Page 2 of Hurricane (Happy Hour #1)

Colby

T his smug bastard has no idea how dangerous it is to goad me this way with the steak knife sitting inches from my hand. In a place like this, I’m sure the blade’s as dull as Lyle but that will make stabbing him hurt even worse.

My fingers involuntarily twitch with the idea. As soon as my hand starts to glide across the tablecloth, Lucian looks up from his fish and smirks.

“Don’t even think about it.”

How the hell does he do that? He always seems to be able to read my mind.

Maybe because all my emotions play out on my face. I’ve never been able to school my expression regardless of how much my mother tried to teach me that showing disappointment, or in this case, disgust, never serves you well. You always pay the price for being honest.

Fuck that. I’m not some meek woman who wants to be a dutiful wife. I have my own goals I plan to achieve. “I have no interest or concern with what your house looks like.”

He swallows down his bite and nods at me. “ Our house, doll baby.”

That’s the worst pet name yet. I open my mouth to remind him that I’m not his to label when he scoffs at the wadded-up napkin Lyle left behind.

“What did you see in that guy anyway?”

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Except that he was the only man to ask me out who actually followed through.

For the past six years, since I was sixteen, any guy who showed interest in me seemed to disappear.

They’d quit school or drop the class or get an urgent message on their phone and never return despite saying they would be right back.

Lyle is the only one who came to my apartment when he said he would and brought me here. I kept waiting for him to go to the men’s room and vanish.

The conversation on the ride to the restaurant was awkward and stilted.

But at least I was finally on a real date.

Until Lucian ruined it.

Like he always does.

Jerk.

“He’s a nice guy.”

Lucian quirks an eyebrow. “That’s all you’ve got. He’s nice?”

The mob boss shakes his head, frowning at me. “He can’t handle an incredible woman like you.”

The compliment shocks me to the core, and I can’t formulate a response. Lucian rarely flatters me. He’s too narcissistic for that. He just wants to control me because that’s what assholes do.

Finally, anger helps me find my voice. “And you think you can?”

He nods. “I’ve already established that I can, haven’t I Hurricane?”

My body automatically lights just like always when he calls me that.

I hate him for it.

I hate myself for it even more.

He leans closer, his eyes dark with desire as his tongue barely licks his bottom lip in a devilishly sensual move. “If I remember correctly, you were begging me to handle you any way I wanted.”

He’s right.

I was.

Shamelessly pleading for all he could give me. Despite the pain of him taking my virginity, I wanted him again and again. The more it hurt, the more I loved it.

On my back, on my knees, all fours, bent over the table, in the shower.

Every position.

Every place he could come inside me, he did.

And then he left.

The memory of waking up bloody, sore, and alone, chills every craving I have for him. “I was drunk. I don’t remember any of it and I’m glad.”

I’m lying, and he knows it.

After offering me a slow nod, he returns to his dinner. “The ubiquitous Hurricanes. Always taking the blame for the drinker’s decisions that they later regret.”

“I regret everything that has to do with you.”

I swear I see agony in his dark blue eyes. Is it possible I’ve hurt his feelings?

God I hate this. He’s making me a bad person when I’m really not.

I just don’t want to marry a man who doesn’t love me.

I don’t want my choices made for me.

I don’t want to miss out on who I’m supposed to be.

Guilt overcomes me, and I force myself to settle down. I take a few deep breaths and taste my meal that’s as bad as Lucian predicted the entrée would be.

The silence unnerves me. Lucian always has a smart aleck remark or a wise crack to purposely aggravate me.

Instead, he stays silent as he slices his potato with the precision of the murderer that he is. Like a fool, I let my conscience drive my need to fix the situation. “You’re right. This food is not good.”

I brace myself for his gloating. Now I’m surprised when he smiles agreeably at me. “Sunday I’ll take you to Nonna Rose’s.”

With our usual cadence restored, I smirk back at him. “Good, then I can tell her again we’re not getting married.”

His head falls back with a deep laugh that sparks my heart. Even though I’m still infuriated with him and our situation, I’m relieved he’s back to normal.

I shouldn’t care, yet somehow, I still do.

We eat quietly although the tension has evaporated. The waiter discretely slides the bill between us, not attempting to guess who is paying. Obviously, I grab for the paper because I’m sure as hell not going to let him buy me anything.

Lucian doesn’t stop me—just continues eating but says my name in a low, rumbly voice that is like a lightning rod to my nipples. They harden painfully against my bra from the same dominant tone he used when we were in New Orleans.

I ignore the situation and dig around in my bag for my debit card.

While he sets down his fork and slides out his wallet from the inside breast pocket of his suit coat.

He casually tosses a hundred on the table for a forty-two-dollar tab and rises.

His stunning sapphire eyes watch me as I fumble around.

Damn, he’s annoying.

Of course, the server appears just at that moment and swipes up the plastic sleeve and the cash. “I’ll be right back with your change.”

Lucian never takes his gaze off of me. “Keep it.”

The man does a quick calculation. “Thank you sir. Thank you very much.”

With our battle brewing, we both ignore him. He takes the hint and scurries away. At least someone’s happy tonight.

Lucian holds out his gargantuan hand. “Come cupcake. Let’s go home.”