Once we make our way through the crowded club, we leave using the back entrance, and I fully see why. There are tons of flashing lights and shouts coming from all directions, and all of it is aimed at us. It takes my brain much longer than it should to play catch-up, and once I do, I realize the paparazzi are snapping pictures. The oddness of it all has me frozen in place. It isn’t until Baz’s grip on me tightens as he weaves through the people snapping photos and yelling out questions that I’m brought back to the present.
When we’re a safe distance away, he leans into me, angling his head so his mouth is at my ear. “If you’re uncomfortable being photographed, just keep your head down. We’re almost to the car.”
I pull back slightly to look up at him, and idly, I can’t help but wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. Paparazzi? I knew the guys were eligible bachelors, but I had no clue it was to this extent. Just then, someone snaps a photo of us, the flash damn near blinding me.
Thankfully, the valet pulls up, and the car that idles at the curb has my eyes doubling in size. Baz helps me inside, and the whole time, I have to try to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.
“Wow,” I breathe as I glance around, taking it all in. “You really are a freaking billionaire, aren’t you?”
Baz pauses and glances at me, wearing an unfamiliar expression on his face.
“Yeah,” he says as he takes off.
I opt to gaze out the window, looking at the Hollywood Hills during the silent ride. When we pull through a huge wrought-iron gate and drive down a winding road, I’m not even surprised to find a lone property sprawled along the top of the hill. The mansion is incredible. I mean, I’ve seen some great properties—perks of being friends with two rich socialites—but this … this is different.
The building before me is as sleek and modern as it gets. Clean lines, floor-to-ceiling windows, the works.
The inside is just as clean and immaculate with a masculine feel throughout the space. Dark mahogany, white, black, and other colors keep the vibe simple and manly. It’s a smart home, so every appliance, every light, every little thing you can think of either works based on his phone or is voice activated. Baz proceeds to show off the main points of the house, which are probably his favorite rooms—his office, his gym, and his bedroom, of course.
We eventually settle in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar. He gathers glasses for us while I’m still processing and trying to wrap my head around all of it.
“Want anything to drink?”
“Whatever you have is fine.”
I’m instantly nervous, but I can’t explain why. I’ve been alone with him already, felt him inside me numerous times; yet, I’m sitting here, my heel tapping the marble floor incessantly from my nerves.
I know I should use this time to get close to him. I should ask questions and start digging into his past and the past of the other Savages, but I just … I don’t want to mess this up.
Baz pops a bottle of wine, pouring some for me, but opting to drink the amber liquid. He leans against the counter and takes sips from his tumbler as his gaze remains glued to mine. Watching me.
It’s unnerving.
“What?”
“Just trying to figure you out,” he says, cocking his head to the side.
“What’s there to figure out?”
“A lot,” he replies vaguely.
Silence descends, and for once, it’s an uncomfortable silence, which is not something that’s ever happened with us.
I clear my throat. “Back at the club … on the top floor … what was he talking about? What rules?”
Baz shifts his gaze elsewhere and takes a long pull from his drink before answering. “It’s complicated.”
I raise a brow. “Care to elaborate?”
“Not really. I have more … pressing issues.”
My heart lurches.
Issues?
“Like?”
He scratches his neck with the tumbler still in his hand. “Like why you’ve lied about your name. Why you agreed to go upstairs back at the club yet looked completely disgusted with the guys when I walked in.”
Baz pushes off the counter, his eyes intently focused on me as he closes the distance between us. I snap my teeth together, my heart pounding erratically against my rib cage.
“Not just anyone gets invited up there by the guys, and even if they do get invited, they know exactly what they’re going up there for.” He pauses for a few seconds, letting that sink in for me. With the hand that’s holding his liquor, he rubs the pad of his thumb across his bottom lip again as he thinks. I realize now it’s habitual to rub his lip while he thinks about something. “I guess what I’m trying to figure out is, why you didn’t seem to have the slightest clue of what would happen up there. Or maybe you did. Maybe you went up there searching for something.”
My stomach tightens in knots when his words register. He can’t know, can he? There’s no way. I need to play this off. For all he knows, I went up there looking for sex, and even though that’s not the truth and may make me look like a whore, I’ll take it.
“Am I supposed to automatically know what goes on up there?”
“Not per se.” He takes another healthy swig. “I’m just trying to figure out how much of tonight was a coincidence and how much … wasn’t.”
The declaration almost has me falling off the stool. I school my features and inhale a sharp breath, trying like hell to keep my cool. He thinks after what happened between us last night, I orchestrated this whole thing? A part of me wants to shout that I was there to find out which one of them murdered my sister, but if I do that now, I’ll never have the answers I need. I need Baz to trust me. And right now, he doesn’t trust me.
Hell, I’m not even sure at this point if he likes me.
“Kat and Vera are party girls. Down to their core. That’s why we came here. They read about the club opening and suggested we come. As you already know, Kat set me up with a room at the Kings Resort, and when I met you last night … I had no idea who you were. I had no idea you owned any part of that club we’d eventually be going to. If that’s what you’re implying.”
He’s silent for a while. Long enough that he’s able to drain his tumbler and round the breakfast bar. He stops before me, mere inches away, crowding my space. His palms settle on my knees, and as though we’re both drawn to the point of contact, we both glance down. His tan skin against mine is such a contrast. His hands are like paws on my skin, larger than life, with protruding veins that travel up his wrists into his forearms. That ever-present spark of electricity is there, flaring like a livewire at his proximity. His hands on mine has my gut tugging with arousal.
His hands slide up my thighs, disappearing under my dress, and his fingertips pause before the apex of my thighs. My breath catches. My heart trips over itself, and that tug in my gut gets sharper, the ache in my core intensifies, and the thrumming electricity in my veins sends my blood rushing to my clit.
He nudges my knees apart with a gentle firmness and settles his firm body between them.
“What are you—?”
He cuts me off with his fingers swirling through my wetness. “No more talking, dirty girl. I’m not done fucking you yet. The night is still young. Wouldn’t you agree?” he asks with a grin in his voice. One of his fingers dips into my soaking channel, and when he pulls it out, he spreads my wetness along my clit, then rubs in firm circles.