The Rebound - Stefanie London Page 0,31

I know it’ll be the memory I take to my grave. I know all of this, because Presley is not a passing attraction.

If she was, I wouldn’t be here right now. I could get dirt on Mike some other way. And I know deep down that I’m here—kissing her—because I want to be.

“I know you want me,” she says boldly. “So why should we fight it?”

Why? Oh, how about a million reasons? “You’re rebounding.”

“I’m not. Or maybe I am...but so what?” She turns my face toward hers and presses the sweetest of kisses to my lips. “This isn’t about revenge.”

“You sure?” I don’t want to be a pawn in her power play against Mike.

Isn’t that exactly how you’re treating her as a source of information?

I’m a fucking hypocrite.

“I want you, Sebastian Foster. Just you.”

She takes my hand and moves it to her inner thigh. We’re somewhat shielded by the darkness shrouding the audience, and the fact that Penny La Perle is currently stripping down to her pasties means no one is watching us.

Presley pulls my hand higher up her thigh, under the hem of her dress. Her skin is warm and smooth, and soon I brush the silky fabric of her underwear. It’s damp. She whimpers when I move my knuckles, brushing her sex so gently I almost wonder if I’m imagining it.

“Please,” she whispers.

I toy with the edge of her underwear. It’s too awkward a position to do much, but I hook the edge of my finger around the elastic and run the back of my knuckle over her bare sex. I’m drowning. There’s no air in sight.

I want her. Badly.

I want her in spite of everything.

“Please, Sebastian.” Her lips brush my ear. “I want you to fuck me.”

My control is stretched to extremes, thinner and thinner as it’s pulled. The moment it snaps, I feel it ricochet through my body. I’m screwed. There’s no way I can resist her.

No amount of thinking will stop this feeling. This desire. No amount of rationale will make me avoid this bad decision.

“Where should we go?” I ask.

Her lip trembles for a moment, as if in relief. Then she slips off the edge of the couch and leads me across the room. We hurry, bodies hunched to avoid disturbing the other patrons. Presley’s hand is jammed into mine, fingers entwined as though she’s hanging on for dear life. She charges down toward a dark hallway, ignoring the sign indicating that this section is for staff only.

Well, she has been on stage, so maybe that counts?

We reach a door marked Office Manager and she knocks boldly, as though she has every right to be there. As we wait for a response, my heart thunders in my chest. Am I really going to do this? She’s off limits. Forbidden.

A bad fucking idea.

No one comes to the door. She turns to me, a sparkle in her eyes as though this is exactly what she’d hoped for. Then, to my total and utter shock, she wriggles the handle. It’s locked. But that doesn’t stop her—she slips her wallet from the tiny bag tucked under her arm and pulls out a credit card.

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” My hand is at her waist, curving against the dip there, fingers brushing the soft velvet.

“Shh.” She leans forward, jimmying the credit card between the door and the frame. “Keep a lookout.”

Oh my God. This is crazy—if sex with Presley isn’t going to get me in enough goddamn trouble, breaking and entering certainly will. My eyes dart down the hallway, but the show is in full force and everyone else is occupied by the sequins and sparkles of the stage.

“This is a bad idea.” I tighten my grip on her waist, my body and mind totally disconnected.

The door to the office pops open with a click and Presley gives a little fist pump. Then her hands are on me again and she’s pulling me into the office. I close the door behind me, checking outside to make sure no one has seen us. We’re alone in the darkness, not daring to put on a light in case it alerts anyone to our location.

I can only feel.

There’s velvet and silky-soft hair and Presley’s warm body pressing me against the closed door. I feel her hands slip past me and then a soft click tells me I’m locked inside, totally and utterly at her mercy. Totally and utterly hers.

“How the hell do you know how to do that?” I