Page 20 of Release Me
‘You should. It’ll be so much fun.’ Zara gives me one last hug before she slips out, the click of the door leaving silence in her wake.
I settle onto a barstool, tugging Rian’s oversized t-shirt around me like armour as he makes me a coffee, strong and dark, just the way I like it. The boy pays attention. ‘She was up early,’ I remark, gratefully accepting the mug he places in my hands.
‘I asked her if she had any of this at her place.’ He walks back over to the counter, picks up a brown paper bag, and places it in front of me like evidence. A bottle of maple syrup gleams inside, along with a box of American pancake mix.
He rubs the back of his neck, his muscles flexing invitingly beneath his shirt. ‘I know the ready-made stuff is cheating. But I figured it was safer than setting the place on fire. My housekeeper won’t be back until tomorrow. I didn’t want to pop out myself in case you woke up to an empty apartment.’
My heart squeezes, warm and aching all at once. This man. This ridiculously thoughtful man. He’s dangerous.
‘Youarecoming tonight, right?’ He asks as he takes out the pancake mix.
I sigh. ‘Anthony’s on the warpath.’
‘Fuck him.’
Four words dance on the tip of my tongue.
I’d rather fuck you…
I swallow them back before I can get myself in anymore trouble.
‘Okay. You twisted my arm. Not that it took much.’
Rian dropped me home just after breakfast, his t-shirt still hidden under my coat like a dirty secret I couldn’t quite let go of. I spent the afternoon torn between common sense and temptation. The sensible part of me said I should cancel, stay home, avoid adding fuel to the fire. But the reckless part—the part that still feels the ghost of Rian’s hand around mine, the warmth of his voice in the small hours—demands to see him again. He’s an addiction I can’t kick. Which is why I’m ready and waiting at seven thirty when Ivy texts to say her driver is outside waiting.
Besides, Hozier is one of the best acts of our generation. And it’s in an intimate venue, where my friends have a private box, which will no doubt be overflowing with champagne. I’d be mad not to go.
Oh, who am I kidding?
It’s not Hozier I’m going to see. Not the velvet-draped balconies, the champagne on ice, or the promise of music so powerful it’ll rattle my bones.
It’s Rian.
I’m going for him.
Because he makes me feel more alive than I have in years. Because I can’t stop thinking about last night. About the wayI feel when his eyes are on me. About the heat in them, and the way he looks at me like I’m the only woman on this planet—when in reality, I’m the only woman he can never touch.
Zara’s right; we’re playing with fire.
Chapter Eight
RIAN
I try my best not to stare at the entrance like I’m waiting for someone special to walk in, even though that’s precisely what I’m doing. The Olympia glitters tonight. The balcony is draped in gold. The velvet curtains are a deep shade of bronze. Bollinger fizzes in crystal flutes all around me—the bubbles a direct mirror of what’s going on inside my stomach. The knowledge that any minute now the woman who spent the night in my apartment is about to walk in is killing me.
Sean leans against the railing of our private box, his arm draped around Layla’s waist like she’s his crown jewel. She is, really. Princess or not, she’s got my brother grinning like an idiot every five seconds. And I just know whatever he’s whispering in her ear is utter filth. A pang of longing hits my stomach like a punch. Not for Layla, obviously, but for the easy intimacy she and Sean share.
Adjacent to them, my brother Killian is bickering with Avery in that sexy, can’t-keep-their-hands-off-each-other way they do.
James and Scarlett are canoodling like horny fucking teenagers as usual.
And me… well, I’m the entertainment—as usual.
‘So, tell me,’ I say, topping up my own glass. ‘Are any of you stunning beauties ready to replace my boring old brothers for a new, improved, younger model?’ I tease, waggling my eyebrows.
Humour’s my weapon.
Always has been.
