I growl at the professional tone of her voice, knowing she’s holding something back by not using one of the nicknames she always calls me. “Hads, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing.” She stands and dashes out of the room, but not before I notice the tears forming in her eyes.
A second later, I push myself out of the chair and chase after her, catching her in a secluded hallway. “I said, talk to me, Baby Girl.” I grab her arm and spin her around, backing her up against the wall until our bodies are flush, my leg pressing between her thighs as my hard shaft presses against her stomach.
“Don’t call me that.” She tugs at her arm, trying to break free of my hold, and finally gives up when she realizes it's a losing battle. Her body goes slack in my arms as she accepts defeat. “This isn’t the real me. If you saw me earlier today, before I hadthe makeover, you wouldn’t be attracted to me.” Her eyes drift down to where our bodies are touching as I finally understand what she is talking about.
“This has nothing to do with how you look tonight.” I lean closer to her, pressing my body against hers, emphasizing how hard she makes me. When she doesn’t say anything, I crash my lips into hers, showing her without words what she does to me.
She stays frozen under my touch for a few seconds until finally she starts to kiss me back. I pray that I’m kissing her correctly since I’ve never done this before—I’d hate to screw this up by being a bad kisser.
When she moans into my mouth and wraps her arms around my neck, I realize my kissing can't be that bad. With her mouth open in a moan, I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, finding her tongue and rubbing mine against it.
Her kisses are like a drug—I want more of them, just as I want more of her. I lift her leg, pulling her closer to me, but it still isn’t enough. With one arm around her waist, I pull her tight against me, then run my hand up the slit in her dress until I reach her soaking-wet panties. Like a man possessed, I push the wet material to the side and glide my fingers over her naked flesh, coating them in her arousal.
“Holls.” She moans, her head falling back against the wall. I dip two fingers inside of her, groaning as her pussy clamps down on them, pulling them into her core.
“You’re so tight.” I run my tongue down her neck, only stopping to suck on the tender skin. My thumb brushes over her clit, causing her to jerk in surprise. “Relax, Hads, and enjoy.” I pump my fingers gently into her tight heat as my thumb strokes her clit.
“Hollander, I’m going to come.” She thrashes her head from side to side, so far gone in pleasure that I decide not to punish her for calling me Hollander instead of Holls or even Vanilla Thunder. “Right there. Don’t stop.” Her hips fall into a rhythm, meeting my fingers thrust for thrust. “Yes.” Her voice quivers as her body shakes as she comes, coating my hand in her lust.
A loud cough cuts through our sexual haze. “We should probably get out of here before things go any further.” The Senator says from a safe distance away, making sure to give us the privacy we need.
I glance down at Hadley, expecting the soft glow of a woman well pleasured. Instead, the same damn tears threaten to spill from her eyes. Before I can question her, she pushes my hands away and straightens her dress, then pushes past me as Klaire rushes to her side, slides an arm around her, and leads her out into the night, with the Senator and me following behind.
The Senator grabs my arm before I can slide into the back seat of the limo. “Give her some space. I didn’t see everything that happened between the two of you in the dimly lit hallway, but I know that look on a woman’s face—she needs time to figure out what she’s feeling.” His voice was only loud enough for me to hear.
“Respectfully, Sir, I’m not sure I can stay away from her, especially not now.” I don’t add that she has me so tightly wrapped around her little finger that just one taste of her lips won’t be enough—I need everything.
The Senator shakes his head with a smile. “You know, maybe I should be more like you when it comes to women—you aren’t afraid of the unknown.” He slides into the back seat, his eyes landing on Hadley and Klaire, who are sitting together, holding hands. I notice Klaire glaring at me while Hadley stares out the window. With a sigh, I take the seat next to the Senator, but I suddenly feel a sharp elbow in my ribs. “Fix it,” he growls. Which is exactly what I plan to do. I’m not losing my Baby Girl.
six
Hadley
“Okay, spill the tea.What is going on with you and Hollander?” Klaire and I are barely inside my bedroom when she slams the door and quizzes me.
“I don’t know.” I sit on the edge of the bed, still trying to make sense of what just happened with Hollander in the Speakeasy hallway. I loved it yet hated every minute of it. The fact that Hollander was so turned on by me was empowering—only to be ruined by the realization that it was my new look that had him all over me.
“Now I know you’re lying to me.” Klaire sits on the bed next to me and pushes my hair over my shoulder. “I think you know exactly what is going on with Hollander.”
The genuine kindness in Klaire’s voice breaks me, and I end up telling her everything about Hollander, from our first shift together to our personal conversations, to him calling me Baby Girl and me calling him Vanilla Thunder, to him asking me to be his date for his friends’ wedding, to how I really look. “So, that’s why I’m so upset—Hollander would never fall for the real me—this is all fake.” I lift my hand to my hair and face, then down to my body.
“First of all, nothing about you is fake. You’re hardly wearing any makeup, and smooth hair doesn’t make someone beautiful. And your body is absolutely gorgeous. I’ll admit, when I first saw you, I was jealous that you were going to be Matthew’s girlfriend, even if it was fake.”
“But you don’t know how disappointed Hollander will be when he sees the real me, in baggy clothes, with wild hair and nomakeup—and don’t forget the glasses.” I can feel my anxiety spiraling just thinking about his reaction.
“Who hurt you?” Klaire takes my hands in hers, searching my eyes. “Who made you so insecure that you would ever doubt your beauty?” Klaire’s question catches me off guard.
My grandmother raised me after my parents died when I was ten. My grandfather had died years before I was born. As I got older and talked about going out with friends or even dating, my grandmother would give me a look that made me feel self-conscious. She even picked out my clothes, telling me that tighter clothes were unflattering for my figure.
She was the one who encouraged me to stay home and play games on my computer, saying I was better off staying home than risking having my heart broken by a boy who wouldn’t see past my full figure and frizzy hair. Because of her passive-aggressive behavior, I never had friends or went on dates. I can’t even ask her why she said all those awful things, since she passed away three years ago.
“My grandmother,” I choke out, letting the tears fall freely. “She died a few years ago.”
“Oh, Hadley, I’m so sorry, but you have to live your life now—stop hiding and go after what you want.” Her words rip through me, making me want to lash out at her and make her hurt as much as I do.
“What about you?” I rip my hands out of hers and stand up. “Why are you hiding your relationship with the Senator? Whyaren’t you going after what you want?” When I see the sadness in her eyes, I hate myself for what I said to her and try to take it back. “I’m sorry, Klaire. I didn’t mean that. Your situation with the Senator is way different than mine with Hollander.”
