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“Make me!” she yelled back, her voice singsong and taunting as she tried to wiggle out of his arms.
Derrick’s gaze flared; he’d had enough. Without much effort, he bent and tossed Taylor over his shoulder and turned to the exit.
Instead of being angry, Taylor started laughing, belly laughing. But the crowd was not as amused. There were cries of disgust from the crowd as the main attraction was carried out caveman style.
“Where you going, Taylor?” the crowd cried.
Derrick felt Taylor lean up and shrug to her new friends. “Every party needs a pooper!” she shouted back and then swatted Derrick on the ass, hard. The crowd went crazy, cheering, catcalling, and chanting Taylor’s name.
Derrick groaned. That right there was going to be on the morning news, for like days. It was going to be analyzed and evaluated, and they were going to have ass-slap experts and body language analysis.
Derrick ignored it all and tore off the stage, through security, and past the crowd. He took the first door he came to, which led them into the kitchen. People skidded to a halt and stared, “VIP Exit!” Derrick demanded, and multiple hands pointed to the side. He knew he had probably come out this way before, but hell if he could remember any of those times.
He took off in the direction they had pointed, which led down a dark corridor. Behind him he heard the kitchen door burst open and lots of bodies coming through.
Fuck, they were being tailed.
And Taylor was still laughing and wiggling along to the bass that was still totally thriving even in the back scene of the club.
“Taylor, shhhh!”
His demand sent her further into laughter, and Derrick groaned in frustration. He came to the end of the hallway to a bifurcation in front of him and stopped, assessing his options. Suddenly he saw a redheaded refrigerator signaling to him down the hallway to the left. “This way, Mr. Fletcher.”
Oh thank God, maybe he wouldn’t fire that walking appliance after all. Derrick hastily took the hallway to the right. As he approached, Henry threw the door to the parking lot open, forcing shouts of pain and irritation as he struck members of the paparazzi who had obviously positioned themselves there, trying to catch the exit of Taylor and Derrick. Henry blocked the opposite way the best he could and jerked open the passenger door to the Range Rover, allowing Derrick to deposit Taylor in the seat. Henry closed the door quickly, almost catching Derrick, and then positioned himself in front of it, keeping Taylor in, keeping flashbulbs out, and shoving Derrick to the front of the car.
Oh man, he was giving this guy a raise.
Derrick pushed through photographers and gawkers and got into the car with the assistance of the valet, whose skills paled in comparison to Henry’s.
“What a switch, Derrick!” one of the photogs shouted.
“Never thought we would see you dragging someone else out of the club!”
“When’s the wedding?”
Derrick shut the door on the questions and slammed the car into reverse, realizing forward was not an option. He was twisted around and backing quickly down the alley, hoping the way was clear behind him. He reached the end and wheeled the car out into traffic, which screeched and honked all around him. Thankfully, by some miracle, he did not cause an accident. He came to a stop and then hightailed it into drive. As he careened through the club district and reached the freeway, Derrick finally let out his breath. He turned to Taylor, and she was grinning at him like the Cheshire Cat.
“That was fun. Can we do it again?”
Derrick focused on the road and tried to find his patience. He knew it was somewhere, but his words escaped before he found it, “What the hell were you thinking?”
Taylor laughed again. “I wasn’t! It was fun!”
Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths.
“You are going to hyperventilate if you keep doing that,” Taylor observed through her fits of giggling.
“Taylor, you could have been hurt, not to mention the photos that people now possess of that scene!”
Taylor shrugged. “I had so much fun dancing! Do you think they got good shots of me dancing?” she asked genuinely, totally unconcerned.
“Where the hell did you learn to dance like that?” he asked. If she wasn’t going to answer him seriously about what he really wanted to know anyway, he might as well ask.
“Al!” she answered excitedly.
“Who?”
“Al!” she repeated, just as excited. “Well, his full name was Alejandro. Isn’t that sexy? And it just rolls off the tongue. Alejandro, Alejandro,” Taylor repeated, rolling her R’s and the name around in her mouth.