Page 34 of Reckless Desire

He turns and I swear their faces are only inches apart. I can’t hear what he answers, but based on London’s languid smile, I think they are back to flirting.

Sydney is staring in front of her, tapping her fingers on the table. If she was a pianist, a rock beat staccato would deafen us for sure.

She grabs a glass that sits in front of London and takes a generous sip. There are four empty glasses on the table and London has only taken a sip here and there from hers. Has Sydney finished all these drinks?

As she raises the glass again, I seize her forearm. She lowers it but doesn’t look at me.

I lean in, her scent causing all sorts of reactions in my body. She tenses against me. “I don’t work as an escort anymore,” I whisper in her ear.

She whips her head around and glares at me, her eyes flaming. She shakes her head, as if trying to rid herself of a disturbing image. Why is she still pissed at me? It’s not like I didn’t call her. I thought she was uneasy about facing me after she never called me, but now I’m almost confident she is angry with me.

“Are you just going to ignore me all night, Sydney?” She winces. She fucking winces. “Or shall I call you Mrs. Lowe?” I add to provoke her. Because now I’m pissed too.

Screw. Her.

“I have to use the bathroom.” Her face suggests urgency. She looks at London, but her sister ignores her plea for company. What is it with women going to the restroom in groups, anyway?

I stand up to let her out of the booth. She stumbles and I grip her elbow to steady her. Her skin is smooth and warm and something cracks between us. Our eyes meet and there is a moment of… I don’t know of what. Goddammit. I’m regrettably attracted to this woman.

She looks at me bewildered and jerks her arm away.

I sit back down and watch her push around people. Just before she gets sucked into the mingling crowd, I admire her swaying hips. That ass.

Stop it.She’s Caro’s teacher for fuck’s sake. Besides, she is clearly annoyed by my company.

“I’m going to get us another beer.” I stand up. Ash thumbs up my way, but his attention is fully on London, the two of them having a great time.

I weave through a group of suits to reach the bar. It takes a good fifteen minutes before I order and return. Ash’s tongue is down London’s throat.

“Where is Sydney?” Has she left? She can’t have been in the bathroom this long.

“She went to get us more drinks.” London pulls away from Ash and adjusts her top to cover her cleavage.

Fuck. Sydney doesn’t need more drinks. I look around and spot her gulping down a cocktail before she clutches four more to her chest, trying to make her way back to us. The drinks are sloshing all over her hands and shirt. She keeps bumping into people and I leap forward to help her.

I snatch the glasses from her and she stumbles into me. Now the drinks are all over my clothes. I drop them on a high table beside me, the party around it not paying attention. I snake my arm around Sydney’s shoulders to help her.

She smiles at me but loses balance again after tilting her head. But the smile was genuine. Don’t they say drunk people are sincere? She lowers her forehead to my chest and wraps her arms around my waist.

She mumbles something. “What?” I lean in.

“The ground is swi-sw-swirling,” she slurs.

“I’m sure it is, sweetheart,” I say, as my macho genes kick in and all I want is to take care of her. She clings to me tighter and I try to ignore the warmth spreading around my chest, the feeling of peace and the twitch behind my zipper. Damn it, she feels good against me.

“You smell so good, Hunter. Did you know I went to the perfume department a few times, sniffing the bottles, trying to find your scent?” She giggles.

I kiss the crown of her head as her admission free-falls into the crevices of my soul. Sydney Lowe will have a hangover tomorrow. My symptoms might be more severe.

ChapterTwelve

Sydney

Someone must have fed me glue. I would investigate further, but a headache is pushing behind my eyeballs. I don’t think I can open my eyes. Shit. Is it morning? I peek with one eye, but it’s dark. Good. I can still sleep.

What day is it? Saturday? No. Shit. Tuesday. School.

I sit up, but the wave of nausea and throbbing in my forehead throws me back to the pillows. Why am I so sick? And disoriented. My mind travels in several directions when I finally pinpoint the bar. London. Cocktails. Hunter.

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