As if reading my thoughts Solene groans aloud, "Jesus, Declan, and you carried me out in front of them? We’ll be all over the internet in a few seconds."
"We’ll be all over the internet one way or the other. If not now, then when you’re spotted running back to LA, and when I’m photographed taking the next flight out to my shoot. This way, at least, we’re seen together."
"So, we can propagate the lie that we’re still a couple?" She huffs.
"We are still a couple."
"Ha! That’s a load of bull, and you know that."
Anger suffuses my chest. A pithy retort boils up my throat, and I clamp my lips closed. I will not lose my temper—not until I’ve had a chance to talk this out with her. It’s what I decided before coming to the wedding, knowing full well I was going to see her here. I shoulder my way through the back door of Sinclair Sterling’s townhouse, where Abby and Cade decided to hold their wedding, then stalk through the busy kitchen. A uniformed waiter stares at us openmouthed before stepping out of my way. Another waitress stops halfway to loading plates of food on her tray. She tracks my progress across the now silent kitchen, her gaze wide.
"They’re looking at us, asshole," Solene hisses.
"No shit." I reach the door, push it open and step through, leaving commotion in my wake.
"Where the hell are you taking me?" She bucks in my grasp, and I slow my steps, so I can carry her safely.
"Stay still," I bark.
"And if I don’t?" She brings her fist down into my lower back, and goddam, I feel that punch all the way to the crown of my cock. The blood empties to my groin. My balls tighten. Fucking hell, I need to have that conversation with her. I cannot afford to think with my dick—not right now. I glance up and down the corridor, then head toward the last door at the far end, pushing through to find myself in a spacious bathroom. Finally. Fuck.
"Declan, you asswipe... Put. Me. Down."
"Gladly." I kick the door shut behind me, twist the lock, and head over to the chair in a corner of the room where I sit down and throw her over my lap.
"What the—?" she splutters.
I lean one arm over her waist to keep her in place, then raise my palm and spank her butt. One, two, three, four. I lay them down in quick succession, on opposite arse-cheeks of her leather skirt covered backside, then push her off so she falls to the ground on her rear.
She sprawls there, blue streaked hair flowing over her face, chest rising and falling. Those slight curves are shown off to perfection in the bustier which cinches in at her waist. Her skirt rides high, and I spot the garters she’s using to hold up her fishnet stockings.
The dress code of the wedding was casual, and Solene took it to heart. She came wearing her get-up of an upcoming popstar, which is what she is. Which is what I encouraged her to be. And damn if the look isn’t sexy as fuck. Combined with her flashing brown eyes and trademark dark-red lipstick, which I’d give anything to have smeared around my cock, she’s a walking, talking wet dream.
My cock lengthens further, stabbing into the crotch of my jeans. Told ya—the dress code was strictly informal.
"You piece of shit," she snarls, then shakes the hair off her face. "How dare you spank me?"
"You like it. If I thrust my fingers between your thighs, will I find you wet, Solalee."
She swallows. "Don’t use my nickname to try to soften me up."
"If I were trying to soften you up, I’d have my face in your pussy, my tongue inside your sopping wet channel, and you’d be crying my name as you tugged on my hair and came all over my mouth."
"Oh, god." She squeezes her legs together and throws her arm over her eyes. "Stop talking dirty to me."
"You never could resist word-porn baby."
"Don’t... Don’t change the topic." She pushes up to standing, then plants her hands on her hips, "You did that on purpose. You knew the pap was right behind us."
"I might have seen him hiding in the bushes, yes."
She gapes at me. "You…you admit to giving him a reason to splash us across the tabloids."
"If this is the only way to assure the world that all is right with us, then so be it."
"There is no us." She tips up her chin. "There has been no us for the last three months."
"And who’s fault is that?"
"You’re the one who was so busy with the PR for your upcoming release that you had no time to call me," she spits out.
"You’re the one who embarked on a tour of fifty cities in five months. And then you wonder why you’re so tired you’re unable to answer your phone whenever I call you?" I growl.
"I was focused on my career," she snaps.
"So was I."
We stare at each other, and the air in the bathroom thickens. Unsaid words, emotions, feelings press down on my chest, and my stomach churns. Bloody fuck, it is partly my fault that this relationship has deteriorated to where it is. Open your mouth and apologize, you asshole. Tell her it’s all your fault. Tell her you’ll do everything possible to make it up to her. Tell her she’s more important to you than your career. Tell her…you care for her. Tell. Her.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. If I tell her the truth, she’ll hate me. She’s going to loathe me soon enough. She’s going to be livid about what I’ve done. She’s going to tell me to fuck off and out of her life as soon as she finds out the truth of what actually happened with that woman. You screwed up your life, you wankhole and soon enough, she’s going to find out. And then, she’ll want nothing to do with you ever again, but until then… Until then, I have these last few minutes with her and I’m going to make the most of them.
I rise to my feet, then walk over to her, until the tips of my shoes brush hers. "I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you more."
Her shoulders hunch, and some of the fight seems to leach out of her. "I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to keep in touch."
"It’s no joke, trying to live up to the reputation that a first hit song confers on you."
"It’s no joke, trying to follow up a monster hit first move with another. I know how much you need it to consolidate your reputation at the box-office." She searches my eyes. "But I’m not sure I can look past your refusal to tell me what that woman means to you."
"She means nothing."
"Then why were you comforting her?"
"She’s an old friend."
"You mean an old girlfriend?"
I wince.
"So, she was an old girlfriend?"
"I met her before you came on the scene. You know I have a past, Sol. You know I wasn’t a monk before we got together."
"I don’t care about your past, except when it infringes on your present, and what I saw between the two of you hinted at something more than just a man consoling a weeping woman." She looks between my eyes. "Please, Declan, tell me what she means to you, please."
"I owed someone a favor, and he called it in."
She frowns. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
"Whatever happens, whatever you hear from me next, can you promise you won’t judge me?"