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“I did!” he exploded. “Because I never thought you…”
“What? Finish that sentence, Gage.”
He took a step closer, backing me toward the car. “Tell me, princess, how would you have felt if you’d woken up in my bed this morning? Because you were absolutely begging me for it.”
I flushed, knowing it was true, and then zeroed in on a new target.
“I guess it’s good that I’m not your type.” I threw his words back at him. I’d lost track of how many times I had done so. It was childish to cling to it, but for some reason I couldn’t let go of what he’d said that first night we met. Even if maybe…he’d known I was terrified that he’d planned to do more than take my soul. Even if he’d said it because there was no other way to ease my fear. Or maybe he was just as riddled with unwanted hormones and feelings as I was. But I was tired of holding my breath to see if he would take it back or if he meant it. “Although, I suppose you’ve made it clear that you’re willing to look past that minor inconvenience.”
His eyes went wild, his nostrils flaring. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?”
His tone left little room for doubt about what he thought.
The problem was…he was probably right. I lifted my chin. “I repeat, I guess it’s a good thing that I’m not—”
“So help me Gods, if you say you’re not my type again,” he snarled. I was pressed against the glass now, so close that we were sharing the same breath, so close that my breasts grazed his chest, so close that I could not tell if that was his heart racing or mine. I braced one hand against the rain-soaked car, the other flattening across his lower abdomen, torn between pushing him away and running my fingers over the flat plane beneath them. He didn’t break eye contact, his forehead nearly resting on my own as he placed a hand over the one on his stomach and gently encouraged it lower. He didn’t force it, and he didn’t have to—not when I so badly wanted to touch him. Not when I’d been thinking about it since last night into today, long after the ambrosia was out of my system. Because the tension that stretched between us wasn’t the bargain. It wasn’t the muddled effects of fairy wine. It was edged and honed as if every moment we spent together had been sharpening into something too dangerous for either of us to ignore. I moved my hand lower, my palm drifting over the undeniably, heart-stoppingly hard length of him.
He gritted his teeth. “Does that feel like you’re not my type?”
My entire body heated as my fingers stroked over him, realizing Lachlan could back up every smirking, arrogant, egotistical thing he had ever said to me. I wondered how many cameras the hotel had on the parking lot, on the row of expensive cars, on the one I was pressed against at the moment. How many guards were monitoring us right now. I hoped they enjoyed the show. Because I didn’t think I could make it farther than the hood of the Mercedes before I needed him inside me. His lip curled as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
“I already dented it. Might as well see what other damage we can do.”
Apart from showing up at the Avalon, this was quite possibly the stupidest, most reckless thing I’d ever considered doing in my life—and I was already considering doing it twice. He leaned in so close that his dark lashes fluttered across my skin. His mouth slanted, and…the black security door to the hotel banged open.
“Everything okay out here? Need any help?” Roark called over, amusement coloring his voice.
“No.” It wasn’t so much a word as it was a command—or, rather, a growl.
“I thought you might be having trouble getting back to court, since you’re just out here in the rain,” Roark continued a bit too gleefully to believe his intentions.
Lachlan never looked away from me, his gaze holding mine. “We. Are. Not.”
I was going to drown in those eyes. But whether it was Roark’s presence or some latent sense of self-preservation, I managed to tear myself free from them. Lachlan didn’t try to stop me as I ducked beneath the cage of his arms. Neither of us was ready to give in. Neither of us wanted to be wrong when our lives were bound together. Not when I still didn’t know why he’d made that bargain. Not while my unease grew that I wouldn’t like the answer if I figured it out.
But as I raced for the door, trying and failing to dodge more rain despite already being soaked, I knew we were an inevitability—as undeniable as the crash of thunder after lightning shatters the sky.
Chapter Twenty-Five
We’d been dancing for hours, and I still hadn’t had enough. That might have been because Ciara had talked me into taking one teeny shot of ambrosia when I wouldn’t stop pacing in her bedroom. I’d blamed it on my failed attempt to reach Channing. I had tried to call him. I wasn’t sure he would call back. But while that bothered me, it wasn’t why I was anxious. I hadn’t told Ciara what else had happened—or, rather, what hadn’t happened—with Lachlan this afternoon. I wouldn’t until I decided if Roark had ruined my day or saved me from making a huge mistake. So, I’d taken one shot to get out of my own head, and then another.
The song morphed into a deeper, hypnotic beat, and I swayed between Sirius and Shaw, my perpetual companions for the evening. Mostly because they were the only ones who could keep up with me. But before I could really get the hang of the new rhythm—not that I was a good dancer, just an enthusiastic one—a petite hand closed around my wrist and wrenched me with inhuman strength away from the dance floor.
“I need to sit down,” Ciara called over the chaos of Alouette. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Next to her, Titania continued to ignore me. The Hallow Court princess had sneered when I tried to introduce myself before we’d left the Avalon. She hadn’t spoken a word to me during the five-minute car ride to the club or after we’d been shown straight past the velvet rope. Apparently, looks were all she shared with her twin. I almost wished Oberon was here instead.
“We’ll never get through,” I shouted as a stranger accidentally hip-checked me. Ciara shoved them away and tugged me to follow.
Alouette was busy for a weekday, bodies packed into the converted warehouse in a writhing mass of sweat and skin and alcohol. We struggled to move through the crowd until our dancing partners got involved. The speed with which Alouette’s patrons parted for the incoming fae males, even with their human glamours completely intact, was downright biblical. A few apologized and pressed themselves against the velvet draping the walls. Most simply scattered like the neon-pink light tubes pulsing to the beat overhead.
But they weren’t clearing it fast enough for Ciara, especially when a guy wearing a blue suit jacket unbuttoned to reveal a smooth, bare chest danced toward us. He grinned as he slurped down his drink. “Hey, there.”
Shaw started to push forward to take care of him, but before he could, his sister grabbed the man’s jacket, lifted him off his feet, and deposited him behind us. He stumbled back in surprise, spilling his drink down his front. He cursed at her as he swiped at the liquid dribbling down his abs.
Shaw bared his teeth in response, the neon light making him look like the devil himself. The guy backed away, and we kept walking to the far side of the club.
I lifted my hair off my neck, trying to cool off, as we reached the stairwell. The guard stationed in front of it nodded hello to Ciara and moved to the side. I doubted there was a bouncer in New Orleans who didn’t know her. Shaw bumped the guy’s fist as we started up the steps. It was at least five degrees cooler on the upper floor and quiet enough to hear the hum of neon illuminating a brick corridor. Shaw and Ciara bickered as she opened a canary-yellow door. I tried to ignore them as I filed in, still fanning myself.