The Wedding Rescue, Book Three(8)
I wasn’t the kind of girl to have casual sex. I wished I were. Life would be so much simpler if I could be like some of my friends, going out to clubs on the weekend to find a guy and get laid. I’d tried it, but it had felt wrong. Either I’d liked the guy and ended up feeling used, or I was just attracted to him, and I regretted it later. So I knew myself well enough to understand that, as much as I’d like him to be, Dylan wasn’t an exception. I was falling hard for him.
And it wasn’t the clothes, the jewelry, or the orgasms. It was him. His strength, and the combination of power and gentleness, the way he could be demanding and then sweet. How he wanted me to follow his orders, but he was thinking of me the whole time.
How could I resist falling for a man like this? I couldn’t. Every time I got a hint that I wasn’t just a weekend fling, my hungry heart ate it up. I was heading for disaster. I knew it. I couldn’t stop myself.
The servers made a last trip in with dessert and coffee. One more course, and we could escape. Fortunately, the wedding party was finished with their speeches. Another one of those and I would have fallen asleep at the table. Dylan and I both started on our chocolate torts with raspberry sauce. I sipped my coffee, trying to offset the glasses of wine I’d had with dinner. I didn’t know what the rest of the night would bring, but I didn’t want to be tired.
Putting down my fork, I pushed back my chair. Some of the guests had gotten up to wander around and socialize. I had to find the ladies room, and this seemed like the most inconspicuous time to do it. After my (hopefully silent) orgasm at the table, I hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to myself than necessary.
“I’ll be right back,” I said to Dylan, picking up my purse so I could refresh my lip gloss. Dylan narrowed his eyes and nodded.
The ladies room was down a long hall outside the entrance to the private dining room. I expected it to be crowded, but there was only one other woman in there, an older lady I didn’t recognize. I did what I had to and spent a few minutes fixing my lips and adjusting my hair, pleased to see that even without panties, and after a mind blowing orgasm, I still looked pretty damn good.
I was feeling satisfied with myself right up until I pushed open the bathroom door and ran into Peter. The men’s bathroom was down the hall and there was no one else in the ladies, so he could only be waiting for me. Wary, I tried to edge around him. He shifted to block me and grabbed my wrist. A hard yank on my arm wasn’t enough to shake him off. I lifted a foot to go after his instep again, but he jerked on my arm, knocking me off balance. In my sparkly, stiletto heel sandals, it was impossible to dig in and resist when he pulled me into the shadows down the hall.
“Relax,” he said, tugging me closer to him. “I just want to talk to you.”
“I don’t think we have anything to say.”
“I think we do. You misunderstood me earlier.”
This, I had to hear. Was he going to apologize? Or demonstrate that he was even more of a pig than I thought?
“Leigha,” he said, tugging me closer.
His breath smelled like sour coffee. It was an improvement over his cologne. My nose rebelled, and I tried to breathe through my mouth. How could Christie stand him? He was rich, and she loved money, but couldn’t she find someone less repellant to marry?
“I know you’re wondering how my proposal would work, with you here and Vegas and me in Chicago. But you don’t have to worry about that. I have a new contract that means I’ll be in Vegas all the time. We’ll hook up while I’m here, and no one will ever know.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do you think I can’t take care of you? Once Kane is done fucking you, you’ll want another sugar daddy. Why not me?” Peter raked me with his eyes, taking me in from my breasts to my toes. He didn’t bother looking at my face.
“I didn’t think you had it in you,” he went on. “You always dressed in those frumpy clothes, I had no idea what you were hiding under there. Your tits alone - ”
I jerked back on my arm again, too disgusted to worry about losing my balance. Peter was too offensive to listen to a second longer. I no longer cared if I caused a scene. What gave him the right to treat me like a piece of meat just because I was dressed up for once? And what about my sister? Calling him a pig was an insult to swine.
Peter tightened his hold on my arm, refusing to let me go. He opened his mouth, probably to say something else insulting, and I couldn’t help myself. I was in the wrong position to jab him with my heels, but I still had one free arm. Without thinking, I swung my fist at his face.