cold feet for my wedding day.

Right.

Many of my colleagues use every night in Vegas as a chance to fuck around. There’s lots of opportunity for that.

But I just want to get drunk. It’s the last night before we go home, and God knows Andrea never puts up with me drinking too much.

A bunch of us guys end up at Club Tangerine, where we usually go, because the VIP lounge is always open to us, the girls are hot, and the drinks are free.

I spend most of the night sitting on a sofa, staring at the wall and drinking. The rest of the guys have all found more interesting company. I can’t blame them. I’m not in the mood to be social. Waitresses in bikinis come by, replacing my scotches as soon as I drain them. I don’t even have to ask. I feel numb. Just like I need to feel.

I’m marrying the girl of my dreams in a week.

In one fucking week.

And my mind is all . . . I can’t focus. It’s not supposed to matter. I’m supposed to have moved past it. I thought I just needed the time to compose myself. I thought it would be okay. But it’s not okay. I can’t move anywhere with this weight on me.

I’m not simply angry at her. Anger can fade. Anger can be undone. It’s beyond that. This can’t be undone. Dragging my feet proposing didn’t cause this. It was because I’d always thought something like this would happen that I’d dragged my feet in the first place.

I
hate
her. I hate my fucking fiancé.

No, I’m not good company tonight.

A redhead in a short red dress comes by and throws herself into my lap. “You look so sweet and sad here,” she slurs.

I stiffen. She’s wearing Christian Loubotin shoes. I know that because Andrea is obsessed with those obnoxious red bottoms. I push her away. “Get off,” I say, sliding to the side and making my exit.

This was wrong. I just need to go back to the hotel. Back home. So I can get ready for my funer—wedding.

I’m about to go down the stairs toward the dance floor when something stops me in my tracks. Rhys is sitting on a sofa, his hands working his way up a girl’s short skirt. I don’t think Rhys has never spent a night in Vegas alone. But I’d recognize those pristine legs and that blonde head anywhere. I can’t help but stare as his hands move on her skin, the skin I’d touched just weeks before. He puts his mouth on her, and she must be enjoying it, because she kisses back, then throws her head back and her lips part in a look of ecstasy as he trails his tongue down her long neck.

And all the time, I can’t stop watching, something hot and dangerous building inside me.

 Suddenly, she jumps up and runs toward the bathroom, swaying slightly, with Rhys on her heels.

Damn, she’s drunk. Just like she was that first night I met her. She should not be out like this. She needs to go home. She doesn’t belong here. . . why is this perfect little angel here, now, surrounded by all this scum? When I put her on the list of conference attendees, it wasn’t so that Rhys could have his way with her. Fuck, no, that’s the last thing I wanted.

Although I should have figured he’d try something like this.

Rhys follows her to the restroom, and meanwhile the fire inside me is building to an inferno. I need to drag her away, before she does something she’ll regret. She might not want to, she might argue with me, but it’s for her own good. If she does
anything
she regrets, it’s partially my fault, for inviting her.

 When I escape out into the bright fluorescent light of the hallway, I see Rhys with her. He has her against the wall, her dress pushed up, his hand between her legs. At first I think she must want to be there, but then I notice the tears on her cheeks, and the fire smoldering within me quickly ignites.

Fuck no, that’s
my
place
,
Rhys. You fucking ruin everything you touch for me, and you’re not going to ruin her
. “Rhys. What are you doing?”

He looks back at me for only a second, a lazy, disoriented look on his face. I know that look because I’ve seen it countless times on him. He’s smashed.

I bridge the distance between us in one short stride and lay a punch squarely into the side of his head, sprawling him face-first on the ground. He moans, rolls over, and tries to get up, but then strokes his head and falls back to the floor. After all the girls we’ve gone after together, all the years we’ve been drunk off our asses and rowdy as hell, I’ve never come to blows with him before, so the confusion on Rhys’ face is understandable. I probably haven’t laid into anyone since college, which is why my fist immediately starts to throb. “What the . . .? Cade, man, what the fuck is your problem?” Rhys slurs.

I don’t answer. Cicily tries to get up, and I see the fear in her eyes. “Caden?” she asks, voice wavering, pleading.

“Shh,” I tell her. The urge to take care of her is overpowering. I’ve never known a woman who needed me so much, and who I wanted to need me, who I wanted to hold and be close to for as long as possible. I scoop her into my arms, navigate through the throngs of people, and when we’re out in the bright lights of the casino, call a taxi. She falls asleep in my arms as we’re waiting, so she probably doesn’t know that I stroke the hair out of her eyes and never take my eyes off her, all the way back to the hotel.

Cicily

Some time later, I wake in an unfamiliar room, alone in a king-sized bed. It’s a suite. One of the executive suites.

I’m in an executive suite.

I sit up quickly. Oh, my God. I’m in Rhys Bradley’s room.

I look down. I’m still wearing my dress. That’s a good sign. The curtains are open, showing the spectacular lights of the strip. It’s still dark out.

The bathroom door opens. Caden Williams steps out. His white shirt is un-tucked, and partially undone, and his hair is falling in his face in that sexy way. He takes a sip of his scotch. “You’re up.”

Immediately, I start to cry with fear. “What . . . what happened?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he comes beside me and sits on the bed. “You’re okay.”

“Did I . . . pass out?”

“How are you feeling? Did he hurt you?”

I sit up. “I was drunk . . . I remember . . . I was with Rhys and then he . . . pushed me against the wall. I couldn’t move. I . . .” I stop, trembling when I think about how helpless I’d been, and how powerful his hands had felt on me.

“I was in the VIP room, too. I saw you with Rhys. I thought you wanted to be with him. And then I heard you cry out and . . .”

“You
heard
me?” I ask, doubtful. The music is still pounding in my head, it was so loud.

He looks away and shrugs. “Well. Let’s just say I didn’t like watching him kiss you.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Why?”

He takes another drink of his scotch, and doesn’t answer me.

“I was really stupid,” I moan, thinking about our conversation in the limo. That seems so very long ago, but I can’t help remembering the disgust on his face. “Again.”

“Yeah. You were,” he says gruffly, but it’s in such contrast to the touch of his fingers on my temple. In my dreams of wanting him, he was always the Iceman. He was always sexy as hell, but rough, arrogant, indifferent. I never thought he’d touch me in such a tender way. My entire body starts to shiver. “But it’s my fault.”

“Yours?” I sit back and look at him through a veil of tears.

He nods. “I shouldn’t have lied to him about us. Rhys has always wanted what I have. So it makes sense that he wanted a piece of you, too. We’re friends, but we’re also more like rivals. I told him weeks ago that what I’d said about you was a lie, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“You did? When?”

“Shortly after you started working for us. He made a comment about you, and I had to admit that nothing happened between us. But it didn’t make a difference. He had this fucked up notion I was trying to keep you to myself.” He exhales. “And you know what? It’s not so fucked up. Because I am. You are right. What we did
does
mean something. I never thought it didn’t. So pardon me for getting pissed off when I see you with anyone else.”

“But that’s warped,” I burst out. I mean, yes, it’s nice, but it’s also . . . disgusting. Then I see the way he’s looking at me and realize I’ve just called my boss warped. So I backtrack. “I mean, why did you tell him that lie in the first place? You’re marrying Andrea.”

He laughs bitterly. “At least, that’s what seven-hundred invitations say.”

I’m confused. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Rhys fucked Andrea a year ago and didn’t tell me about it until right before we left for my bachelor party. And so you were my free pass, my way to make it all better.”

My jaw drops. “What?” I ask, but I think again about how angry Caden had been the night I met him. How he reprimanded me for drinking and partying and wanting to have fun.

“Rhys and Andrea were friendly, and when I wasn’t around, sometimes they’d hang out together. I thought nothing of it. And then last year, when I was in Vegas for this conference, they got drunk together and ended up screwing in our apartment.
In my bed
. They said it was just that once, but I don’t think so. They didn’t tell me about it for a fucking year . . . I think Ange was never going to tell me. I had to find out a month before our wedding.

“And here’s the fucked up part. When she said she was sorry, I thought I could do it. I wanted to believe we could undo this somehow.
So much
. When she granted me a free pass to fuck whoever I wanted, both she and Rhys seemed to think that was all I needed to get past this. Just fuck some meaningless girl, and we’d be able to enter into matrimony and have a happily ever after. But I can’t even look at her without thinking about what she did. I don’t even want to see her face. I’d hoped I forget. But every time I fuck her, I want to fill her up with all the pain and torment she’s caused me. That’s a fucked up thing to want to do to someone I supposedly love. So I guess I can’t do it. I guess I can’t suck it up, turn the other cheek. If that makes me weak, then I guess I’m weak.”

I wrinkle my brow. “She’s the weak one. You’re not weak because you want someone to treat you right.”

“No. I’m weak for caring in the first place. I have a billion dollars in investments to see to. This should not matter, in the grand scheme of things.” He looks at the ground and balls his fists.

“I think any relationship where you
don’t
care is weak to begin with,” I say. “Listen to yourself. You sound like you’re in a business partnership. If you love someone, you
should
be able to be weak around her. You should be able to show her all of your flaws. And she will love you just as much, if not more, because of them.” I bite my tongue. Am I really discussing relationships with Caden Williams, in his hotel room? In his bed? And how obvious is it, in this moment, that I’d kill to be the “she” in this scenario? I swallow and look at the sheets. “I mean, you said it yourself. Don’t act. Just
be
.”