Page 18 of The Summer We Lie

She walks away, head high, that perfect ass swaying slightly with each determined step. The restaurant seems to fade around her retreating figure, peripheral details blurring as my focus narrows to her disappearing form. I'm left sitting there, wanting nothing more than to make her submit to me.

To break that fire just enough to forge something stronger.

To own that defiance and turn it into surrender.

I've never wanted anything more in my life.

Chapter Nine

Skye

I burst through the restaurant door and gulp down the evening air like I've been drowning. My hands tremble violently as I fumble for my phone, nearly dropping it twice before I manage to type out a message with shaking fingers.

Me: Huge asshole. I just left, be there in a few. Order us some food, I'm starving.

Harper: On it! I'm sorry. Hurry and get here.

I shove my phone back into my purse with such force that I hear something crack—probably just my Chapstick, but at this point, I'm too angry to care. The hotel's only about three blocks from here, and honestly, I need the fresh air to cool me off before I explode into a million frustrated pieces.

That man. That infuriating, gorgeous, terrible man. When I first walked in and saw him standing there, I almost forgot how to breathe. Tall—like, ridiculously tall—with shoulders that filled out his expensive suit in a way that should be illegal. The fabric draped perfectly over his frame, obviously tailored specifically for him, probably costing more than my entire wardrobe. Dark hair with a little grey sprinkled in, giving him this distinguished look that screamed power and experience and made my stomach flip in ways I didn't want to acknowledge. And his eyes—intense, almost predatory, the kind that strip you bare without him saying a word, making me feel simultaneously exposed and desperate for more. Strong jaw, perfect mouth, hands that looked like they could break something or fix everything, with long fingers that I couldn't stop staring at.

I wanted to climb him like a tree right there in the hostess station, and the realization mortifies me.

But then he opened his mouth, and I spent the next thirty minutes in a battle with myself over whether I was turned on or pissed off. My body and brain waging war while I tried desperately to maintain some semblance of composure. In the end, anger won out—thank god.

The things he said to me. The condescension dripping from every syllable. The way he looked at me like I was some naive little girl who'd wandered into adult territory. "I will break you in half." His words echo in my head, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine that travels all the way to my toes. The worst part? Some traitorous part of me wanted to say "please do," and I hate myself for it.

I take another deep breath of cool night air, letting it fill my lungs completely before exhaling slowly. What is wrong with me? The man practically called me a child, insulted me to my face.

But those eyes when he grabbed my wrist... dark and commanding, like he could see past all my defenses and straight to the part of me that responded to his dominance despite my better judgment...

I shake my head violently, my hair whipping around my face. No. Absolutely not. I won't give him the satisfaction of occupying any more space in my thoughts than he already has.

I walk into the hotel lobby, pressing the elevator button repeatedly as if that might make it arrive faster. When it finally does, I ride up to the seventh floor, trying to focus on literally anything but him. As I step out, a group of guys—probably mid-twenties, clearly pre-gaming for a night out based on their cologne cloud and exaggerated laughter—pass by on their way to the elevators. They stare and whisper among themselves, nudging each other, and for a second I wonder why, until one breaks away and falls into step beside me.

"You want to go down to the bar with us and get a drink?" he asks, all confident smile and styled hair that probably took longer to arrange than mine did.

"I can't drink, I'm underage," I say truthfully, and he grins wider, like my honesty is somehow an invitation.

"I won't tell if you won't," he says with a wink that I'm sure works on plenty of girls.

"No thanks. I'm meeting a friend," I reply, clutching my purse a little tighter.

"Well, if you change your mind, we'll be down there all night," he says, his eyes traveling down my body in a way that makes me want to put on a sweater. "You can bring your friend too. The more the merrier."

"Okay, thanks," I say, walking off with absolutely zero intention of meeting them, my pace quickening as I approach our room.

When I get to our door, I use the key card to enter, walk straight to the nearest bed, and face-plant with a dramatic groan that comes from the very depths of my soul. Harper is on me in an instant, the mattress dipping as she sits beside me, her vanilla perfume enveloping me in familiar comfort.

"What happened?" she asks, her hand rubbing soothing circles on my back, instantly making me feel better like she always does.

I roll over, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before launching into the whole sordid tale—his arrogance, his insults, the way he looked at me like I was both a problem and a temptation that he couldn't quite resist. I describe his imposing presence, the electricity I felt when he touched me, and how much I hated myself for responding to him on any level. By the time I finish, my throat feels raw, and room service has arrived with the burgers and fries Harper ordered, the smell of greasy comfort food filling our room.

"What a complete dick," she says, passing me a plate heaped with food. "Though he sounds hot," she adds with a knowing smirk.

"Irrelevant," I mutter, biting into my burger with perhaps more force than necessary, ketchup squirting out the other end.

We spend the rest of the night vegging out, renting a couple of old movies and cuddling together on the couch, sharing a blanket and occasional commentary. The encounter gradually fades from the forefront of my mind as Harper's hilarious observations about the terrible special effects make me laugh despite myself. But even as I drift off to sleep later, those dark, commanding eyes follow me into my dreams.