Page 62 of Endless Love

TWENTY-EIGHT

Ryan

My hand still reeling from his intense handshake, I studied him. Though I hadn’t written a book in over four years, that’s what writers did.

Gustave Fontaine.

Though several inches shorter than me at perhaps five ten, the man projected power and exuded sex. He was lean and swarthy, with a headful of unruly black hair and a dark layer of stubble dusting his face. His lips were full, his nose carved like a Greek statue’s, and his eyes the color of steel, razor sharp beneath his dense brows. Dressed in a sleek, obviously expensive black suit that showcased his muscular build and a black high-collar shirt, he reminded me of a sleek black panther ready to strike. A mixture of madness and animal magnetism flickered in his irises as he tapped the shiny black cane he was holding. A tense silence filled the air between us. His gaze held me fiercely, and I’m sure he was likewise sizing me up. Without warning, he broke the ice.

“So, you fuck her.”

A statement, not a question. I was taken aback. That sure wasn’t something I was expecting from some asshole I knew for less than five minutes.

“Excuse me?”

He stabbed the tip of his cane into my shin. “You heard me. You fuck Willow?”

The indignity of him! Rage surged inside me like mercury. I could feel my blood heating.

“None of your fucking business.”

A smirk crawled across his lips. As if I’d given him his answer.

“Do you give it to her hard? The way she likes it.”

As his words whirled around in my head, he poked my shin again with his cane. “Do you fuck her in the ass? Slap it a few times to make it rosy pink? Bite her nipples until she whimpers? Pull out of her until she’s begging you for more?”

Ready to explode, I clenched my fists by my sides so I wouldn’t strangle him or punch him out. The last thing I needed was to get into some bloody fistfight with my mother’s guest of honor in front of all her society friends.

“Excuse me, I need to find my girlfriend,” I gritted out, putting special emphasis on the possessive adjective.

To my surprise, he laughed. “I’m surprised Willow is even attracted to someone as ordinary and vanilla as you.”

Willow was all sweetness. A deliciously sensuous fuck. What didn’t I know about her? How could she ever be with a dick like this?

“She should be on the stage dancing, not wasting her time with some pedestrian prick. She’s made for greatness. And for fucking greatness. She’ll never stay with you. Never!”

Clenching my teeth, I saw Willow heading our way. She looked wan and disheveled, and her steps were unsteady. I wrapped a protective arm around her as she met me.

“Ryan, I want to go home.”

Gustave held her hostage in his steely eyes. “Willow, I am your home. The ballet is where you belong.”

I swear he had a hypnotic effect on her. Her eyes glazed, she swayed a little on her feet.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go. I’ll just say goodbye to my mother and I’ll take you home.”

About to whisk a dazed Willow away, a pencil thin but stunning blond woman intercepted us. A horrific smell permeated the air around her. Her catty eyes narrowed at my girl.

“Fuck you, Willow Rosenthal. You’re going to pay for what you did to me.”

Gustave wrapped an arm around the irate woman. “Calm down, my princess.” Then, he focused his fierce gaze on us. “Perhaps, we’ll see the two of you tomorrow night.”

My nostrils flared and my muscles clenched. After Charlotte, Gustave Fontaine was the last person on earth I ever wanted to see again.

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