Greyson. The ceremony takes a million fucking years.

The ceremony takes a million fucking years.

I stand here armed with my SIG semiautomatic, just over two pounds of steel, but my cock feels twice as heavy and my chest ten times as much. I’m like week-old roadkill. Seeing her crying yesterday wrung me out. Now her gaze is stripped naked of emotion as she seeks me out in the crowd, and I can’t even process how I feel.

From the moment she stepped out of the limousine with the bride, I groaned at the sight of her. I’m still raging with the impulses to get close to her, touch her, smell her.

Melanie’s a bundle of contradictions in a bridesmaid’s dress. All smiles, but snapping out orders like a general. I watched her pull the train of the bride’s dress behind her so it “looked pretty” while a dark-haired girl with a frown passed a set of flowers to the bride. Melanie avoided looking at me. Maybe on purpose, maybe not.

Now that the vows are done, I’m on the sidewalk outside the church, impatient. There’s a chorus of people around, but above their noise, I can hear her laugh. I turn my head and see the priest saying something that delights her. God, I want to kiss that fucking laugh to silence. Then I want to do something to wake it up again so it trails into my mouth, where I can trap it. Taste it. Play with it.

When a group starts to gather around the limousine, I don’t waste another minute. I close the distance between us, stopping a mere two inches behind her, taking a moment to enjoy the fetching picture she makes: loose hair tumbling over her shoulders, tight red silken dress down to her ankles, the open back dipping in a V that ends almost at the start of her round, perky ass.

“Are you deliberately ignoring me?” I murmur, sliding my hand around her waist.

“No.” She smiles down at the sidewalk as she tucks her hair behind her ear.

I drop my head until my lips are almost grazing that ear. “Good, because I’m not someone you ignore.” Using my grip on her waist, I pull her back against my front. I’m testing the limits, glad that instead of making any sort of protest, she leans against me.

Good fucking sign, King.

Fuck, now I’m itching for more. Taking her by the elbow, I ease her away from the crowd and tuck her into an alcove near the entrance to the church.

Her breathing’s heavy, and that’s an even better sign. She wants you too, she wants you just like you want her.

I push her up against the stone wall using my body. Her breasts press against my chest, her thighs against mine. A low groan gets trapped in my throat as I slide my lips over the lids of her eyes. To say I’m starved is an understatement. I wish I had ten hands—two are just not enough as I run my palms up her sides, fingers cupping her butt and then pinning her to my hips so I can feel her, alive and perfect, safe and untouched.

She nuzzles my throat and takes a deep breath as if she craves my scent. I squeeze her against me, feeling her shiver in my arms.

I’m highly trained.

I can sense fear, arousal, excitement.

But the mixture I seem to produce in her intoxicates me more than anything ever has. I bring her tighter to me. A gasp leaves her lips, and it takes everything in me not to bend my head and take it. No. When I take those red-painted lips, I’m not stopping until she’s naked beneath me and I’m as deep as a curse inside her.

Tonight, I vow to myself.

I reach into my suit coat and pull the necklace I brought her out of a velvet bag.

“What is this?” She peers down at my fist.

I let her open my hand, and she looks down at the diamond necklace in my palm. It’s a high-quality tennis diamond necklace, simple yet extraordinary. Like her. “Something for my girl,” I murmur.

“Your girl?”

I lift the necklace and hook it around her neck.

“It’s too much, Greyson, I can’t take it,” she protests.

“I can’t take it back and it’s not my size.” I run my knuckles up her throat, and it’s warm and silky. “Besides, it’s meant for a queen, a princess.”

I adjust the sparkling strand so it rests against her collarbone, just beneath the flutter of her pulse point. I’m tempted to bend my head and slide my tongue in there. Hell, I’m tempted to do more. I dip my finger into the little crook instead, touching her pulse and lifting my eyes to hers. “Melanie, when you’re waiting for me to call,” I stroke the pad of my thumb over the diamonds one more time, “look at these stones and know for certain that that phone will ring.”

“Who are you?” she asks me, breathless and amazed.

My lips curl in a sardonic smile. “I’m the twisted version of your . . . Westley,” I say, holding her gaze.

We hear shouts outside and realize the bride has thrown the bouquet in the air. Melanie rushes out while I’m left behind, struggling to get a grip of my Neanderthal. She’s five feet and three inches of fun and she fills my entire being with shit I never intended to feel, let alone want.

I’m so fucking fucked.

I follow her into the crowd and stop right behind her, my front pressing against her back as I look down at her profile. Her nostrils flare. She’s smelling me again. I remain in my place, letting her get accustomed to me. My size, my scent, my height, me. I reach out with my glove to touch her hair, and she trembles. I shift to stand right beside her, dragging the back of my fingers along her bare arm. She starts breathing faster, and I hear her stop breathing when I lace my fingers through hers in a way that tells her—you’re with me tonight.

We watch the bride and groom ride away in their limousine, and Melanie waves them off without letting go of my hand. As the car disappears in the distance, she tips her pretty face up to me.

The diamonds look so stunning on her that for a moment I forget they serve a purpose other than to adorn her throat. They seem to mark her. Scream at me, yours yours yours.

“Looks like I don’t have a ride anymore,” she tells me.

Damned if I don’t like that pout. “No worries, you’ll be coming with me,” I say.

“Mel! We have your car keys!” a man calls in our direction, keys jangling in the air. He walks them over and I can see he’s the shit-faced blond dude who’s been eye-fucking her since I got here. He glares at me in silence. I level him an even blacker look. Keep glaring, asshole, I’m gonna be the one fucking her tonight.

Melanie’s dark-haired friend taps his elbow. “Riley, why don’t you guys take Mel’s car? She and her date can come with Kyle and me,” she interjects. She gives me a warning look as though I should be concerned about this for some reason. Not intimidated, I nod my agreement.

As soon as we’re in the backseat of the car, the girl speaks. “That’s some bling you got there, Melanie.”

“I know.” Grinning happily, Melanie pokes her thumb in my direction.

“He gave that necklace to you?” The friend sounds shocked.

“Yes! And his name is Greyson, Pandora.”

“Well! Greyson, will you be paying for the prescription glasses I’ll need after the retinal damage I’ll receive from all that bling?” she asks.

“Send me the bill,” I easily respond.

“What’s next? Are you going to tie her up and pick out safe words or what?”

I smile. “No. There’s no word on earth that will make anyone safe from me.”

“Haha. I’m glad your boyfriend is enjoying himself,” Pandora tells Melanie, pronouncing the word “boyfriend” like one would pronounce the word “excrement.” She returns her attention to me. “We’re very protective of our Mel. She believed in Santa much, much longer than the rest of us. So tell us about yourself. You’re like some Gatsby guy, with lots of money, but a very mysterious past. Kyle and I Googled you but couldn’t find much. What are your intentions with our girl?”

“Pandora!” Melanie kicks the back of Pandora’s seat. “Ignore my friend, Greyson,” she tells me.

But the friend doesn’t feel like ignoring me. She keeps peering past her shoulder at me. “Are you glad Melanie didn’t catch the bouquet?”

“Why would he be?” Mel counters.

“Dude, judging by that bling, the man has no intention of marrying. Just fucking.”

“Pandora!”

I laugh; I find it highly entertaining how protective this girl is. There’s no doubt in my mind some fucking loser made her like this.

She shifts in the front passenger seat so she can fully face me. “Do you have a wife?” she persists.

“What?”

“Are you married? Are you gay? What’s wrong with you?”

Well, let’s see now. Currently, she’s what’s wrong here. I could stare her down easy, but why stare at this Bitter Betty when I have princess beside me?

“Pandora, you’re totally ruining my evening!” Melanie kicks the back of her seat again then shifts over to face me. She looks delicious, all in red. I feel like the Big Bad Wolf, staring hungrily at those kiss-me lips and those highly dangerous, innocent green eyes. “Is she right? Are you playing with me?” she asks me curiously.

I don’t know what it is about her, but the way she looks at me makes my cock start thickening. It’s my natural response to her. I can probably help it as much as I could help killing for her last night, which is not at all. No matter how much in control, you can’t command your instincts. Sometimes they command you.

I’ve only ever killed for one other person in my life.

The difference is, I felt no remorse last night. I wouldn’t change what I did for Melanie last night. I’d do it all over again, kill the first three just as fast, torture the fourth one just as slow. Hell, even slower if I could’ve prolonged it. In fact now, the reminder of her soft, helpless cries under the hood twist a knife of fury in my chest.

One hand curling around her waist, I drag her closer to me and whisper in her ear, “I’m not playing with you.”

Christ.

I’m being serious here.

As serious as I’ve been about anything in my life.

“Be honest,” she whispers back.

“I’m not playing with you,” I repeat.

We’re being watched from the front of the car, so fuck that. In one move, I pull her over to sit on my thigh and lower my head to her. She smells so fucking sweet and juicy I want to bury my nose and find the source of her scent. I rub my nose along the back of her ear, turned on by her nearness, her shape, her smell, her.

She trembles, and my muscles pull taut in response.

What are you doing to me, my sweet, lovely number five?

I reach out with my thumbs and force her eyelids to close so she won’t see me. So she won’t stare right at me with those fucking green eyes that scream save and keep and do me, and I whisper in a voice roughened with lust, “When I’m not with you, I think about the next time every inch of you will belong to me. I play games and I play them hard and I play them dirty, but if you’re a game, princess, then you’re the first fucking game that’s ever played back with me.”

She opens her eyes. Those fucking DO me, LOVE me eyes.

Her friend Pandora is quiet now, and the car crackles with Melanie’s pull to me, and mine to her.

Hell, I’ve played nice with the friends for a while now, but I don’t do nice for long. It’s just not in me.

I rap the roof of the car. “Drop us off here.”

“Here? It’s the middle of nowhere.”

“I insist.”

With a dramatic sigh, he pulls over at the curb next to an empty lot across from a dark apartment building complex. I help Melanie out, then I grab the roof of the car with my good arm and lean in to tell Pandora, “Happy her friends are genuinely concerned for her. I’m not perfect, but on my word, no one will hurt her when she’s with me.”

She shoots me a quiet glare and her friends drive off.

“She hates men, don’t worry about her.” Apparently trying to soothe me, Melanie grins up at me and brushes a hand over the flat of my shirt.

I take her wrist in my hand, the move instinctive, to keep people at a distance. “Cheerful is the last of my worries. You hungry?” I squeeze her wrist and notice how sleek and small it is in the circle of my fingers, then I realize she’s the only thing I allow myself to touch without a glove. And she feels good. Real. Warm. How can something so fucking vulnerable have a pull so strong on me? I want to run my hand beneath the jacket and touch all of her, her collar, up her throat and upward, so I can cup that sweet, vibrant face in my hand and squeeze it and kiss the shit out of it. My voice roughens when I whisper, “Don’t eat that lip, I’ll take you somewhere.”

She lets go of that lip as I slowly release her wrist, then we stay there, staring at each other with hardly any city lights around. The diamonds glitter on her neck like her eyes shine in her face. She wraps her arms around herself and I keep my eyes on her as I text Derek, and we walk down the block toward the corner, my gaze glued to her profile. I’m not good at conversation with women—I fuck them, pay them, get rid of them. I want to talk to her and at the same time, I know I should be running from her.

I laugh softly because I never knew I could be so awkward in any situation, and I cover her in my suit jacket. It’s not cold, but that dress makes me want to devour her. Derek picks us up in a silver SUV then drops us off at one of those twenty-four-hour restaurants that have bad breakfasts, bad lunches, and bad dinners, but it seems to be the only choice to hit up nearby.

I lead Melanie to a booth in the back, one where our backs are covered and I can see the door and every entry. She eases out of my coat and sets it aside, opposite where I sit.

We sit close.

But not close enough.

While we view our menus, I can’t resist myself. I lower my hand under the table, to her thigh. She stares at her menu, but I can see her breath quicken when I start to rub my finger higher into her thigh.

“What do you like to eat?” I ask her, watching her bite her lip again.

“I like what’s bad for me. Doesn’t everyone? A little alcohol. A lot of chocolate and nuts. But I force-feed myself a ton of vegetables to counteract the bad stuff with good. One positive and a negative . . . kind of thing.” Her eyes meet mine, and they’re dancing playfully. “And you?”

I want to feast on nothing but your mouth, your tits, your pussy, and that fucking lip you’re torturing with your teeth, teeth I want to feel rasping along my cock.

“I’m a fan of international foods. Anything. Thai, Chinese, Mexican, Japanese, I like different tastes. I enjoy being . . . surprised when it comes to my palate. I like spices.”

“Do you come into the city for work?”

“Sometimes.”

“What do you do for work?” The genuine interest in her eyes makes me feel like a fucking douche bag.

“Security.” I slap my menu shut. “In my father’s company.”

“Really now? How interesting! I wouldn’t peg you for a man who worked with his father. With anyone, actually.”

My lips curl in amusement as I signal for the waiter, then raise one eyebrow in question at her. “You mean to say you don’t believe I can play well with others?”

“You just give off the impression of separateness.”

“Do I?”

There she goes again, biting that damn lip. “It’s intriguing.”

“You give the impression of playfulness and comfort. I find that intriguing too.”

She grins, a sheepish grin that can’t quite conceal the way her emerald green eyes flood with feminine delight. Maybe I don’t grin like she does, but trust me, I’m just as delighted with her. Once we order, she looks at me and plays with a yellow cuff bracelet on her arm.

“My work is my passion. I’m absolutely obsessed with colors. I can’t leave the house without wearing at least three different colors. Two is too simple. One is absolutely drab and I don’t want to be drab.”

I find myself laughing again, something which seems to come naturally around her. “No way you’re fucking drab. In fact, right here, sitting with you, I feel gray.”

Her smile flashes the instant mine does, and we laugh until our drinks are set before us, and she sips from her straw.

“I like this,” she says with a long sigh of intense pleasure as she sits back in relaxation. She takes an even longer look at me. “It feels like a date. And it feels like forever since I’ve had one of those.”

In my peripherals, I just noticed that Derek sat at a table nearby, across from C.C.

“It is a date. You invited me to your friend’s wedding. That’s a date in my book.”

“I did not invite you. I said you could come . . .”

“And we both know how much we love me coming.”

She smiles wickedly, and it does nothing to calm my raging libido. I can tell she likes it when I’m bad. She likes bad boys.

Fuck, princess, you don’t know I’m the baddest of the bad, I think and then, another thought, Hell, I’m not a bad boy, I’m a bad man!

It brings me down a little to realize I’m no good for her.

“Come on, admit it,” I press her, reviving myself with the playful glint in her eye. “I came, I conquered—at least getting you out to dinner makes me feel like a conqueror—and I even survived your angry black-haired friend.”

“Pandora.” She laughs. “But she’s right asking about these, these are too much, more than I’m worth.”

She absently strokes the necklace on her throat, and I whisper, a warning, “Melanie.”

“Greyson . . .”

Hell, I can see the seeds of doubt her friend planted almost spinning in her little head. I keep my voice level, low even, but stern.

“Do whatever you want with the necklace. Just don’t return it to me.”

Swear to god, if I could only telepathically send this woman the damn message to do what any smart girl bent on survival would.

She may wait, but when the time dwindles, she’ll do it. I expect her to. Hell, when she’s spent enough time with me, she’ll be sick of me and anything of mine and she’ll dump it faster than she can say Greyson.

The thought makes my gut heat up in anger.

My hand edges higher up her thigh. This urge to touch her eats at me. I’m always gloved, but tonight my gloves are in one of my suit pockets and my hands are bare—and I can’t stop devouring the sensation of having her smooth skin under my fingers and palm.

She twirls her straw as if she wants something to do, but most important of all, she knows exactly where my hand is and makes no move to remove it. “My best friend, whose wedding you just saw . . . When we were young, I used to be Barbie and she was Skipper whenever we played. I always used to get Ken. It just seemed that she wasn’t interested in Ken, so I used to make sure he was all mine. She didn’t even want to fall in love. I wanted to be happy, carefree, and fall in love one day, and she wanted the Olympics. But she was the one who ended up falling in love, hard, you know? The real thing. The real man. I could not be happier, she could not deserve it more. But now you look at me like her husband looks at her . . .” She lifts her eyes to me and absently rubs a pink fingernail up her glass. “But you’re not my husband, you’re not in love with me. What do you want?” She holds my stare with hers. “Pandora’s right, you don’t give something like this to just anyone. Men give diamonds to women they need to buy, or hide.”

“And yet we’re in plain view. I’d never hide something as beautiful as you.”

She touches the rim of her glass with one fingertip, and I let my eyes drag up her lean, toned arm, down her body, my craving to have her growing fiercer and fiercer every second. “You look stunning in this dress, princess.”

Her cheeks flare. “Thank you. I almost thought I couldn’t wear it.”

“You look lovely. The way your hair curls at the tips. I can’t take my eyes off you and I can’t wait to take that dress off you.”

She drops her gaze to the table, biting on her smile.

I lean forward, testing my limits; pushing them. “We’ve been intimate. You’re wearing my necklace. I have my hand on your thigh. Your friends have drilled the crap out of me. Why so shy?” When she just lets go of that delicious smile, I curl my index finger under her chin and tip her head back. “You been thinking about me?”

“You mean dwelling on and pining over the guy who didn’t call?”

I cock a brow. “The man standing at the church, waiting for you to throw him a bone? That was me.”

“Oh wow, thanks for clearing that up!” The delicate sound of her laugh makes me stone hard.

I slide my hand higher on her thigh, pulling up the silk of her dress so I can touch more bare skin. I am about to kiss her when a familiar face enters the diner. My eyes slide over to him and I ease back when C.C. makes a brief hand gesture to let me know he’s on it.

Fuck me, I have no energy for any criminal bullshit tonight. I haven’t slept in almost forty-eight hours. The knife cut on my biceps aches like a bitch, and I’m running on pure adrenaline here. As I wait for C.C. to make a sign that it’s clear, Melanie picks at her salad, and the old familiar pattern of staying apart from the world settles over me.

“Thanks for coming to the wedding,” she says, softly.

“My pleasure,” I reply, low.

I can suddenly sense the distance between us like a ten-foot abyss, keeping me from making a connection.

“Why did you?”

My eyebrows fly up. “Why did I come?”

She nods, and I don’t know anything else except that I still crave a connection with her. Any sort of connection. I’m stroking my longest finger up the creamy inside of her thigh, all the while watching the newcomer leave in my peripherals. “I came for you, Melanie.”

“I have had a thousand one-night stands in my life, Greyson.”

“I’ve had a thousand and one.”

“Counting me?”

“No, princess. When we do this again . . . you’re on a whole other list.”

We stare, neither of us smiling, my eyes greedily taking in the quiet curiosity on her face, her long golden hair, the pretty small breasts jutting against the fabric of her silk dress, the tender curve of her shoulder, and Jesus, I want all of that more than she will ever know.

She sets her hand on my thigh. “What list?” She tilts her head and studies me. “What will this even be?”

The unexpected feel of her hand on my thigh sends a primal heat across my veins. One second we’re talking, the next I catch her face and hold it still as I look into those green eyes, suddenly fierce as I study her small nose, her generous mouth. “For me, this is a fantasy. You’re the fantasy. For you, this will be a mistake. A long, pleasurable mistake.” I watch her eyes darken, and I’ve never been a man to mince words. “I’m going to be everything you never wanted,” I warn on a gruff breath, “nothing that you need.” I slide my other hand farther up her thigh. “Sometimes my work will take me away, and I won’t call, and I’ll piss you off.” I graze my longest finger over the silky V covering her sex. “I’ll be selfish. I’ll take everything I want, whenever I want it. I’m not the man of your dreams, Melanie, I’m your worst nightmare.”

Her eyes glaze, and she stops my hand from caressing her and presses her lips into my ear. “I’m not your fucking toy.”

I catch her by the shoulders and pull her back to me. “But you’ll let me play with you.”

“If I wanted just sex, I could get that from anyone.”

“Not the kind of sex you’ll get with me.” I push my thumb into her mouth, making her taste me. My whole body feels that lick. “I’ll make you want it. I’ll text you when I’m flying into town so you’re twitching and soaked by the time you see me at your door.”

She bites my thumb and drives me so wild with lust, I’m about to slam my mouth down on hers.

Fuck me.

Maybe I will never make a worthwhile connection to anyone in my life.

But I can have this—I can have her, her body, her wild, hot pleasure.

I can have this.

Oh, yes, I’m having this tonight.

I lean over, ready to take a long, juicy bite out of the lip that’s been driving me crazy, when she stands. “You’re an asshole,” she whispers, panting. “Take me somewhere. Just for the night. Take me somewhere.”

I peel a hundred-dollar bill from the stack in my pocket and set it on the table, slip my jacket over her shoulders, and usher her out.