written by Caroline Richardson 

The rain started without warning, heavy and loud while we were standing in line to get into the club. Chellie, Helena and I ran as best we could in our tall heels, the overhang on the building just barely wide enough to cover us. Everyone was laughing and doing much the same, and in the chaos of jostling for space underneath, my breath caught as I saw him.

He was against the wall near the corner, hands in his pockets, surveying the scene, his eyes roving with an air of confidence that cut through the crowd like a knife. His suit fit perfectly, his hair styled with a mix of laissez-faire and exacting precision.

"Well would you look at that," Chellie murmured in my ear as she reapplied her lipstick, using her phone as her mirror.

I had, and was. When his eyes found mine, my entire body prickled. I couldn't look away if I tried, and as his mouth quirked into a half grin and one eyebrow followed it, my stomach fluttered.

He was powerful, and he knew it.

"They're letting us in!" Helena squealed, and the line shuffled forward. I hesitated, because he wasn't moving, his eyes locked with mine in silent invitation.

"I'll be there in a minute," I mumbled to Chellie, who was tugging on me. She turned back, saw where I was looking, and rolled her eyes. Helena laughed and grabbed Chellie's arm. "Let's go. She's not coming in with us."

"Are you sure?" Chellie asked me, worry in her voice. "It's Valentine's Day, he—

"Have fun if I don't see you, be safe," I muttered.

"You be safe, you know what—"

I waved my hand and gave Chellie a look that stopped her statement short. With quick hugs, my friends stepped through the heavy metal door, the bouncer in his tight black t shirt and earpiece sliding his eye down their bodies as they shimmied past him.

I turned, now alone on the sidewalk, the line gone. The only sounds were the muffled dance music through the door and the relentless pounding of the rain on the pavement and roof above us.

He was a magnet and I was iron filings scattered across the floor, slowly gathering into spiky shards on the end, no form, just pure chaos. I wanted to hear his voice, and connect the pull coursing through me to something tangible.

"Nice night," he said as I stopped a few feet from him. His voice was deep, rumbling across my skin as if he'd slid his fingers over me. I shivered, and bit down on my lip to keep from losing my nerve. His head was tilted up, and I followed his gaze, rivulets cascading off the roof like a tropical waterfall. It was shimmering, and I watched it for a moment. Simple things like this were so beautiful, and if I asked, he would likely tell me just that.

"Certainly is," I replied.

He swivelled his head and I did the same, our eyes meeting in the glow of street light, the dull, yellow beam throwing shadows across him as he leaned one shoulder against the wall.

"Your friends went in, don't you want to as well?" He quirked that smile again, the one that was subtly complicated in the reaction. The heavy bass from the dance music blasted out at us as the door swung to admit a group of people running from across the street, coats over their heads, laughing, and it dosed me with reality.

"Does it matter?"I took a quick step sideways to steady myself.

Silence followed, his amusement evident as his eyes raked me, sending tendrils of arousal across my body once more, faltering my steadiness like a feather blown by the wind. Dammit.

"You're dressed too fancy for this place," I blurted, instantly regretting it. It was an immature, petty thing to say in my inadequacy to deal with how this man was playing me with just a glance.

He laughed, a genuine, deep laugh in response. "Well, I think I'm dressed just as I should be. And you?"

I'd chosen a skintight black bandeau dress with a shelf bra, and worn my knockoff Louboutins. Normally, this outfit lent me confidence. My dress hugged my curves, my shoes were pure power, down to the fake red soles. Tonight, both were suddenly simple and unsophisticated. I smoothed my hands nervously down my stomach.

"Oh, well, standard issue little black dress," I joked. I wasn't feeling confident now, his eyes boring into me, the scrutiny of what I was doing here echoing out from him.

"It suits you," he said lowly, his thumb running along his lower lip. "You look like you should be at an art gallery opening, not a club with sticky floors and cheap drinks."

Point made.

"Didn't I just say the same of you?" I said, and stepped closer myself. His scent, sandalwood and fresh citrus wafted over me and my knees threatened to give way. His hand touched my elbow and goosebumps erupted across my skin.

"You did," he said, and his hand disappeared when I regained my footing. I wanted it back. I wanted more.

But I knew what that 'more' entailed, and my breath caught as his eyes widened, then settled.

He knew too.

❤

I dared to steady her as she wobbled on her pencil thin stilettos, and when my fingers met her skin, it was as if I was touching fire.

She looked good. Too good for this place, and the type of asshole who would stumble up to her, groping for whatever he could, hoping she would be drunk enough to let him. That thought irritated me beyond belief, and she must have seen the change in my features because she shifted too, crossing her arms over her chest.

"So what now?"

"Would it be too much to ask you to dinner?" I ventured.

"It would be," she replied. "But if you did, I'd consider it."

I appraised her again, noticing the grip she had on her forearms, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. Her unease was hiding just below the surface, I could sense it, but my urgency trumped it. I didn't want her anywhere near that club and I was willing to drag her bodily away if necessary.

Which was a bad idea.

"Then come with me," I offered, holding out my hand.

"Now? But—"

"Yes now," I added. "My car is just there."

I pointed down the street, and headlights shone out through the rain, illuminating us. My driver had obviously watched me for some sort of signal I had never told him to look for. The dark, wet car rolled slowly up beside us, and the front passenger window slid down.

"Ready, sir?"

I looked back to her, still holding my hand out. A tremor caught my eye, the tiny purse slung over one shoulder wiggling just enough to give it away. Her eyes betrayed how conflicted she was as she weighed the decision of whether to walk away or come with me before they left mine, and I inwardly cringed. I had presented the options in a flat, uninspiring way, and cursed how blunt I was. I could exude confidence with a bespoke suit and a slick car, but when I opened my mouth, I was not the cultured, expensive man these trappings told the world I was. She shivered again, and one hand unconsciously rubbed up and down her arm.

"Are you cold?" I asked, moving closer to her. "The car is warm."

She let out a deep sigh, and gestured out towards the car.

"Fine. You win," she groused, the resignation in her voice not what I wanted to hear. I wanted it to have a hint of adventure, anticipation, maybe even excitement. This was not a sentence, or a thing to be endured. It was a chance. An opportunity.

For both of us.

What remained of my confidence dissolved in the downpour and I hung my head. This had been a terrible idea. I'd acted on impulse after a source had told me where she was, my heart aching at the thought of her out for the evening on such an important night, without me.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to. I'm not forcing you."

"Right... The other option would be?" she bit out, and moved towards the car.

"Marissa, I—" There was no other option for me, at least, and she'd caught it the moment I'd asked her.

"Open the door Darien, let me get in before I freeze to death."

❤

I slid across the soft leather seats and looked away as he levered himself in and the door shut behind him. Cocooned in the muffled silence, I didn't know what to say, or do, now that he had me in his car. His presence filled the entire roomy back seat, reminding me of how good that body felt pressed up against me. Infuriating man. Showing up like this on a night I wanted to forget he even existed.

Which was difficult, because he was not a man you could easily forget.

The car sped away, and I yanked my phone out to text Chellie I was going with him, and not to worry. It chimed almost immediately about three times, but I didn't look, shoving it back into my clutch. I didn't want the reprimand.

He lounged against the leather seat, silent, his eyes piercing across at me. Studying me, likely trying to decide his next tactic. I shifted away from him, frustrated with myself for giving in, not sure why I had other than libido poking me square in my spontaneous keister.

"I'll take you back to the club if you'd rather," he murmured. "I just wanted—"

"You just wanted what?" I growled, frustrated. He showed up with that dominant aura and insisted I come with him, then the next moment gave me an out I knew he wouldn't allow. "I seem to remember telling you to go to hell," I finally added.

"I'm already there."

My eyes flew to him. The ragged edge to his voice caught me off guard, and my breath, as well as a sarcastic retort caught in my throat. There was no hardness in his jaw, no steely, flinted gaze, it was pure emotion I'd yet to experience from him. He was always so closed off, checking his emotions at the door. This was entirely new.

"Why not just call me, Darien? Text me even. I've heard nothing from you for three weeks!"

He ran a hand down his face in frustration, and leaned back. "I'm no good at this."

"No good at what?" I asked, curious why he would say something like that. He was good at everything he did. Sports, driving his expensive cars, racking up millions in market trading... Sex. Especially sex. My cheeks flared hot as I thought about that, his body shifting so close to mine.

"Talking about this, I—"

"That's an understatement."

I amended my thoughts. There was one thing he sucked at. We'd never had an issue with expressing ourselves between the sheets, but when I'd pushed for more, he'd shut and padlocked that door. It was the reason I'd ran out of his penthouse, my heart in tatters from beating against the giant brick wall around his own.

But, in all that, I knew that no other man had instinctively understood me like he did, despite his inability to open up. Maybe that was why I was now in his car, driving away from drinks and dancing with my best friends, a statement in itself on a night like tonight. We—me in particular—wanted to salute Valentine's Day with a giant middle finger while downing tequila shots.

"I didn't like how I felt without you there," he said quietly.

"Life has to keep moving. Deal with it," I replied flippantly. I wasn't ready to let him completely off the hook. Yet, in the same breath, confused as I was, I grasped at faint hope that he was finally opening up.

He slid over, crowding me on one side of the car, his face inches from mine, a hand on my jaw to hold my eyes to his. I squirmed, but he had me pinned. My body liked it, even if my brain was infuriated with the intrusion into my personal bubble. I arched my back, and he wound a hand around my waist to pull me into him, tangling our legs. Heat bloomed across my body. I wanted him, despite all of the bullshit we were tossing at one another.

One touch and I was his.

"You don't get to tell me how to deal," he hissed, glaring, nose almost touching mine. "I fucking missed you. I'm trying to tell you—."

"Tell me what," I interrupted, challenging him, glaring back. "Valentine's is supposed to be about declarations, Darien. Make one."

"I want you back," he murmured as his lips moved closer to mine. I stretched to meet them but he stopped short, his body stiff as if to ward off whatever he expected me to say next.

"We all want things we can't have." My voice wavered, wanting his lips on mine, but unsure if it was a good idea. "You pushed me away, remember? You said you weren't ready. You shut me out."

He dropped me like I was a scalding hot potato. Maybe that had been too harsh. Talking was what I wanted, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry," he uttered, his voice so low I barely heard him. Those words never came from his mouth.

Ever.

"Sorry? For what?" I prodded. Right now, I needed to know, so I could give myself permission to let him back into my heart, because that hope was blossoming out with those words. It took two to tango, and we were definitely dancing around something and I needed to apologize too. I took a breath in to tell him, and his eyes swiveled to mine. "I—"

"I love you, Marissa."

Wait, what? My thoughts screeched to a stop as he said it, the words I had longed to hear echoing in my head like a trumpet. A heartbeat later, he crumpled and moved away from me.

"I'll take you home."

I launched at him, and kissed him before he could walk those words back, giving in to the unmanageable emotion coursing through my body that had followed the shock. He wrapped his arms around me, folding me into him, accepting my kiss and taking over, devouring my mouth like he was drowning.

"Marissa," he gasped over my lips, desperation in his voice. "Tell me you love me... Please."

"I love you, Darien," I replied, fully giving into the idea, forgiving him in the moment. "But you're in trouble for this stunt tonight."

"I'll make it up to you," he declared, and lowered his lips to mine to prove it.

❤

About the Author

Caroline Richardson, also known as MustangSabby on Wattpad, writes mature, steamy contemporary romantic stories with a happy ending.

Caroline has played competitive paintball in the Skydome, galloped million-dollar racehorses for a living, and met her husband when he sold her a Ford Mustang during a snowstorm.

When not working on her next best seller, Caroline backcountry camps, hikes, RVs, and cross-country skis with her family. She lives in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada with her husband and two children.

You can find all her books exclusively on Wattpad.