Except that certainty hadn’t come last night. And it sure as fuck wasn’t here tonight, either.
All he could think about as he strode down the stairs to the main club floor was that he’d well and truly fucked up. She was within her rights to never forgive him. Hell, he wouldn’t forgive him if he was in her position.
And wanting her forgiveness had nothing at all to do with the damn album.
“Fuck.” He settled into an empty spot at the bar and waited. Just because he was giving her space didn’t mean he was going to leave before seeing her safely into a cab. She wouldn’t thank him for the babysitting detail, but he’d never forgive himself if something happened to her because he wasn’t watching. What the hell am I thinking? Something is happening to her. He’d hoped against hope that the rumor he’d heard about her old man selling her off to one of his allies was false.
The look on her face had told him otherwise.
Knowing she was destined for a political marriage was like watching a hawk get its wings clipped, or a tiger be declawed. While it was possible that she’d maintain the fiery personality and streak of wildness that called to him on a level he wasn’t prepared to deal with…it was just as likely that her future husband would kill that part of her, leaving a dead-eyed Stepford wife in her place.
The thought burned. Beating some sense into Seamus O’Malley sounded satisfying as fuck, but ultimately it wouldn’t change anything. Nothing James did would change anything.
And hell if that knowledge didn’t stick in his throat.
The minutes ticked by, but it wasn’t too long before Carrigan appeared at the top of the stairs like some kind of fallen angel. He couldn’t see her eyes from where he stood, but he imagined her a queen surveying her kingdom. The moment her gaze landed on him, her body went tense. He waited, curious to see what she’d do. She marched down the stairs, her hips swinging with each step. But instead of coming to give him a piece of her mind, she shot him a look and disappeared onto the dance floor.
That shit was a dare if he ever saw one.
He was moving before he made a decision to, stalking after her. People took one look at him and parted like the Red Sea. He walked through them without pausing, stopping when he caught sight of her, her hands above her head, her eyes closed, her body moving with the writhing beat of the song.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His plans to keep his distance went up in a puff of smoke and he closed the space between them, needing to touch her more than he needed his next breath. James slipped behind her, resting his hands on her hips. It took all of three seconds to pick up her rhythm and match it, fitting himself behind her. She arched back against him, her arms looping around his neck and her head resting on his chest as they ground together.
Stupid. This wasn’t part of the plan, wasn’t part of keeping control of the situation. Because if anyone was in control right now, it was Carrigan. She guided him with the rolling of her hips, her ass against his cock, the heat of her searing through his clothes as if they didn’t exist.
Unable to help himself, he coasted his hands up her sides to frame her ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts with every other beat. She moved closer in response, rotating in his grasp until they faced each other, her chest pressed against his chest and her fingers twined in his hair. She went onto her tiptoes, dragging her body up his, and he groaned in response. “James?”
“Yeah, lovely?” A little voice tried to pipe up to point out that he’d give her damn near anything with her moving against him like this, but he ignored it, waiting for her answer.
“I might want you…” He tightened his grip on her hips. She laughed, a sound he felt more than heard. “But you try that manipulative shit on me again, and I will go for your throat.” And then she was gone, slipping through his arms like smoke. He stood there like a damn fool, sporting a hard-on for the record books and watching her walk away. He shook his head and followed. Head games or not, his needing to see her safely to a cab hadn’t changed.
Fuck, he was almost proud of her for turning the tables on him so efficiently, even if he was going to suffer for it physically. He could weather a little suffering and, to be honest, he’d seen a whole hell of a lot worse. James grinned. He followed her out of the club, letting her pull ahead, and leaned against a wall as she flagged down a cab. Only once it veered back out into traffic did he turn and head for his ride.
Damn that woman, but he only got more intrigued with each interaction. He looked forward to seeing what the next one brought.
That small voice in his head tried to pipe up again, tried to remind him that she wasn’t his and never would be, but he ignored it. She wasn’t married yet and if she was willing to play, he was more than willing to go the distance.