Better When He's Bold(3)

By: Jay Crownover

“I make money, sweetheart.”

And he did. I shifted uneasily on my too-tall shoes and tried not to let him see how my pulse fluttered under his unwavering gaze. There was something about being desired by a man that you knew could destroy anyone in the room. It shouldn’t feel good, shouldn’t make my thighs clench and my insides pulse, but it did . . . he did.

I smirked at him and tossed the longer part of my razor-straight bob over my shoulder.

“Race is an entrepreneur of sorts.” The kind you would only find in a place that was as dark and as broken as the Point.

Adria obviously wanted to ask more questions. I saw her open her mouth, but before she could get a word out, a loud BANG rang out and the typical college party I had been using to try and escape the aching reality of my every day turned into a chaotic riot.

There was no mistaking the smell of gunpowder as pandemonium erupted and more shots rang out. I went to grab Adria, but because we were so close to the door, a flood of panicked bodies separated us in a split second. I felt hard hands grab me and pull me out of the way of the stampede. My face was pressed into a rock-hard chest and a big hand held my head down as I was roughly moved through the press of running and flailing bodies.

My heart was in my throat and I heard the gun go off one more time, followed by the shriek of a female voice. Race let out a litany of swearwords from somewhere above my head, and he let me go for just a second. I heard glass breaking, felt him shift, pull me along behind him, and then the cool night air was around us. He set me away from him a little bit, but grabbed my hand and proceeded to pull me along behind him. Our feet crunched over the broken glass of the back door he had obviously shattered in order for us to escape.

I was panting and running in stilettos and skinny jeans after a guy with legs twice as long as mine, which was practically impossible to do, but I did it. He didn’t stop until we had rounded the yard on the other side of the house and made our way across the street. Most of the other partygoers had dispersed, and the wail of sirens could already be heard in the distance. I put my hands on his chest and pleaded with him:

“We have to find Adria.”

His eyes were practically black, full of emotions I was scared to name.

“I can’t be here when the cops show up, Brysen. I have to go.”

I gasped at him and balled my hands into fists so I could thump him on the chest—hard.

“Help me find her, Race!”

He just shook that perfect blond head and gazed down at me.

“You’re the only one I was worried about.”

My heart tripped, but the sirens were getting closer and he was moving away from me. I grabbed on to his wrist and realized I was shaking so hard I could barely hold on to him.

“Don’t leave me.” My voice sounded scared and lost. I didn’t know what to do in a situation that involved guns and violence. It unnerved me how nonchalant he was with it all.

The shadows in his eyes moved and his mouth turned down at the corners. Before I could react, his hands slid around the back of my neck, under the edge of my hair, and he yanked me up onto the tips of my toes. I clasped both hands around his wrists, tried not to freak out when my chest flattened against his. I pretty much just dangled there while he proceeded to kiss the shit out of me.

It was dark, people were stumbling about drunk and bewildered, I was worried about my friend, and I was angry at him . . . always angry, but for the first time since I had laid eyes on him, all that want, all that tangling, greedy lust, was let loose, and I kissed him back.

It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t sweet and filled with tangible longing or loving care. It was brutal, violent, hard and hot, and nothing in my entire life had ever felt better. His tongue invaded. His teeth scraped. His hands bruised, and I could feel his erection through the front of his jeans where we were pushed together. I should’ve protested, said something to make him stop, but all I could do was moan and rub against him like some kind of wanton cat in heat.

And just when I was contemplating curling around him, coiling into that big body and making myself at home, he dropped me, stepped back, left me blinking up at him like an idiot, shook that golden head, and disappeared into darkness without another word. I stared at the spot where he had been, wrapped my arms around my chest, and tried to keep from falling apart on the spot.

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