Page 17 of Wild Fixation
Seth’s eyes glide toward me, and I realize with a jolt that I’ve been staring. His face doesn’t change, as hard and unflinching as ever, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away like I might expect. He stands there staring, and I stare right back, too tipsy to care. The warm chocolate of his eyes pierces the haze of sweat and booze in the club. His mouth is a firm, unflinching line, his jaw hard and scratchy with beard. He stands with his arms crossed over his chest, perhaps a casual pose, but it shows off all his carefully curated muscle, and my mouth goes dry.
Anyone. I could have anyone in this club. I’m invincible right now. I’m fearless with alcohol. Yet I can’t stop staring at the one man I can’t have.
It doesn’t help that he still hasn’t looked away.
Body warm with a seeping, crawling heat that wells up from deep in my gut, I leave Shawn at the balcony and strut up to Seth. He doesn’t flinch at my approach, but the unrelenting line of his mouth hardens, a gash carved into stone.
“Come dance with me,” I say, bold and stupid.
Seth’s scowl deepens.
“Please? It’s my birthday.”
He rolls his eyes. “I am not dancing.”
“Why not? It’s fun.”
He doesn’t bother responding to that, and I grab for his folded arms, meaning to pry them open. I miss, even from this close, and suddenly the world is spinning worse than it was a moment ago.
A hand catches my waist. A big, strong, steady hand.
Heat flushes through me before I’m steady enough to look up and find Seth holding me. He lets go almost immediately, recrossing his arms like the moment never happened, but the memory of his hand lingers on my skin through the porous mesh of my shirt. It’s like a brand, the heat searing my skin long after his hand retreats.
It’s all I’ll get tonight.
I know it. I knew it before I ever stepped into this club, but that doesn’t cool the hot flash of frustration that burns through me. I’m rich. I’m famous. I can have anything and anyone I want. Except the one person I want.
I stomp toward the stairs without thinking.
“Where are you going?” Seth calls.
“Dancing,” I declare.
Seth’s eyes dart around. A couple people jump up from the VIP seats to follow me. Seth waves and one of his guys sweeps in to take his place beside the stairs.
I pay attention to none of it, continuing my charge toward the dancefloor below with a small army on my heels. If Seth won’t dance with me, someone else will. He isn’t the only big guy in this club … he’s simply the one I like and trust the most.
I shake my head. Like and trust doesn’t matter. I’msupposedto like and trust Seth. He looks after me, takes care of me, protects me. He’s my bodyguard. He’s only doing all that stuff because he has to.
That’s why he’s all but running after me.
I ignore him, ignore everyone behind me, all but sprinting for the dancefloor. The dark engulfs me, cloaking me in anonymity as I wade into the throbbing crowd. I put my arms up, letting other bodies batter me about, letting the sway of the music move me. Humanity clusters around me, rendering me an anonymous face in the crowd, a nameless guy in a dark club, no one special at all.
I spin and find Seth watching me. He stands at the edge of the crowd, stern and concerned. Is he supposed to look concerned? If he’s only doing a job, then why are his eyes bright and frantic when they catch on me?
I wade out of the throng and up to him, repeating the same plea I issued upstairs: “Dance with me.”
“No,” he says flatly.
“Why?”
“Because I’m working,” he says. “For you.”
My frustration boils over. “Well then as yourboss, I want you to dance with me.”
Seth’s scowl carves deeper into his face. “That isn’t happening.”
He stands as immovable as a boulder, and just as hard and cold. His arms are crossed over his chest again, his pecs pushed up in a way I need to not notice if I’m going to maintain my indignation. Too late. My eyes flicker down, and when I manage to drag them back up, Seth swallows hard enough that I see his throat bob.
