Page 13 of Cruel Fate

“Do you think less of me?” He trails a finger over my jaw and down my neck. My skin flushes, and suddenly I’m burning up. I don’t blame that woman one bit for letting Zane use her.

“Before Zarah invited me out, I didn’t think about you at all.”

That’s a blatant lie, but he doesn’t have to know it.

“Ouch,” he says, pulling away.

Immediately, I miss his touch. I want him on top of me, his knee nudging my thighs apart. I want him teasing my clit with the tip of his cock, his body quivering with the anticipation of being inside me.

My pussy is swollen, and my panties are wet.

I squirm.

“You don’t have a very high opinion of me.” He chooses one of the shots the waitress left behind, tips his head back, and swallows. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he says, “You think I’m a partier, a male whore, a little boy playing a grownup’s game, over his head in a business he doesn’t understand. You think I’m a fuckup, that I don’t know what I’m doing.” He slams the little shot glass onto the table so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. “Well, you’re right. I’m all those things.”

Zane pushes out of the banquette and strides down a dark hallway.

I feel horrible, and I wonder if I should follow him. He’s hurting, but maybe he knows someone here and he’s gone to find her. We aren’t a couple—he can see whom he likes—but if I catch him with another woman after kissing me last night, I’ll never want to see him again.

The thought breaks my heart.

So does the thought that he can’t give me what I want.

What I need after a childhood of misery.

I don’t see Zarah and Ash. I can’t ask either of them to check on Zane. I take a gulp of champagne and slide out of the banquette, the leather smooth and supple under my butt.

The hallway is dark but crowded, outlines of couples standing around making out. Men with men, women with women, one woman is with two men, and they both have their lips on her. I recognize a couple of movie stars. People I wouldnever come into contact with in my regular life. I rush by and try not to gawk.

Zane stands outside on an empty terrace, the wind whipping past him, fluttering his tie. Only a few potted, dying plants and a sculpture of an angel keep him company.

He looks at me, and I reach for him. He stiffens, but the neighboring buildings glimmer silver light revealing his pain, and it keeps me from retreating. I hold him close and he buries his face in my hair. We line up better than we did last night. My heels give me a couple more inches, and I use the extra height to fit myself snugly against him.

Zane whimpers, and I tighten my grip, letting him have all the time he needs. I never needed to process what happened to my parents. You don’t have to get used to what was always there.

He lifts his head, and his cheeks are dry—he’s managed not to cry. I admire his strength, but sooner or later his grief will be like a dam that bursts, and I don’t know if I want to be there when it does. His pain could threaten to drown me, and I don’t know how to swim.

Zane leans forward and I tilt my head, ready for his kiss. He needs it, but after causing some of his misery, I need to give it more.

His lips are soft, and they tremble. He frames my face in his hands as his mouth devours mine, and I cover the tops of his hands to hold them in place. Heat gathers in my belly. I want him to make love to me, but not here. I don’t want a quick screw on a cold terrace. I want him to love me while he makes love to me, but I don’t know if Zane is capable of that. If he’s capable of that with me.

One of his hands drops down my back, his fingers grazing my skin, and settles on my ass, searing me like a cattle brand. I’m all in, but it’s too soon, too fast.

Too intense.

I break off the kiss and fight for breath, and he sags against the cement balustrade, his eyes closed.

The kiss didn’t help him. It only made him more confused because of my mixed signals. I step between his legs and rest my head on his shoulder. There’s no question we’ll end up together, and I might as well stop fighting it. We have too much misfortune in common.

He hugs me and presses his lips to the top of my head. “Why, Stella?” he rasps.

We’re already that connected I know what he’s asking, but I don’t have the answer. Chemistry? Pheromones? There’s an explanation, a scientific explanation why it only took one look from him to feel like I’m being electrocuted.

I can only say, “I don’t know.” That’s pretty damned close to the truth. I really don’t know anything about him, Zarah, or their lifestyle. Two people couldn’t be more perfect for each other, or less suited. “Let’s go inside. Zarah and Ash might be looking for us.” I want Zane around his friend and sister. I want him to remember people care about him. That’s all I can do right now.

He lets me lead him inside the club, but the flashing lights accentuate his pallor, and the pounding music seems like it’s physically pummeling him. Stepping close, I grasp his hand. He squeezes my fingers, and I let out a breath. For a second, he didn’t look so good, and I was afraid he’d gone into shock or someplace even darker.

Zarah and Ash are at the banquette drinking a fresh bottle of champagne.

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