Shut Up and Kiss Me (3 page)

Creep?

Feeling amused, William Bellamy Townsend III looked over at the tiny woman currently glaring at him and smiled. “Drink?” he offered, gesturing to the bar.

“
No, no,” Mila said quickly, her voice hoarse from her coughing fit. “He didn’t do anything, Nikki. Everything is fine.”

Instead of placating the tiny woman—er, Nikki—Mila’s explanation seemed to elicit the opposite effect, and she continued to glare at him.

“
Are you sure?” Nikki asked, her narrowed stare still fixated on Will.

He held her gaze and shrugged. “Just buying Mila a drink.”

And speaking of Mila…

What a beautiful name, and utterly suited for the woman it belonged to: Tall, slender, and toned, with a rich shade of brown hair that perfectly matched her amber skin. Full lips and a heart-shaped face accompanied a pair of greenish-gray eyes that did not match her coloring in any way, shape, or form, yet somehow worked. And worked well.

She’d caught his eye just outside the coat room where’d she looked as if she’d rather have been anywhere but here, the trendiest nightclub in the city, no less—a place where most young women in New York would give an arm and a leg just for a spot on the guest list.

He’d followed her and her friend to the bar, watching from afar as Mila’s discomfort continued, wondering at her refusal to follow her friend to the dance floor and growing more and more interested in her by the second.

She wasn’t the typical INFINITY habitué, nor did she seem like any woman he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting, and that was what intrigued him most of all. These feelings only deepened upon speaking with her, and though she’d said very little before falling into her coughing fit, he’d easily depicted a light accent that he guessed was Southern. Her shyness, her obvious and utter discomfort around men—both with the bartender he’d watched try to flirt with her and now with himself—only made her more appealing to him.

He wanted to know her. Actually, that was only half true. He wanted to know anyone that wasn’t part of his usual circle of people, full of self-serving, pompous, and utterly unstimulating men and women. He wanted different, he’d been craving different, and different had just walked into his club.

Even better, different didn’t know a thing about him. He could have told her his name was Rick or Joe or Bob, and she would have had the same reaction. He was a nobody to her, and that thrilled him more than her oddly transfixing eyes or the way her nearly see-through dress seemed to hug every single solitary plane and curve of her lithe, toned, and sexy-as-hell body.

He was sick of high society, and he was sick to death of the insipid, vapid women that came with the lifestyle. Even worse were the wannabes, the hangers-on, the rubberneckers, the women and men who were constantly throwing themselves at him in the hopes that he would invite them to a party, date them, or worse…marry them.

He was thirty-one years old, nearly thirty-two. He’d been almost everywhere, seen everything, and subsequently was no longer impressed with any of it. He wanted different. He needed different. Only lately, he’d been starting to see that different wasn’t exactly attainable. His money always got in the way. It either excited or upset people, but either way it hindered his ability to simply get to know someone, and vice versa.

Only this morning, he’d decided that he wasn’t going to let that happen anymore; he just hadn’t figured out how, exactly…not until this very moment.

But instead of garnering the reaction he’d hoped for, Mila seemed to want to run from him, and now, with the aid of her tiny, angry friend, it seemed she just might get her wish.

So, second on his list of things to do…play nice with the tiny woman.

“
Can I offer you a drink, Nikki?” he asked, offering her yet another smile.

“
No thank you,” she replied politely—too polite. Her dark eyes snapped back to Mila and her gaze instantly softened. Though she said nothing, the look in her eyes implied everything. She was silently asking her friend what
she
wanted to do.

And just like that, Will respected her, despite her obvious distaste for him. She, like Mila, was also different from what he was accustomed to.

Mila’s eyes slanted toward him, her cheeks blushing the moment their gazes connected, and Will continued to smile, enjoying her reaction to him—enjoying every damn thing about her, actually. Or at least as much as he’d learned in the past fifteen minutes since spotting her.

“
I’m fine,” she said, her Southern lilt washing warmly over him. “I swear, Nikki, everything is fine. I’m fine.” She blushed again, as if her overprotective friend was furthering her embarrassment.

“
So…” The corners of Nikki’s mouth turned up, finally hinting at a smile. “Should I stay and have a drink?”

Mila seemed hesitant, and for a moment Will was positive she’d chosen Nikki over him. So much so that when she shyly shook her head, giving both him and her friend an embarrassed smile, Will unconsciously broadened his shoulders in victory.

Turning away from her friend, Mila took hold of her fresh drink, her gaze slanting in his direction. He watched as her lips molded over the glass, and as her eyes closed and her head tilted. Opening her eyes, she set down her drink and offered him another adorably shy smile.

Yep. Different was exactly what he wanted.

“
I’ll just be over there!” Nikki called out.

“
So Mila,” he started, turning away from Nikki’s
I’ll kill you if you hurt her
glare that she was throwing over her shoulder as she walked back to the dance floor. “Are all your friends this vicious?”

Mila’s face dimpled as she began to laugh—a small bubble of Southern amusement tinged with nervousness—and he couldn’t help but grin.

“
I don’t have many friends,” she admitted, still smiling. “I’m still new to the city.”

He’d figured as much, given her accent and inability to speak without blushing. Most people born and bred in New York were so accustomed to the busy lifestyle and the hordes of people that they hardly noticed it. Mila, he guessed, was still dealing with sensory overload from it all.

“
I have a booth,” he suggested, gesturing toward the second floor balcony, a section of the club that directly overlooked the dance floor. “It’s quieter up there.”

Swallowing thickly and shifting uncomfortably on her feet, Mila’s gaze followed his hand. “Okay,” she answered quietly—so quietly he hadn’t actually heard the word over the music, only realized it from the shape of her mouth.

“
If you’re more comfortable down here—”

“
No, no,” she said quickly. “A booth would be nice.”

Grabbing her belongings and her drink, she stepped away from the bar and he offered her his arm. They both stood there for a prolonged moment, him holding out his arm in offering and her staring at the limb like she’d just encountered a piece of hair in her food.

Laughing softly, he dropped his arm and gestured for her to step in front of him. “This way,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back, the contact causing her to jump ever so slightly. Shy and nervous was turning out to be an understatement, and Will had a brief moment of wondering if he was embarking on a losing battle.

One thing was for sure: different was definitely going to be interesting.

The stairs were perilous
,
at least for a woman like me. Holding tightly to the banister with one slightly sweaty hand and my drink with the other, I was simultaneously attempting to keep hold of both mine and Nikki’s purses all while feeling overly aware of Will’s proximity behind me, his hand on my lower back a constant reminder that he was there. And worse, once reaching the top of the stairs, several sets of eyes turned to look at me, each appraising and dismissing me within seconds. Any normal person would have felt offended at the slight, but I could only be grateful they weren’t staring. If that had been the case, I might’ve turned and run.

“
This way.” Will’s words caressed my neck as he passed by me, looking back over his shoulder with a smile as he gestured for me to follow him.

Nodding, I followed him, feeling more and more like a lamb headed off to slaughter. This was not me, this was not who I was. I didn’t wear skin-tight dresses and go clubbing, and I most certainly didn’t walk off to private booths with men I’d just met. I knew that much about myself. But maybe that was the point of tonight, and why I’d finally agreed to leave the sanctuary of my apartment: that I was finally doing something out of character. And if this night brought nothing but the realization that I could take risks—at least small ones every once in a while—then it wasn’t all bad. Right? God, I really didn’t have a clue what I was doing, did I?

As we passed by the overlooking balcony, I peeked over the railing and down to the full dance floor, packed with bodies, feeling thankful that the air up here was cooler, no longer stifling and thick with heat, making it much easier to breathe. That is, until Will’s hand came down softly on my wrist. All at once, breathing became difficult once again.

Reaching a large booth, I accepted Will’s gesture for me to enter first, his fingers lingering as I slipped onto the seat. As I scooted past him, I whispered “thank you,” and he flashed me another confident smile, leaving me wondering if he was this sure of himself in everything he did.

Folding his long body into the booth, he slid in after me. Taking the open spot directly beside me, he sidled up beside me, bringing our legs nearly touching. The scent of his cologne—spicy and thick, wrapped around me—causing the nervous energy already dancing in my belly to pick up speed.

Setting my drink down on the table in front of me I stared at the rich red tablecloth. I wasn’t any good at small talk, and what could I possibly have to talk about that would be of any interest to a man like him? A great-looking, self-assured man. My eyes squeezed shut. The heat that had worked its way to my cheeks was now reaching dizzying levels. The club, all the people, the alcohol combined with the nervous energy running through me, this booth, the smell of Will’s cologne, Will himself—it was suddenly all too much and I was feeling overwhelmed in the worst way.

“
Are you okay?” Will asked, sounding concerned. Oh god, he was concerned! I took a brief second to mentally berate myself for behaving so ridiculously, and then forced my eyes open.

“
Mmm-hmm,” I answered, and reached for my drink. The movement was quick and clumsy, and as I reached for the glass, I missed, knocking it over and sending the contents spilling across the table. Horrified, I tried to stand and grab it, but my knees collided with the tabletop, causing it to tilt and nearly knock over Will’s drink as well.

“
Oh God,” I mumbled, dropping back down, my eyes on my lap. “I’m so sorry.”

Glimpsing over at Will, expecting to see him staring at me with pity or disgust, I found his features lit with amusement. And as our gazes collided he laughed loudly, drawing the attention from a number of people seated nearby.

One by one they turned to see what had caused him to laugh, and began to laugh as well. Embarrassment curdled in my stomach, and for the first time in a long time I felt anger swelling inside of me. Not glass-breaking, fist-throwing sort of anger, but more of the foot-stamping kind. Was this some kind of joke? Chat up the shy girl and let her make a fool of herself for his own personal entertainment?

“
Stop laughing at me,” I hissed. Pushing my hair back from my face, wishing I’d pinned it up instead, I let out a shuddered breath. The hotter I grew, the more my hair stuck to me, and the more it stuck to me, the more uncomfortable I was, worsening my mood.

Blowing out another breath, I turned to Will. “This was a mistake,” I said, sliding sideways, in the opposite direction across the booth. “I need to go.”

Before I could reach the far end of the booth, Will stayed me with a firm yet gentle hand on my wrist.

Surprised, I stilled.

“
I wasn’t laughing at you,” he said, gently squeezing my wrist. “I promise. Stay,” he added, flashing me a smile that would make most women fall to their feet.

I was no different. My breath hitched in my throat and my heart rate amped up another few notches.

“
It’s just a drink,” he continued, releasing my wrist. “And there’s plenty more where that came from.”

I relaxed minutely, feeling childish for allowing my overactive emotions to get the best of me. After all, it had only been a drink, and I supposed if I were in Will’s shoes, watching me—this clumsy girl who couldn’t seem to swallow without choking or pick up a drink without spilling it—I would have laughed as well.