A frown creased her brow. “Is everything okay? You’re acting weird.”
No, they’re not. Things haven’t been okay since the day I first saw you.
“I thought something happened to you.” The roughness of my voice startled me almost as much as the intensity of my relief.
I shouldn’t care this much. Nothing good ever came from allowing other people control over my emotions.
But goddammit, I did, no matter how much I hated myself for it.
“Next time, let me know before you run off.” The roughness deepened into a command.
I had no desire to experience the terror that had gripped me in the past ten minutes again.
It was ugly, foreign, and completely unacceptable.
“I didn’t run off. I went to the bathroom.” A hint of fire flickered beneath Stella’s words. “I don’t need to tell you every time I leave your side. That wasn’t in our agreement. Besides, you were busy.”
“You were in the bathroom for half an hour?”
“Someone spilled champagne on my dress. I was trying to fix it.”
My eyes dropped to the small, dark stain on her skirt.
“It didn’t work.” Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth. “I’m so sorry. I know how expensive it must’ve been. I’ll find a way to pay—”
“Fuck the dress.” It’d cost nearly ten thousand dollars, but I couldn’t summon two shits about what happened to it.
If I had my way, I would tear it off her myself.
A hot, heady awareness replaced my panic. No one else was in the hallway, and Stella’s scent—fresh, subtle, but damn intoxicating—clouded my head.
The memory of her in the car, staring at me with those big green eyes and parted lips, her hard nipples all but begging me to take them in my mouth and taste how sweet they were, flashed through my mind.
Not unlike the way she was staring at me now, only this time, defiance sharpened the edges of her softness.
And fuck, that was a turn-on.
Heat rushed to my groin until my cock ached with a painful throb.
“What I want…” I pressed a thumb against the pulse at the base of her neck. Its wild flutter told me she wasn’t as indifferent to the pull between us as she pretended to be. “Is for you to be safe. There are bad people in this world, Butterfly, and some of them are in the room right outside. So next time, I don’t care if I’m in the middle of a conversation with the Queen of fucking England. Interrupt me. Understand?”
Stella’s eyes narrowed. “Butterfly?”
Beautiful. Elusive. Hard to catch.
When I didn’t answer, she released an exhale that caressed my chest and tightened my groin to the point of pain. “Is that all you want?”
“Not even close.”
A tiny shiver rippled through her. “Because you don’t want to go through the trouble of finding another regular companion for events.”
“Because I don’t want to be jailed for murder if anyone touches a hair on your head.”
A grim smile touched my lips when her eyes widened. She had no clue who I was or what I was capable of.
Meanwhile, I knew more about her than I cared to admit.
Frustration and loathing burned beneath my skin.
I pushed myself off the wall and stepped back.
Adjusted my cufflinks.
Tried to ease the relentless, pounding need in my chest.
“It’s time to return to the party.” Ice cooled my voice. “Shall we?”
We returned to the party in silence.
I didn’t take my eyes off her the rest of the night and told myself it was because I didn’t want a repeat of my earlier scare.
After all, I’d always been good at lying to myself.
9
STELLA
“Stella! I know you’re in there. Open up!”
Oh no.
I buried my face in my silk pillowcase, hoping the voice would go away, but knowing its owner, they would camp out in my hall until I inevitably had to leave for fresh air and food.
My morning visitor was nothing if not persistent.
“Stella Alonso! You can’t hide from me.” A pause, followed by a more conciliatory, “I have matcha.”
A groan escaped into my pillow.
I shouldn’t have put Jules on my list of approved visitors, but I also hadn’t expected her to beat down my door at…I raised my head and glanced at my digital clock…seven fifty-four in the morning.
Since she was already here and the chances of her leaving without answers were slim, I forced myself out of bed and into the living room.
I wish I’d had more time to prepare for human interaction. I hadn’t even gotten the chance to wash my face yet, much less meditate or practice my morning yoga.
I stifled a yawn as I swung open the door and blinked at the fuzzy purple-clad figure in front of me.
“It’s about time.” Jules stood in the hall, one hand planted on her hip and the other carrying a drinks tray from a nearby coffee shop. “Five more minutes and I would’ve broken down your door.”
“With your arm strength? Doubtful.”
I cracked a smile at her offended gasp. “Who are you and what have you done to Stella? She would never say something so hurtful.”
“The Stella you’re talking about typically doesn’t have people pounding down her door at eight in the morning.”
I rubbed a hand over my face. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than how much I’d rather crawl back into bed.
“First of all, it’s eight oh-five. Second of all, can you blame me after the bombshell you dropped on Instagram yesterday? You—” Jules exhaled sharply and smoothed a hand over her fuzzy purple coat. “No, we’re not doing this in the hallway. Let’s talk inside. Can I come in?”
“Would you leave if I said no?”
Her laser stare burned through her giant sunglasses and into my skin.
Right.
I sighed and opened the door wider. “You mentioned matcha?”
I gave up on coffee years ago because it worsened my anxiety. Matcha lattes were the closest I came to espresso these days.
“Yes. Consider this my bribe for all the juicy details.” Jules handed me the drink as she waltzed inside and pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. “Now…” She inhaled a long, deep breath. “You’re dating someone? You called him my love? How did I not know about this? How long have you been dating?”
I winced at the increasing volume of her questions while a construction crew invaded my head.
Bang. Bang. BANG!
Every swing of a hammer reverberated through my skull with bone-rattling force.
How much did I drink last night? Not that much, right? I usually limited my alcohol intake to three glasses per night, but I wouldn’t be this hungover after three glasses.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to piece the fuzzy pieces from last night together.
Baby turtles. Whiskey eyes. Champagne and gowns and…
“Is that all you want?”
“Not even close.”
The memory of my encounter with Christian slammed into me with such force it knocked the breath out of my lungs.