Page 55 of Enemies

A guy from Ash’s crew brushes up behind me. He’s fit and attractive, but when he moves closer, reaching out to draw me against him, I pull back. “I can’t.”

He shrugs and returns to dancing.

I’m in the middle of the biggest club in the world, crushed because a rich, entitled man I have no reason to care for doesn’t believe in me.

It’s not possible to hate someone and like them at the same time.

Is it?

The next time the song transitions, everything changes.

The first chords are familiar.

I feel them in my body before I hear them.

I spin and latch onto Ash, who’s dancing with a few other guys, by the front of his shirt.

“Was this you?” I demand, but Ash shakes his head.

I stumble back, searching for Harrison. Pushing through the crowd, I scan the sea of faces and bodies. It’s an impossible throng, but I wade through anyway, tripping over my shoes until strong arms grab me at the edge of the dance floor.

I look up to find Harrison King looming over me, cool and breathtakingly beautiful.

“It’s my song,” I shout, my heart thudding against my ribs.

I squeeze my eyes closed, imagining me playing this song from the stage.

As much as I’ve grown to care about Debajo, mixing at La Mer would make my career. Hearing my song in the place cements the possibility that it can happen.

That it will.

When I blink my eyes open again, he’s closer than before. He smells like man and the ocean.

His hands find my waist when I threaten to tip over from the giddiness.

I straighten with his help, his face inches from mine.

Those eyes are hot, his mouth parted.

I’m at the world’s biggest party, and all I see is Harrison, filling my vision.

“This was you,” I accuse. My fingertips dig into his corded biceps, the tense muscles holding me up.

“You fucking?—”

He shuts me up with his mouth.

His lips claim mine, rough and impatient and a little bit desperate.

He’s warm and hard, delicious and sharp. His heat and scent wrap around me.

It’s less like kissing than an attack, but an unplanned one by a skilled fighter.

The feel of him has me tingling, every nerve ending alive and throbbing. His hard body is pressed to mine, his heart hammering faster than the beat surrounding us—the one I made myself.

The hardness grinding against my stomach would steal my breath if his kiss hadn’t already.

The music pulses around us, the crowd throbbing.

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