Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
But I can’t. My head’s stuck on wondering what’s happening with Conor and Kai. Has he made the drop? Is he safe? Not that I think Conor can’t handle himself, but what if something went wrong? Ten grand is a lot of money to be carrying around. He could’ve gotten stopped by police, or worse. There are a hundred ways tonight might have gone wrong for him, and I can’t even find out if he’s okay. He’d just ignore my call and then I’m right back where I started—worrying about him, afraid for him.
It occurs to me I could have done more. I should’ve told his roommates or Hunter to stop him. Or to watch his back at least. Damn it, why didn’t I do that?
If something happens to Conor, I’d never forgive myself.
I’ve just decided I have to make a call when I hear a low growl of warning and Danny and I are suddenly yanked apart.
33
Taylor
“What the hell, man?” Danny shoots forward to confront the intruder, while I stand there blinking in confusion.
What the hell indeed. What is Conor doing here?
“You’re done here,” a tuxedo-clad Conor answers, his tone cool and efficient.
“I’m sorry, what?” Danny frowns. Takes another step. Although he stands a few inches taller, his build is slight compared to Conor’s more muscular frame.
“You heard me.” Tension pours off of him, and there’s a barely contained fury in his eyes as they burn through mine. “Thanks very much, but you can go now.”
“Hey.” Eric steps beside his teammate. “I don’t know who you are, but you can’t be—”
“I’m her boyfriend,” Conor snaps, but his intense stare remains fixed on me.
“Taylor?” Danny prompts. “He your boyfriend?”
I glance at Danny, then back at Conor, and I’m momentarily startled. Conor standing there under the flashing lights in a tailored black tuxedo, his hair combed back from his face…it’s like meeting him again for the first time.
I’m struck by the pure sexual magnetism of this man. For the last week I’d been so busy being mad at him that I’d forgotten how hot he is. Enough to turn the heads of nearly every female in the room. Even a few alumni are peeking over their shoulders, while their middle-aged husbands take a turn at feeling inadequate after leering at twenty-year-olds all night.
“What are you doing here?” I finally ask, ignoring Danny’s question.
Sasha grabs my hand and squeezes it. I don’t know if it’s for moral support or she’s thinking of making a run for it with me, but I squeeze back even though I can’t rip my eyes from Conor’s.
“You invited me,” he says thickly.
“And then you dumped me.” The anger returns without warning, and I cling tighter to my best friend’s hand. “Consider that your invitation revoked. It also means you don’t get a say in who I dance with.”
“The hell I don’t,” he growls. He takes my other hand and pulls me forward. Like a fool I allow my grasp to slip from Sasha’s.
“What are you doing?” I demand with bitterness searing on my tongue.
He tugs me against him and holds me close, and it’s like my body remembers even if my head is trying to forget. “Dancing with you.”
“I don’t want to dance.”
And yet I melt into him. Not because he wants me to, but because despite the anger and hurt, my nerves respond to his touch. It’s simply natural with him.
I look over my shoulder, seeking out Danny’s gaze, and I know he reads the apology in my eyes because he nods ruefully. Sweet, shy Danny. Life would be so much easier if he was the one my heart pounded for, but he’s not. Because life isn’t fucking fair.
“We need to talk,” Conor says.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Good, that’ll make this easier,” he replies, guiding us to the beat. He moves and I move with him. Not hearing the music so much as feeling his intention. It’s a charged, fervent, passionate exchange, as if our bodies are fighting to put themselves back together. “I’m sorry, Taylor. For all of it. Ignoring you and blowing off tonight. I didn’t mean any of it.”
“You left,” I tell him, with all the repressed rage that has built inside me over the last week. “You walked out on me.”
He nods sadly. “I was ashamed. I didn’t know how to talk to you about what was happening.”
“You broke up with me.”
The accusation hangs in the air. Even while our bodies touch and our eyes meet, there’s still distance between us. An electric fence of regrets and betrayals.
“You backed me into a corner. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You’re an asshole,” I say, seething at the pain he’s put me through this week. It doesn’t go away just because he shows up here looking good in a tux.
“You look gorgeous tonight.”