When the ding of the elevator signaled that I’d arrived, I smoothed my hands along my jeans, pushed my hair back one last time, and stepped out. The room was already dimly lit, and I forgot about the rest of the world as I walked further inside. Dylan had a presence, something tangible that took me over when I was close to him.
The moment his darkly enticing scent—spicy male and expensive aftershave—washed over me, my knees wobbled, and I cursed myself internally for this weakness.Last time.Fuck, maybe if I repeated it enough, I’d possibly follow through.
“You’re late.”
It was a deep rumble in the shadows, his huge body barely visible, but I could see the glint of a glass as he sipped a whiskey.
“Sorry, the bus was late.”
Fuck. Stop it, Brooklyn. You don’t need to apologize to him.
Dominant men were my Achilles’ heel. I was like Pavlov’s dog, licking their damn boots because Blake had taught me to heel.
“Are we doing this or what?” I bit out, some of my anger leaking through my voice.
He stilled—I could see it even in the low light—and I wasn’t surprised. I never spoke to him like that.
He stepped forward, into the light thrown by a nearby lamp. Dylan was every dream I’d ever had of the perfect man come to life. Warm, brown skin, broad, masculine features, full lips, and eyes that were such a piercing green they could stop you in your tracks. He was huge, at least a foot taller than me, and built like he played professional football. No one would think he worked in an office pushing papers.
I still wondered if that was a front. There was a coiled lethality about Dylan that would make any person wary. Not even one part of him screamed “CEO.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, a small crease forming between his dark brows. "You're never late. What changed today, Serena?"
I flinched at the fake name I'd been using, biting my lip against all the lies I'd told him. Not that it mattered... Dylan Grant wanted one thing from me, and it sure as hell wasn't an open and honest relationship.
"I told you," I replied, folding my arms across my chest and swallowing a groan at the pain of that movement. "My bus was late. Not all of us own a garage full of fancy sports cars, you know." More lies.
Dylan stared back at me a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away.
I released a long breath as he moved to the minibar and poured two drinks—scotch, neat. Because that's what I'd ordered in the bar that night we met, trying to impress him, and now he thought I actually liked it. Another lie.
He handed me the crystal tumbler, and I took it eagerly. Our fingers brushed, and my whole body ignited with desire. He was like some kind of fucking drug habit that I just couldn't kick.
Our gazes locked, and neither one of us blinked while I took a long sip of the whiskey. My poker face held firm as the spirit burned a path down my throat and warmth pooled in my belly. It tasted awful, but it always bolstered my courage.
"You look beautiful," Dylan murmured, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "Flustered, but beautiful."
He looked like he wanted to push the issue further, so I took matters into my own hands. Rising up on my tiptoes, I cupped the back of his neck and pulled his lips down to mine. I must have surprised him. It just wasn't in my nature to make the first move, to assert myself, or to take charge. Too many years under Blake's control, and my father before him, had turned me into this... weak, submissive thing. I hated it. I hated me. But I had no way out.
Except when I was with Dylan. He made me feel things that I’d thought Blake had snuffed out. Like joy... andhope. But it was all bullshit, and it had to end.
Last fucking time.
So I'd better make it count.
He only hesitated a second before he was kissing me back. His full lips claimed me in a way that was all consuming, chasing away all the demons in my mind and leaving nothing but pure, undiluted lust.
I reached out blindly, dropped my glass on the table beside us, then threaded my other hand up to knead the strong muscles of his neck. Like any good drug, the more I had of him, the more I wanted. Needed. Fuck me, this would be hard to give up.
My lips parted, and he didn't miss a beat, his tongue slipping in and meeting mine with that demanding passion he always brought to our hookups. Fucking hell, he was good with that tongue.
"Wait," I gasped as his hands slipped under my T-shirt, lifting it slightly. "Can we turn the lights off?"
Arousal clouded my brain so much that I couldn't find a subtler way to ask. I just knew that if he stripped my shirt off now, even with the soft glow of lamplight, he'd see what Blake had done to me. The ache in my body said that the bruises were in full bloom now, and the last thing I needed was Dylan asking questions.
"Sure," he agreed, but not without giving me a slightly suspicious look.
He was so fucking smart. He needed to be in his line of work, I guessed.
