“No doubt you will,” she sighed. “Really, John, you should do something about those nasty roots showing. Just because you come from hick stock doesn’t mean you have to live down to the name.”
“Beats living down to yours,” he informed her caustically. “Have fun with Gerard. Maybe he’ll like the ice-queen act.”
Her lips curled. “He didn’t have the ice queen, darling. I was there for fun. You were the responsibility.”
“Lucky him,” he drawled. “Now go ruin his perfect little life instead.”
Her tinkling laughter grated on his nerves as she turned and walked out the way she’d come. Damn. As relieved as he was that the engagement was over, the taste of betrayal was still thick in his mouth. His best f**king friend and fiancée. How classic was that? The cliché was enough to drag a mocking snort from him.
He stared at the whisky then poured another drink.
He’d no more than shot that one back when, son of a bitch, the door opened again. He was seriously going to have to collect the keys he had given to the penthouse. This was getting out of control.
The place was f**king Grand Central Station tonight, and he’d just about had his fill of it.
And there she was.
Imp.
The little demon sprite.
The torment of his life.
Too f**king young, but getting a head start on experience.
She’d been running with a promiscuous set of friends for years. Friends that had no problem bragging about the privileges she allowed.
He didn’t blame her for them. Hell, she was a beautiful woman. She was almost family. That was the problem. She was “almost” family. That tormented him, because he was damned for wanting exactly what she had gifted those other men with. He wanted that and more. So much more that he kept as far away from her as possible.
He didn’t hold it against her. Hell, he’d done worse in his sexual past, but it burned in his gut like a sore because he wasn’t one of the lucky ones. How f**king brutal was that?
“Go home, Sierra.” He was too drunk for this. He’d had his life nicely planned out, and as much as he felt relief that the engagement was over, still, it had been his plan, and she’d f**ked it up. And he was just drunk enough that his logic capabilities weren’t at their strongest.
“I don’t want you to hate me.” She was braver than Marlena. She actually stepped into the main room and faced him boldly.
With her hard ni**les.
With her lush lips and hungry slate gray eyes.
“Why the hell did you have to make it your business?” He growled.
The same reason he would have made it his business, of course. It was happening, it was wrong, and they were friends. Close. They hungered for each other, and they both fought it.
“Because I care about you,” she whispered. “You’re my friend, John. When Gerard asked me to the restaurant, I knew what he was doing because your mother had told me you and Marlena were supposed to be there tonight. They were going to stand and lie to your face. They were rubbing your nose in it, and I hated that.”
Her hands were clasped tightly together, sincerity and that damned hunger flickering in her eyes.
“Bullshit,” he snapped. “You’re not my f**king friend, Sierra. Friends gloat later, they don’t give a f**k if you make a mistake while you’re making it.”
He should know. Other than possibly Sierra, it was the only type of friend he’d ever had.
Her lips thinned. He liked the lush look better.
“Then marry her already,” she charged back in anger. “If you’re so pissed at me, get down on your knees and beg her back. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to watch you beg.”
“Fuck you, Sierra!” And only God knew how bad he wanted to f**k her.
His c**k was pounding, hard and desperate. She always affected him like this, and now the alcohol was only intensifying it. He never drank around Sierra for a reason. It totally screwed with his self-control.
“Why did you even f**king care?” He couldn’t get it out of his mind. No one else would have told him, and he knew Gerard. Gerard hadn’t hidden it from anyone but John. And of all his so-called “friends,” only Sierra had dared to reveal the truth in a manner neither Marlena nor Gerard could deny it.
“Because I care about you, dummy,” she burst out in exasperation. “Do I have to beat that into your head?”
It was more. He’d seen it in her eyes at the restaurant and he saw it now.
He saw something he didn’t want to see. It went beyond a sensual awareness or hunger for him. It went beyond what he had wanted to see in the past.
“You’re jealous,” he accused her softly, the truth slapping him in the face. “You think you’re in love with me? Have you lost your mind, Sierra?”
Incredulity echoed in his voice even as it pulsed through his mind. He hadn’t seen it before. Why hadn’t he seen that emotion in her eyes before?
“I did that a long time ago.” Her voice was husky now, her eyes glittering with dampness. With tears. Fuck, she was not going to cry on him.
“Don’t you dare cry.” He moved to her, jerking her against him.
Big mistake, but there she was, against him. So f**king young and too damned tiny. And he was hungry for her. That hunger had pulsed inside him for too long, burned in his gut and tormented him. He didn’t want this, not with Sierra. With the only person in his life that he had counted on as a friend.
“I didn’t want this with you,” he snarled down at her. She was too soft for what he wanted and he knew it. Too vulnerable, even if she was experienced enough for it. But he was drunk. He was hard for her. And he’d fought it for too damned long.
“Why?” The vulnerability in that single word struck at his heart. As though he had just broken all her dreams, all her hopes. “Why not me, John?”
“Because damn you, I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He didn’t give her a chance to retort. His head lowered, his lips taking hers quickly, parting the lush curves as he slid one hand into the riotous curls that surrounded her face and gripped the soft strands to hold her to him.
The silken curls wrapped around his fingers as though hugging him to her. Like living strands of heat, they caressed his flesh, stroked it.
The taste of her, the adrenaline and hunger coursing through his veins, only made him drunker. Drunk on her. He’d known touching her would be hazardous, and how right he had been.