Page 84 of When Hearts Collide

A tall column of heat radiates from behind me and I feel him pressed against my backside.

His breaths are heavy next to my ear, his voice chilly as he says, “Fred. Why are you here with him? Are you dating him?”

I whirl around, not able to withstand this insanity any longer. “Is it any of your business, Professor? I thought you and I weren’t meant to be and what we did in the past were mistakes. What did you say? ‘We should make the right choice for the future?’ Why the hell does who I date matter to you?”

He towers over me, his face glowering, his skin flushed, and a pulse throbs rapidly on his temple. His gaze darts to my mouth, then to my chest, and his eyes darken, pupils dilating. He leans in slowly, like he can’t help but be drawn to me.

My heart shoots to my throat and my eyes flutter shut. I tilt my head upward, waiting for the moment those soft lips claim mine in a burst of savagery. When he finally gives up this farce we are in and accepts that he and I belong together.

But the kiss never comes.

My eyes fly open and I find him straightening up, glaring at me with lust, want, and a plethora of emotions flittering across those soulful eyes.

“You’re right. I don’t give a damn.” He takes a deep breath and smooths his anguished expression into one of calmness, the face he gives to the press and the public. “Enjoy the rest of the party, Ms. Callahan.”

He steps away from me and joins the rest of the group back by the bar.

My body trembles, and I keep in the frustrated scream bottled up inside me. Big breaths. Inhale for five counts, exhale for eight. Calm the nervous system.

I close my eyes and fight the mental war against the swirl of negative energy wreaking havoc on my psyche.

Compartmentalize.

Deep breaths. I force myself to release my clenched fists and bunched shoulders, focusing on my breathing, on doing anything other than thinking of him.

He wants me, it’s obvious, but for some reason, he thinks he’s doing me a favor by stepping away.

The noble idiot.

The infuriating madman.

I heave out a deep exhale and walk to my friends once more. Grace lifts a brow when she sees me stomping toward her.

Reaching her in a few strides, I pause and whisper in her ear, “Set it up for Monday. I’m in.”

Let the games begin.

Chapter 33

I splash cold water on my face, my gut crawling with dread. The foreboding sensations coil inside me like the ominous wail of a tornado siren.

It’s wrong. This scene. Me at Noire. What I’m doing. Everything feels wrong.

Blowing out a deep breath, I glance at the mirror and swipe the droplets off my face with my hands. My eyes look bloodshot, but I guess that makes sense since I haven’t been sleeping as much, as my dreams are haunted by a certain brunette with blue eyes. Eyes that beckon, tempt, and see too much. Eyes that make me want to abandon my cage and jump into the fire. Eyes that make me forget I am Ryland Anderson, but instead make me believe I’m just Ryland, the man.

I grab a paper towel, wipe my hands, and look at my outfit for the night—a classic gray Henley paired with dark-wash jeans. My usual scene outfit. Easy to run in and to replace if things get rough.

After a long exhausting day of meetings with the finance team at the company and our bankers, getting our ducks lined up in a row for the IPO, which is still progressing well, and a phone call from Jacob telling me he’s spoken to the Board about the honorary doctorate, I should be excited for this, getting back out there, as Maxwell put it.

It’s been so long since I’ve stood here in this grand bathroom of black marble and chrome, befitting of a club named after the color. You haven’t been here since you met her.

When we had our first renovation of The Orchid ten years ago, I suggested adding this club to the Rose floors because I needed it. I wanted to chase, to hunt, to overpower a like-minded partner as I slaked my lust with them. I wanted to feel the leather straps around my chest snapping off and be reduced to impulse and intuition, to experience true freedom. Perhaps when I was hunting, I was overpowering all the rules and responsibilities that came from being an Anderson.

But now, standing in the bathroom I helped design, I don’t feel an iota of excitement, the emotion I usually feel before I step into the faux outdoors, when I know freedom is at my fingertips.

Instead, I think of her, the woman I can’t keep out of my mind. I remember how angry I was when I saw her at Grace’s event a few days ago, in the arms of another man.

I have no claim over her, but God, do I want her.

---