Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series) (26 page)

Sure enough, the first chords of Kenny and Grace Potter’s duet “You and Tequila” ring out over the bar. My palms go clammy, as I haven’t sung this one in the shower very much. “You got this,” he assures me. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you can’t do.”

Is he drunk? I giggle at that thought as he sings out the first line. My giggling is short-lived, though, because he has a stunning voice. So stunning that when my line comes up, I almost miss it. I recover quickly and sing out softly since that’s what this song demands. And I suffer those lyrics with every fragment of my pathetic existence—not being able to resist those who are bad for you, you keep going back for more even though you should know better—mmm, hmm, that’s what I’ve been doing with Ransom, constantly tempting myself.

Unconsciously, we’ve both angled our bodies toward one another, and we end up singing to each other rather than the crowd. And, even though I can hear them catcalling and dancing and moving along with us, I block them out and focus on the man in front of me.

When I turn my full attention on him, he does the same to me. The moment we both let go is palpable. The intensity in his normally soft green eyes burns through me as they focus on my lips. My eyes drop down to his lips, and I love the way he wears a smirk as he sings about me making him crazy. Even if he’s not singing about me, I’m pretending he is. I’d give anything to feel those lips on mine, making me crazy, making me his. God, I want him. When he sings about your favorite sin doing you in, I fight the urge to throw down my mike, drag him off the stage, and show him sin in the best way possible.

Somehow, someway, I’m able to finish the song without embarrassing myself. As the music quietly fades out, Ransom replaces his mike, gives me a strange look, and stalks off the stage, leaving me by myself to receive the praise we earned together. I’m afraid everyone will have noticed how much he hates me and how bad I want him, so I do what I do best— I take the attention off of my discomfort. I stick my boobs way out and curtsy deep, which elicits more hooting and hollering.

When I spring back up, my eyes meet Greer’s, and what I see there almost causes me to cry out. He’s hurt and pissed, and that’s not a good combination. Pushing away from the wall, he storms out of the bar.

Great! I hear someone moving in behind me to take his turn at the mike, so I move off the stage. I get lots of slaps on the back, and someone smacks my ass. Gasping, I turn to see Austin with a mischievous grin. “He went that way,” he deflects, as he lifts me up and jostles me in a bone-crushing hug. “Y’all were amazing. You’re amazing. Will you marry me, Denver?”

“And deprive all these ready and willing cowgirls of all that is Austin Ransom? Not a chance,” I joke, slapping the brim of his hat down.

“Aww … shucks, ma’am,” he says, angling his head back to smirk at me. “We aim to please.”

“Oh, I bet you do, cowboy.” I can’t help but place a playful kiss on his cheek since he’s put me in a generous mood. Even though Ransom had stormed off, seeing inside him with his defenses down for a moment had been fascinating and well worth the ensuing awkwardness.

I snap back to reality as I see Austin’s chocolate-brown eyes heat to molten from my little unguarded moment. I throw my hand up as his lips make their way toward mine, causing him to kiss my palm. “Ew, Austin,” bursts from my lips since he gave it a little lick too. He erupts into loud laughter.

“Oh, Denver, the fun we could have,” he cajoles as he lifts and spins me around. My heels whack some people, but they don’t seem to care, and neither does Austin. “When you realize what pussies all these other guys are, I’m your man. Got it?” With that declaration, he sets me down to totter off toward the bathroom. I don’t get far before I am yanked into a hallway.

The wall at my back, his hands on either side of my head, his lips at my ear … I liquefy into the wall as Ransom just holds me there, intense green devouring bewildered gold. The moment I’ve been anticipating … yet dreading. I swallow hard. I won’t be the first to speak, I promise myself. He’s been so hateful to me.

He breathes me in and nudges the hair from my neck as he runs his nose down it. My hands form fists against the wall as I fight the urge to pull him into me. I want him. So bad.

“I know you do.” His breath tickles my throat. I groan as I realize I said that aloud. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he continues, as the vibration switches to coming from his voice, to coming from his tongue. I want to weep with relief when it sweeps back up my neck lightly. When he gets to my ear, he places a playful little bite. “Or, maybe you do know. I can’t decide how culpable you are in bringing about my downfall.”

His words confuse me, but I don’t have to wonder long.

“I promised myself I’d never be with anyone like you. Someone who uses others. Someone who finds pleasure in other’s pain. Someone not strong enough to be herself.” My hands fly up between us, and I push him with all my might. He chuckles as he finds himself a foot or so away from me. We both ignore the fact that he let me push him away. Raising an eyebrow, he tilts his head and boasts, “I could do a lot with that spunkiness, though.”

“Why are you such an asshole?” I demand, as I use my shirtsleeve to wipe away the now-cooled trail he left on my neck.

“Why are you such a slut?” he counters.

“I’m …” My voice dies out. I can’t deny I’m a slut, just like he can’t deny he’s an asshole. But, if I’m going to stand for him labeling me a slut, I’m going to earn it and get a little pleasure out of it at the same time.

Springing from the wall, I put my hands on his chest and back him up against the opposite wall. His eyes widen, and his mouth drops as I catch him by surprise. I take that moment to lean into him and thrust my tongue into his open mouth. I moan as I finally satisfy that curiosity—spicy with cinnamon, bitter from beer, and ripe with his excitement. Desire explodes deep in my belly, and I can’t control myself.

He doesn’t take long to join me, and our mouths work each other’s over at a fevered pace. My hands travel down to fit themselves around his hips as I pull myself into him. His hands match mine as he fits them to my ass and squeezes me hard against him. I feel how turned on he is, and I whimper into his mouth.

I pull back and nip at his bottom lip as I taunt, “You want me. Slut or not. Asshole or not. You. Want. Me. And I want more than anything to see that precious control of yours crack when you finally take what you want, what you’ve been fighting.”

I see his eyes snap to attention before I am flying backwards. I throw my hands out to catch myself against the wall as I laugh lightly and right myself. I’ve just hit the nail on the head. I make him feel out of control, and he can’t stand it. For some reason, I’m different to him, and that’s why he hates me. That, coupled with the fact that he can’t control me, pisses him right the fuck off.

He schools his features before stalking calmly toward me. And his calmness actually frightens me more than his being out of control. Frightens me and fires me up. Putting one finger under my chin, he moves my mouth up to rest just a centimeter under his. He stills, holding there for a moment. Instead of stilling, my breaths come fast and hard as I anticipate what he’ll do or say next to insult me to put me in my place.

He throws me for a loop when he leans down and swipes my bottom lip with his tongue. “You taste so good,” he murmurs. “Honey … daisies … and … sunshine.” I can never keep my sense of balance around him. My hands move up to pull him further into me. “No, no touching. Put your hands against the wall.” They hang in the air for a second before I feel myself complying. “Good girl,” he breathes. The way he praises me, excites me and makes me more eager to please him because I have a feeling, if you please Ransom, the rewards he will lavish upon you will know no bounds.

One of his hands comes up to lay itself flat on my neck. His calloused fingertips sweep lightly over my jaw. “Open your mouth,” he breathes against my lips, and I do. He slides his tongue teasingly against mine. He pulls back, sucks on my bottom lip, and then he’s back inside me. And it’s a sweet torment, as he is dedicated to his craft. My heart hammers in my ears, and I am dizzy. He pulls back and bites my bottom lip again, but harder this time. A desperate sob barely escapes me before he’s back in my mouth, sweeping and exploring. I relax and feel him, really feel him. The walls could come crashing down around us, and I wouldn’t have the faintest idea. Finally, I join in. As soon as I do, he pulls back with another bite at my already swollen lip, and what he says almost causes me to melt on the spot. “I’m tired of fighting this.” He smiles against me before he lays his forehead on mine. “But I’m not tired of fighting with you. When you get bored fooling around with those little boys, you know where to find me. Until you’re mine, and mine only, I won’t touch you again.”

His words paralyze me so that it takes me a few minutes to register that he’s long gone. I didn’t even see him walk away. I stumble out of the little hallway and make my way to bathroom. What the hell did that mean? I know where to find him? He practically said he hated me. Why would he want to be with me? Ah, the answer hits me with such force, I release a strangled breath. I glance up to see my surprised reflection. Despite the way he feels about my reputation, he wants me for a one-night stand. God, and the way he hates me and wants to use me—that’s my attraction. Just what my self-destructive nature needs, a heaping pile of burning hatred to enflame my compulsion.
Self-hatred seeks match so that she can, once and for all, burn herself to the ground.
Fuck that. I’ve spent my whole life making sure that never happened.

When I emerge from the restroom, I feel like a new person. No longer torn. No longer divided. My eyes search the crowd. When I spot Greer next to the bar, I make a beeline for him. He’s leaning against the bar on one elbow, sipping his beer. One boot, propped against the metal footrest. His stance says
relaxed
, but his face says
wounded.

My eyes follow his to the current performer, and my jaw drops as the singer, and the noise he’s making, registers. I want to yell at him to quit butchering Alan Jackson, but Austin looks like he’s having a blast as he bounces completely out of time with the beat. I just shake my head and continue my path.

When I’m standing in front of Greer, he finally turns to me. I can tell that he saw me coming but just didn’t want to face me. I take his beer from him, and, keeping my eyes trained on him, I drain it. Even though the music’s bad, I pull him out onto the dance floor and wrap myself around him.

“I hated that. Every minute,” he says, pain coating his words.

“Don’t think about that for another second. I’m yours.”

“What?” He stops dancing and holds me at arm’s length.

My eyes pierce his for a moment, hoping he will see the truth in my words. “I’m yours, Greer. Always have been. Always will be.”

“You mean it?” he whispers brokenly.

I pull him back to me, and threading my fingers through his hair, I pull his mouth to mine. “I mean it,” I whisper against his lips before I kiss him lightly.

Over his shoulder, I glimpse Ransom. He’s smirking at me, all-knowing.

I keep my eyes on his as I run my lips over Greer’s for a second. He goes from smirking to scowling. Smiling against Greer’s lips, I finally close my eyes and lose myself in our kiss.

I pull back, suddenly realizing something. “Hey, what time is it?”

He pulls his phone out, grins at it. “One minute till midnight.”

“That’s how you got me to kiss you the first time, do you remember? You told me our birthdays kissed each other so it was only fitting that we did. You were only six, smooth operator.”

Grinning sheepishly, he admits, “Yes, but it was only a peck for years.”

“Think you can kiss me for a full minute and bring in our birthdays like old times?”

With a shimmer in his pretty blue eyes, he places a light kiss on my lips and whispers against them, “Definitely.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Denver

W
E’VE BEEN BACK
from Wyoming for a week, and he still won’t give it up. He told me he was gonna make me work for it—make me prove I haven’t said yes just because I wanted to use him for sex. Whatever would give him that idea?

The stress of all this back and forth with Greer and Ransom—that’s what I’m blaming. I know better than to do shots of tequila, but I’m on a mission to drown out my every thought, my every feeling. I know when my teeth get numb I should stop, but I don’t. It doesn’t help that Greer has matched me shot for shot, which is pretty rare. He doesn’t usually drink so much. I can barely handle tequila, so I know it must be kicking his ass.

I move myself against him to the beat of the song, and I realize that there is one feeling the tequila has amplified. I’m horny as hell.

“Hey, I’m gonna step outside for a minute. I’ll be right back,” he yells in my ear over the noise of the party.

Turning, I pull him in tight to me. I can feel him against my stomach, and I know that all our dirty dancing has him worked up. Maybe I will get lucky tonight. “Greer, I can feel how bad you want me. If you touch me right now, you’ll know how bad I want you too.”

He just laughs at me and gives me a quick peck before leaving me feeling lonely and turned on in the middle of the dance floor. I can’t even imagine the sad state I appear to be in.

I don’t stand like that for long. Austin barrels into me, almost knocking me over, since I’m pretty damn drunk. He reaches down and grabs me around me knees before lifting me and spinning me in a circle. “Nobody puts baby in a corner,” he yells at no one.

“What are you talking about, Austin? Put me down.” I slap at his shoulders.

“You looked so sad over here all by yourself,” he says as lets my body slide down his.

“You’re taking this Patrick Swayze thing a little too far.”

“I may not be able to sing, but I can dance,” he declares as he grinds his hips into mine and sways me back and forth. He actually can dance.