Page 14

Chapter fourteen

~ROWAN~

These charity balls are all the same—too much champagne, too many reporters, and not enough air in the goddamn room. I can already feel the tension building in my shoulders from the endless crowd of assholes pretending to care about endangered animals while keeping one eye on their competitors.

I’m nursing a whiskey near the bar when Damien walks up, his grin as smug as ever.

“So,” he finally says, dragging the word out, “you’re looking... different tonight.”

“Different how?”

“Less like you’re about to murder someone, more like you’ve been thoroughly relieved.”

“Damien,” I warn, but he just grins wider.

“You didn’t call that night after the club.” His voice drops an octave. “We wanna know what happened. Right, Ares?”

Ares walks up, his whiskey in hand, and glances between us. “What are we talking about?”

“Rowan’s mystery night,” Damien says, leaning closer to me. “Apparently, our man here had some fun after the club. But he’s being all secretive about it.”

“I’m not being secretive.” I shake my head. “I just don’t think this is the place. Too many ears.”

Ares raises an eyebrow. “Which means there’s something to talk about.”

Damien points at him. “Exactly. So, spill it. Who was it? Did you finally give in to one of the puck bunnies?”

“Not even close.” I let out a low laugh, shaking my head.

That catches their attention. Damien’s buzzing now, and even Ares looks interested.

“Whoa,” Damien says, his grin turning predatory. “Don’t tell me it was—”

I cut him off with a glare. “If you say her name, I will put you through that wall.” There are way too many people around us. God knows who’s gonna catch something they shouldn’t.

Damien whistles. “So, it was her.”

“He drove her home after you left.” Ares leans back, his expression passive as he looks at Damien.

“Holy fuck,” Damien says, elbowing me. “You hooked up with her? She took you home?”

“No.” I shake my head and finish the rest of my drink.

“Then what happened?” Damien frowns.

I fight back a grin, letting the silence stretch.

Damien’s jaw drops. Ares doesn’t react at first, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Come on,” Damien says, laughing now. “You’re seriously not gonna tell us what happened?”

“No.” I shake my head again. When it comes to Livia, I’m not sharing anything. These two are like brothers to me, but I won’t give them visuals of my hellcat touching herself for me.

“Not even a little bit?” Damien asks, leaning in like we’re swapping war stories.

I run a hand through my hair, the memory of Livia’s voice still fresh in my mind.

“Not even a little bit. Especially with the press around.” I nod toward the group of reporters moving through the ballroom. “But rest assured that the plan’s definitely in motion.” I clap Damien on the back, hoping that’ll be enough to shut him up for now.

Ares doesn’t say anything, but there’s a knowing look in his eye like he already sees that what I did wasn’t for the plan’s sake but for my own.

“Man,” Damien says, grinning, “you’ve got to keep us updated. This is better than a soap opera.”

“Mhm,” I hum through the smirk pulling at my lips.

“So, I wasn’t the only one who had a good time after the club.” Damien chuckles.

I whip my head toward him, my smirk draining from my face like a busted pipe. It’s one thing to know he’s with Avery, but if he starts giving me details, I swear to God—

“Careful, Damien,” Ares cuts in as he steps up beside us, the ice in his glass clinking softly. “Rowan’s liable to deck you in front of half the city.”

“Relax.” Damien raises his hands, all innocence. “I’m not about to give you visuals. Jesus.”

“That’s good, 'cause the last thing I need is a visual of is your hairy biscuits near my sister,” I growl, tapping the bar as the bartender hurries to pour me another drink.

“Fine, fine,” Damien says, turning his attention to Ares. “What about you, man? You take someone home after I left?”

Ares doesn’t even flinch. He takes another sip of whiskey, letting the silence hang long enough to get Damien’s curiosity going. Ares is the pickiest son of a bitch I know. My guess would be that he went straight home after, but looking at him now…

“You fucking did, didn’t you?” Damien grins at him. “Come on, who was it?”

“Club’s owner,” Ares says, setting his glass down.

I blink at him. Damien chokes on his drink.

“Anna Becker?” Damien wheezes, eyes wide. “You fucked Anna Becker?”

Ares doesn’t answer; he just looks at Damien with a half-shrug. He’s never been one to talk about the women he brings home. But I’ve heard them. Ares takes pleasing his woman very seriously, judging by the sounds he rips out of them.

“Shit.” Damien bursts out laughing, shaking his head like he can’t believe it.

“Poor Anna. Should we send ice packs and flowers over to her house?”

Damien and I share a look before we both burst into laughter, with Ares shaking his head. But I don’t miss the way his lips twitch in amusement.

Five minutes later, I excuse myself from Damien’s relentless shit-talking and Ares’s knowing stares, needing a moment to clear my head. The ballroom’s energy is suffocating. The whiskey helped a little, but not enough. I can’t see my hellcat anywhere, and I know for a fact she came here before us to make sure everything’s exactly how she wants it.

I need to see her.

I make my way down one of the side halls, the noise fading with every step. The air here is cooler and quieter, meant for people who don’t want to be seen.

I glance over my shoulder, making sure no one’s following. The last thing I need is another reporter trying to trap me in some PR nightmare.

That’s when I spot the last person I want to talk to.

Alegra Harrison. Draped in an emerald-green dress that clings to her body like it was poured on. Her hair is swept up, exposing her neck and the diamonds dripping from her ears. She’s all curves and polished confidence as she steps into my path, her red lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Rowan,” she purrs, her voice low and smooth.

“Alegra,” I say, my tone neutral. I keep walking, but she moves with me, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” she asks, placing a hand on my arm.

I stop, glancing down at her hand before meeting her gaze. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Well, you found me.” She steps closer, her perfume invading my space, something expensive and cloying that makes my stomach turn. “Or have you been avoiding me?”

“Can’t avoid someone I wasn’t looking for,” I say, my voice cool.

Her laugh is light, but there’s a sharp edge to it. “Always so blunt. That’s what I like about you, Rowan. No pretense.”

“Can I help you?” I take a step back, creating some distance.

She tilts her head, her smile turning coy.

“Oh, you certainly can.” Her hand trails down my arm, her nails grazing the fabric of my suit.

“Stop.” I grab her wrist, not hard but firm enough to make my point.

Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Why fight it? You’re exactly the kind of man I need.”

“And you’re married to the man who signs my paychecks.” I let go of her wrist, taking another step back.

Her smile falters, but only for a second. “He doesn’t have to know.”

“You think I’d risk my career for a quick fuck?” I laugh, a low, humorless sound.

“Oh, it won’t be quick,” she purrs again, her eyes raking over my body. “I intend on savoring every piece of you.”

“Can’t savor something that’s not on the menu, Alegra.” My patience is wearing thin.

“You’re not as untouchable as you think, Rowan.” Her eyes narrow, the charm slipping.

“Neither are you,” I say, my voice dropping an octave. I take a step forward, towering over her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to find someone.”

She stares at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she huffs, turning on her heel and stalking down the hall.

I watch her go, my jaw tight. As much as I want her to leave me alone, I hope she doesn’t. The moment I’m no longer interesting to her, she’ll try to dig her claws into one of my players. And I’d rather it be me than them. That way, at least, I know she won’t succeed.

Shaking my head, I head back to the ballroom, hoping that Livia’s decided to make an appearance.

I’m halfway through another whiskey when I see her.

She steps out of the back area of the ballroom like she’s been hiding there, trying to avoid the crowd.

Livia.

And she’s wearing red.

Not just any red, either. This deep, sinful shade that hugs her body like it’s custom-made to ruin men’s lives. The gown is strapless, with a slit up the side that’s just indecent enough to make my blood heat. Her hair is swept to one side, her bare shoulder and collarbone catching the soft light.

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to devour someone so badly.

She’s scanning the room, probably looking for someone important. But when her eyes land on me, they widen for the briefest second before she schools her expression.

Still, I catch it—that flicker of awareness.

I smirk, watching as she straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, trying to pretend she’s not affected. But she’s flustered. I can see it in how she fiddles with the clutch in her hand and sways slightly in those high heels.

She’s nervous.

Good.

I let her look away first, savoring the way her cheeks flush under my gaze. A young man walks up to her with a smile and an outstretched hand, and she returns it. Her smile is polite but detached as she nods her head at something the man’s saying. Judging by the big PRESS pass he’s wearing, he’s not here to donate money.

I head straight for her, weaving through the crowd.

When I reach her, she’s trying to focus on the poor reporter, nodding along to whatever boring question he’s asking. I step up beside her, cutting in without hesitation.

“Ms. Moody.” My voice comes out low, rough, and entirely too satisfied.

She stiffens, her eyes darting to mine.

“Mr. DiMarco,” she says, her tone clipped.

The reporter glances between us, sensing the tension. “Uh, I should—”

“Go,” I say, not even looking at him. He practically scrambles away.

“Do you always have to scare people off?” Livia glares at me, but there’s no real heat in it.

“Only when they’re wasting your time.”

“I was working,” she huffs before sipping her champagne.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Her lips part, and for a second, she looks like she’s going to deny it. Then she closes her mouth, tilting her head instead. “What do you want, Rowan?”

“Do you know how rude it is to hang up on people?” I lean in just enough to make her breath hitch. “Especially right after they’ve made you come.”

“Rowan!” Her cheeks darken, and she takes a step back, bumping into the table behind her.

“Did you pick that dress to drive me out of my mind?” I ask, my voice dropping.

Her jaw drops, and for a moment, I think she’s going to snap at me. But instead, she presses her lips together, clearly fighting a smile.

“You’re already there,” she finally says, that defiant glint returning to her eyes.

“You’re not falling behind either.” My lips curl into a small smile.

“I don’t have time for this tonight.” She shakes her head, exhaling sharply.

I block her path before she can walk away.

Her eyes narrow, but there’s no mistaking the way her pupils dilate. The announcer’s voice comes through the speaker, stating that the charity auction is about to begin, urging us all to find our tables and take a seat.

I pluck the champagne flute from her fingers and take a sip before handing it back to her.

“I’ll see you around,” I murmur before stepping aside to let her walk through.

The auction’s already on its last leg as I sit at one of the tables reserved for the Panthers. The guys are all bored out of their minds. Some are already engaged in hushed conversations while Langley is making paper roses next to me.

Livia is standing on the other side of the ballroom, talking to one of the organizers. And, hell, she looks so good.

It’s safer to give her a little breathing room for now. I don’t want to push too hard too fast and scare her off.

Our table is near the front, close enough to hear the auctioneer’s rapid-fire cadence as he lists off the next item: a weekend getaway package to some luxury resort in the mountains. Bidding starts high and climbs fast, but I barely pay attention, my eyes scanning the room until I spot her again.

She’s standing near the back now, clipboard in hand, her focus glued to the stage. She’s trying so damn hard to look busy like she’s not hyperaware of my presence.

“Five thousand,” someone calls out.

“Ten,” another voice counters.

I don’t look away from Livia, grinning when she finally glances in my direction. I lift my glass to her in a silent toast, and her cheeks flush again.

“Do I hear fifteen thousand?”

The grin stays as I call out. “Fifty.”

The auctioneer stumbles over his words, his eyes wide. “Uh…fifty thousand! Do I hear fifty-five?”

There’s a murmur in the room, people craning their necks to see who dropped that kind of cash without blinking. Livia’s mouth falls open as she glances at me, her shock written all over her face.

“Going once, going twice…sold to Mr. Rowan DiMarco for fifty thousand dollars!”

Applause breaks out, but I barely notice. I’m too busy watching her, enjoying the way her lips press together like she’s trying to keep from smiling.

That’s right, hellcat. Keep pretending you don’t like the way I’m chasing you.

By the time the auction ends, the band’s already started playing. I’ve given Livia enough time to get used to my presence again. Time to strike. People are pairing off, and I make my move, weaving through the crowd until I’m standing right behind her.

“Dance with me.”

She startles, spinning around to face me. “What?”

I nod toward the dancefloor with a knowing smile.

“You can’t be serious.” Her brow furrows.

“I am.” I step closer, lowering my voice.

She hesitates, glancing around the room like she’s weighing her options. I take the decision out of her hands, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the floor.

“Rowan, wait,” she protests, dropping her clipboard on a nearby table.

But I don’t stop. I lead her to the center of the dancefloor, spinning her to face me as the band shifts into a slower song. Her hands hover awkwardly by her sides until I grab one, placing it on my shoulder.

“There,” I murmur. “Just like last time.”

Her other hand presses against my chest, and for a moment, she looks like she’s going to shove me away. But then I feel her fingers curl slightly, clutching at the fabric of my suit.

“People are watching,” she mutters.

“Let them.” My hands settle on her waist, careful to keep things respectable…for now. “There’s nothing to see. Just the captain sharing a dance with his PR agent.”

She swallows, her eyes darting everywhere except to mine.

I subtly pull her closer to me, letting her feel the bulge in my pants from having her in my arms for less than a minute.

“Stop.” Her gaze snaps to mine, heat flaring behind her eyes.

“Stop what?” I tilt my head to the side as our bodies sway. “Stop reminding you of what we did the other night? Or stop making you want to do it again?”

Her breath hitches, and I feel her body tense under my hands. “Rowan,” she warns, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Just relax, hellcat.” I pull back enough to meet her gaze.

I catch movement from the corner of my eye and glance up, spotting Alegra watching us from across the room. She’s standing next to a waiter who offers her another glass of champagne. Her gaze is sharp and calculating, as her brow rises in a challenge. She looks at me, then turns to the young man and tells him something I can’t hear before heading toward the bathroom. The waiter gapes after her, his face registering what she said, before quickly setting the tray down and following Alegra. I almost snort out loud. Does she really think fucking a waiter in a bathroom would make me change my mind about not taking her up on her offer?

I don’t want her anywhere near me. I don’t want her anywhere near Livia.

I look down, focusing on the amazing woman in my arms, savoring the way her body moves against mine, the way her lips part like she’s trying to think of something to say but deciding against it.

Let her stay flustered. I’m in no rush.

The dance ends, and I reluctantly let Livia go. Her eyes linger on mine for a fraction of a second before she mutters something about work and scurries off, leaving me standing in the middle of the dancefloor, smiling like a damn idiot.

She thinks she’s getting away from me. Adorable.

“Mr. DiMarco!” a voice calls, cutting through my thoughts.

I turn to find a group of reporters clustered near the edge of the room, cameras and microphones pointed my way. Fantastic. The vultures are circling.

I plaster on a polite smile and stride toward them, ignoring the flash of cameras as they jostle to get a better shot.

“Mr. DiMarco, can we get a comment on your incredibly generous donation tonight?” one reporter asks, holding out a microphone.

“Fifty thousand dollars, what made you choose the Wildlife and Stray Rescue Foundation?” another chimes in.

I take a breath, shoving my hands into my pockets as I meet their curious gazes.

“Look, I’m not the kind of guy who likes to make a big deal about this stuff. I usually prefer to keep my contributions private.” The cameras flash again, but I keep my expression steady. “But the truth is, this foundation does incredible work which I’ve familiarized myself with. They provide medical care to injured wild animals, rescue stray animals off the streets, and give them a chance to heal and find safety.”

My voice softens, and I glance toward the charity’s banner hanging near the stage.

“When I was a kid, my grandparents always told me that if you have the means to make a difference, you should. It’s not just about writing a check; it’s about making sure these animals have a chance.”

The reporters murmur among themselves, their cameras clicking as they capture my rare moment of sincerity.

“Do you have a personal connection to this cause?” someone asks.

I hesitate, my jaw tightening. Memories flash in my mind, walking down the alleys of my hometown as a kid, finding stray dogs and cats left to fend for themselves, patching them up with whatever I could find.

“I’ve always had a soft spot for the ones who’ve been forgotten,” I finally say, my voice low but steady. They all go quiet, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve said too much. But then one of the reporters smiles, nodding like she gets it.

“Thank you, Mr. DiMarco,” she says softly, nodding.

“Anytime.” I nod back, the edges of my lips quirking into a faint smile.

The interviews wrap up, and I slip away before anyone can ask me anything else. I’ve had enough of being in the spotlight for one night.

As I step away from the press, I spot Livia slipping through a side door at the edge of the ballroom. She’s moving quickly, like she’s trying to disappear before I notice.

She should know better by now.

I follow her, my steps deliberate, my pulse kicking up as I imagine all the ways I’m about to rattle her cage. The hallway beyond the door is dimly lit and quiet except for the faint hum of the event behind me.

And there she is.

She’s standing at the far end, her back to me, focused on tapping whatever notes into her phone.

I take a slow step forward, my voice cutting through the silence. “Running away from me again?”

She jumps, whipping around with wide eyes. “Jesus, Rowan, you scared me!”

“Not my intention,” I lie, stepping closer.

Her lips part, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, she folds her arms over her chest.

“What are you doing here?”

I stop a few feet away, leaning one shoulder casually against the wall. “Looking for you.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows, and I catch the flicker of nerves in her eyes. “I can’t imagine why that is.”

“Is that what I deserve after the other night?” I chuckle low, the sound reverberating between us.

“That was a mistake.” Her cheeks flush instantly, and her gaze darts away.

“A mistake?” I echo, straightening up and closing the distance between us. “Didn’t sound like a mistake when you were begging me to let you touch yourself again.”

“Rowan.” Her voice is sharp, but it wavers, and I know I’ve got her.

“I can’t decide which version of you I like better,” I say, tilting my head. “The one moaning my name, or the one hissing like a hellcat.”

Her glare sharpens when I step closer. She’s backed up against the wall now, the space between us charged like a live wire. Her perfume is subtle and intoxicating, and I want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in.

“You should go,” she says, her voice softer now, breathless.

“Why?” I murmur, my hands itching to reach out and touch her. “So you can keep pretending you don’t want this?”

“I don’t want this.” Her gaze snaps to mine, wide and defiant. Her chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. She’s holding on by a thread, but I’m not letting her off the hook.

“We both know what happened the last time you lied,” I say softly, my lips curling.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. She trembles, and her eyes dart to my lips before snapping back to mine.

That’s all the invitation I need.

I reach for her, my hand curling around her waist as I pull her against me. She gasps, and I capture the sound with my mouth, kissing her. Fuck, I’ve missed her mouth.

She freezes for a heartbeat, her lips immobile.

Come on, baby. Give in.

And just like that, she’s kissing me back with just as much passion, her hands flying to my chest as her restraint gives way to this fire between us.

It’s all heat and desperation, the taste of her driving me insane. I slide my hand up her back, my fingers threading through her hair as she presses closer, her soft curves fitting against me like they were made to.

My dick is straining against my pants, begging for more room as her body brushes against it. My hand finds her ass, giving it a squeeze before I press her body into the wall.

If we weren’t in a hallway, with the chances of someone walking in on us, I’d drop to my knees right fucking now and eat her sweet pussy out until she’s a dripping, whimpering mess on my tongue.

The thought sends another rush of blood to my cock, now throbbing with need.

She moans into my mouth, her hands fisting my hair.

When she bites my lip, a growl rumbles out of me, and I grip her tighter, my self-control hanging by a thread. I want her. Here. Now.

But just as fast as she gave in, she pulls back, slipping out of my grasp.

“Stop, Rowan,” she says breathlessly, her voice shaky. “We can’t…Please, I shouldn’t.” She shakes her head before she hurries down the hallway, her heels clicking against the floor.

I stay where I am, watching her disappear, my lips tingling from the kiss, and my body thrumming with pent-up energy.

She can run, but sooner or later, I’ll catch her.

And once I do…

The car glides through the quiet streets of Los Angeles, but my mind is nowhere near the road.

It’s on her.

Livia Moody. The one woman I can’t stop wanting.

I didn’t offer her a ride tonight. The entrance was full of reporters, and I couldn’t risk them seeing her get in the car with me. I don’t want the tabloids spinning stories about her.

I know that was the plan, but plans change. And I’d rather eat broken glass than do anything that would harm Livia.

I can’t stop thinking about the way her lips felt against mine, the way her breath hitched when I touched her. The way she looked at me like she wanted to hate me but couldn’t. The way she bit my damn lip, pulling me closer by my hair.

I catch myself grinning, my bottom lip still swollen where she sank her teeth into it. Fuck it.

“Sam, turn the car around,” I snap.

“Sir?” My driver glances at me in the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed.

“Ms. Moody’s house,” I say, my voice leaving no room for argument. “Take me there.”

He hesitates, his professionalism warring with whatever warning bells are going off in his head. But I’m not in the mood to explain myself. I’ve made up my mind.

The car turns, and the low hum of the engine is the only sound as we head toward her place. I sit back, tapping my fingers against my knee, trying to calm the storm raging inside me.

I shouldn’t do this. There’s usually paparazzi tailing me after events like these. But when it comes to her, logic and reason don’t exist.

By the time we pull up in front of her house, I’m out of the car before Sam even puts it in park.

“Don’t wait. I’ll call if I need a ride,” I tell him, striding toward her door without looking back. I glance around to see if any other cars have followed us, relieved to find none.

Her porch light is on, a soft yellow glow spilling onto the steps. My heart pounds harder with every step I take, my pulse echoing in my ears.

I ring the doorbell, the sound sharp and loud in the quiet night.

For a moment, there’s nothing. No movement, no sound. Then I hear footsteps, quick and light, and the door swings open.

She stands there, still in that red dress that’s been driving me insane all night. Her hair is a little messy now, like she’s been running her hands through it, and her eyes widen when she sees me.

“Rowan,” she breathes, her mouth hanging open. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I push the door open all the way, step inside, and close it behind me, the lock clicking into place. Livia steps back, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The shock in her expression is replaced by what I’ve been dying to see all night. Anticipation.

I stalk over to her, pleased when she doesn’t back away from me until I’m standing right in front of her small frame. There’s no one to see us, no one to hear us, no one to hide from. And I want to see all of her.

I slide my right hand up her bare arm, watching as she sucks in a breath, her breasts pushing against her red dress. I can see her nipples poking out from under the fabric, hard and no doubt sensitive.

I move my hand up her shoulder and neck, gently taking her chin between my fingers. She blinks up at me, her eyes unable to decide whether to focus on me or my lips. I decide for her, leaning down to capture her soft lips with mine. The moment my mouth makes contact with hers, the rest of the world disappears. I lick her bottom lip in a silent command, growling in approval as she parts her lips, letting me in. My tongue clashes with hers as her hands slide up my chest to cup my face, her kiss becoming deeper, rougher.

My hand slides to the back of her head, gently tugging at her hair until her lips leave mine. I tug harder, forcing her head back and exposing her neck to me. She lets out a small whimper as I lean down to graze the sensitive skin below her ear.

“I came to finish what I started,” I murmur, my lips sliding down her neck. “And this time,” I bite the skin under her jaw, earning me another whimper, “there’s nowhere to run.”