Page 61 of From West, With Regret

“Thank you.” Selene swallows. “I need to use the bathroom.” She pops up from her seat and corrects her dress before walking in the direction of the bathroom, a slight sway in her steps.

I turn back to Holt, but he hasn’t looked away from Selene. He eyes her the entire way until she disappears around the corner. The smile he had when congratulating her fades.

“I’ll go make sure she’s okay,” he mutters, then follows her.

I look over my shoulder and find West still standing in the entrance to the club. We don’t speak a word to one another as his gaze rakes over me, taking in my outfit.

His beautiful, towering frame fills the opening to the club below. The room grows smaller with every passing second between us. Air squeezes through my lungs and the image of West in my dreams comes back to me at full force.

“I need some air,” I say to no one in particular.

Asher is already lifting Charleigh into his arms, and Julianna is dancing with herself.

I make my way around the table and head toward the entrance where West is standing. I avoid looking at him as my shoulder brushes the smooth fabric of his sport coat, which is dark blue with black lapels over his black collared shirt. Like the one on the cover of Holt’s magazine.

I immediately smell him: mint and leather. The heat I’ve ignored for the past twenty-four hours is back between my thighs. Memories of his hands on me and his breath in my ear come roaring back. Every muscle I have aches for him.

I avoid looking at West as I move past him and head for the stairwell leading to the dance floor below. The open area of the club is as dark as the VIP section, though different as bright lights flash across the entire room. The DJ at the front of the dance floor holds his headphones to one ear as he bobs his head to the steady beat.

“London, wait,” West says behind me.

“I need air, West,” I rasp, desperate for relief.

“Talk to me, please,” he begs, and the pain in his voice forces me to stop at the edge of the dance floor. The sea of dancers threaten to suck me in, but I turn my back on them, staring at the man I know I’m falling in love with.

The man in my dreams.

He’s breathing heavy with that same look of panic I’ve already seen on his face a million times. Like I’m suddenly going to evaporate into thin air or fade before his very eyes.

“I need to talk to you about what happened yesterday,” he says over the music. “It’s killed me not texting or calling you. I want to give you space, but—” He struggles to finish his sentence, raking a frustrated hand through his dark hair. His rings and watch glint under the white strobe lights.

“I can’t do this.”

“Why?” He asks, desperate. “Tell me why you can’t.”

“It’s too complicated.”

“Because of Heath?” He shouts. “Or is it something else?”

“All of it.” My confession steels us both. I get lost in his eyes, wishing we were having this conversation somewhere else. The alcohol swimming in my body is starting to hit me.

“So, you do feel something for me?”

A lump swells in my throat.

Bodies press into my back around me, and I allow them to swallow me up before I turn and push my way through the crowd, even though I know West is quick to follow. The crowd parts, giving West and me the space to make our way toward the center of the dance floor.

“Can you honestly tell me you feel nothing for me?” he pleads behind me.

“Let it go, West!” I yell over my shoulder, continuing to shoulder my way through.

“I can’t let you go.”

I stop, spinning on my heel. Lights flash across his face in rhythm with the pounding music vibrating through the floor. One second, I see him. The other, he’s gone.

But then he’s back, his eyes shining under the strobe lights again.

I can’t let you go.