When I glance over to see his expression, I’m disappointed he’s not even smiling. It may have felt like a joke to us, but he’s still so tense, and something is bothering him.
How did Zara put up with him for so long?
And why do I always feel the urge to heal him? To heal any man, for that matter? To fix them, comfort them, help them in any way I can when I’m the one who is usually drowning? Why do I do this to myself?
Then, I look at Ellis. If I had a man like him, I bet he would take care of me. I bet I could finally get the attention I want, the nurturing comfort of someone who doesn’t need me, but has the time and interest to give me what I need. Would I get bored? Would a part of me be unfulfilled by not being needed by him?
“You have exquisite eyes,” he says softly, staring so close I feel almost insecure about it.
“Thank you,” I mumble, biting back a smile. “I usually wear contacts to hide it.”
“You shouldn’t,” he replies.
“That’s what I told her,” Nash interjects, and I tip back my wine glass to hide the awkwardness I’m starting to feel between them.
We only have two rounds of drinks before it starts to get dark. Nash and Ellis talk mostly about business and a little about Ellis’s time with the Wildes over a decade ago. And that’s it. But I get the feeling there is more they’re not telling me. Nash carries so much resentment in his shoulders, I can see it. And there is a mix of admiration and skepticism on his face when he looks at the man sitting next to me.
He’s watching Ellis with intensity, and I’m not the only one who notices. A moment later, Ellis stands unexpectedly. “Well, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow. I think I’ll call it a night.” He turns toward me. “It was really nice meeting you, Hanna.”
And with that, much to my disappointment, he walks into the house, shutting the door and leaving me and Nash alone outside.
He’s still watching me coldly.
“What?” I ask casually.
“You know what,” he growls.
“No, I don’t think I do.” My tone levels as I glare back at him, heat pulsing under my skin.
“The way you’re dressed, the way you flirted with him. What is your deal?”
I scoff. “What the fuck is your deal? I can dress however I want and flirt with whoever the fuck I want.”
“Yeah, well last night you were begging to ride my dick, but I said no, so you moved on quickly. Is that it?”
“Fuck you,” I mutter, standing up and stomping away toward the guest house.
He doesn’t follow me, at least not at first. But when I get to my room, my door is only shut a moment before he’s opening it again, closing himself in with me.
“What do you—,” I say through the darkness, but before I can get out another word, he stalks across the room and presses me against the wall. Then his mouth is on mine, and I'm struck silent. Nash is kissing me. It's rough, passionate, and so intimate I can hardly focus. His breath on my face rips every thought from my head.
"Do I still scare you, Hanna?" he whispers into my mouth, and I realize my hands are shaking.
I can feel his fingers against my thighs, slowly crawling the length of my skirt, gathering it up to my waist.
"Nash," I whisper, putting my hands against his chest. If I want him to stop, I can push him away, but I don't.
"I said, do I scare you?" he repeats himself so harshly in my face.
"Yes," I yelp.
"Good."
He lifts me abruptly off the ground, winding my legs around his waist as he presses me hard against the wall, his mouth on mine again. This time I do push him away, but he doesn't retreat. I can only feel his fingers moving toward my underwear until they get a hold of the hemline, tearing them down my leg, and he has to drop my legs back down to the floor to pull them off.
"You still want this? You wanted it last night," he mutters, and my blood begins to run cold. I do want this, fuck I want this! What is wrong with me?
I can still hear Ellis's voice in my head, but I can no longer feel the warmth of his presence. And then I see Nash,