Page 3 of Redemption (Favorite Malady Duet #2)

I recall the way she stiffened when the creep invaded her personal space. Maybe she doesn’t often flirt with men.

“I came here for work,” I say simply.

I don’t care to talk about my job; it doesn’t define me. I’ll never understand the American fixation on career as a defining characteristic. It’s just a way to make money and afford the lifestyle I desire.

Before she can press for more information, I flag down the bartender and order her another cosmopolitan.

“I can get it,” she says quickly, reaching into her purse.

I pay with my black card before she can fully pull out a wad of one-dollar bills.

Interesting. She’s scraping money together to pay for her drinks, but she doesn’t want me to take care of her.

Out of pride?

I shake off my curiosity. Her reasons don’t matter; she won’t pay for another drink tonight. She will have to accept that.

Women usually love being taken care of. This isn’t the first time I’ve engaged in this little game where a woman reaches for her purse. But it is the first time that I truly believe she’s uncomfortable with me paying. It’s confounding, especially considering her meager funds.

I have plenty of money, and I want to spend it on her.

“I’ve got it.” I deepen my tone again, brooking no resistance as I press the cocktail glass into her hand.

Her slender fingers close around it without further protest.

Definitely submissive.

She takes another long draw of her sweet drink, a sign of nervousness that I savor even as I worry that she might be drinking too fast. With her slender frame, I’d be surprised if she can handle much alcohol.

“You should check out Folly Beach sometime,” she says, making more small talk to soothe her nerves. She’s painstakingly polite, and she seems almost conditioned to continue the conversation.

Definitely a good Carolina girl.

I’ll enjoy corrupting her later.

But for now, she won’t drink more. I have no interest in taking a drunk woman home with me.

I want her fully aware of every moment we share, every drop of pleasure I wring from her delicate body.

“I’d love to go to the beach with you sometime,” I say, maintaining my assertion that she’ll show me around the area.

It’s strange that I’m setting a date with a woman I barely know. Usually, a night or two is enough to sate my physical needs.

But I definitely wouldn’t mind spending more time in Abigail’s company. She’s a puzzle I haven’t quite figured out, and I won’t let her go until I solve it.

I reach out and pluck the half-empty cocktail glass from her hand before setting it on the bar alongside my whiskey.

“Dance with me.” It’s a command, and she doesn’t pull away when I take her dainty hand in mine.

“But we haven’t finished our drinks,” she protests, even as she allows me to lead her away from the bar.

“I’ve had enough to drink,” I counter smoothly, choosing not to chastise her for gulping her cocktails.

It seemed to be an anxious response, and I don’t want to rebuke her for being nervous around me. I like keeping her on edge.

“I’m not a very good dancer,” she equivocates when we step onto the dancefloor.

“Let me lead,” I command. “Take my hands.”

I grasp both of her smaller hands in mine before she can make the choice herself, caging her slender fingers in a careful but firm grip.

“Hold on to me.”

I step toward her, and she eases back in perfect time. I’m not sure if she’s following me in the dance or if she’s edging away from my predatory energy.

I pull her into me, spinning her around so that she twirls before her back presses against my chest. Her shocked laugh is melodic, twining through the beat of the music.

I keep her trapped against me with an arm around her waist for a few swaying steps.

She moves with me beautifully, surrendering to my control despite her nerves.

I spin her away before she can get uncomfortable in my arms, and she laughs again. She tosses her glossy, sable hair, and the golden lights catch on the pretty purple curl that falls over her left shoulder. I crave to twine it around my fist and pull her in for a fierce kiss.

Instead, I spend the next two songs twirling her around the dancefloor. Her cheeks are an even deeper shade of pink, and her lips part on little panting breaths as her body warms for me.

Desire pulses through my veins, and it’s all I can do to keep my hands from straying to her pert ass instead of gripping her waist.

Hunger for this woman sets my teeth on edge, but I’m enjoying the new, slightly discomfiting sensation.

I’m losing myself in the hunt: a more savage psychological dance as I lure her in with every step.

Our bodies move in time, and I allow her to see my need for her burning through my eyes.

We’ll be perfectly compatible when we fuck in a few short hours.

Abigail is proving that she naturally follows my lead, and despite her good girl sensibilities, she’ll succumb to my dark needs.

The music slows to something more sensual, and I tug her flush with my chest. My arm is an iron band around her lower back, pinning her to me as I methodically back her off the dancefloor with each swaying step.

We reach a quieter, shadowy corner of the bar, and her eyes flare the moment she realizes that I have her trapped.

But she doesn’t stiffen in distaste like she did when the uncouth idiot invaded her space at the bar earlier.

Her head tips back. Her pupils are dilated, and the lights flash over her eyes so that they shine like precious gemstones.

I finally indulge myself and twine her amethyst curl around my finger. Her hair is like silk, and I wonder how soft her skin will feel against mine.

I lean in slowly, and her head drops back farther. I allow her to simmer in anticipation, until she’s practically trembling with need.

At the last moment, I tilt my face to the side so that my cheek skims over hers. My lips tease the shell of her ear when I whisper, “What does a good Carolina girl like you want me to do to her?”

I’m testing her, teasing her. I’ll deny her the kiss she so clearly desires until she yields a bit. I want to know a sensual secret so that I can better manipulate her into accepting my twisted games.

“Who says I’m a good girl?” she breathes, and the words are hot against my skin.

My fine hairs stand on end, a strange prickling sensation on the back of my neck that I’ve never felt before.

I hum in consideration, and she shivers in response to the low rumble. I breathe in her sweet, slightly fruity scent and indulge myself, nuzzling her silken hair.

“What if I tell you to be a good girl for me?”

Her breath catches, but she shakes her head. “I’m not good.”

Boldy, I shift my tender touch on her hair so that I can capture her nape in my hand. “I can make you be my good girl. Would you like that, Abigail?”

“Make me?” It’s barely audible, a little puff of warm air on my cheek.

“You’ll love being my good girl,” I promise darkly, and she quivers in my hold. “I guarantee it.”

I graze my teeth over her vulnerable artery. “Tell me what you want.”

“I…” She trails off, so I give her a small bite to loosen her tongue with a little flare of warning pain. “I want you to make me,” she whispers in a rush. “I want you to pin me down and use me.”

Fuck. I swallow the curse and breathe through the pulse of lust that surges through my body. My cock stiffens, and I wrestle for control so that I don’t get a hard-on in public.

“Will you struggle?” My voice is rougher now, crueler.

Her lips brush my cheek as she asks breathily, “Do you want me to?”

I bite back a groan. This woman is maddeningly perfect. I need to drive into her wet heat and fuck her hard until she weeps for mercy.

I’ve never unleashed my savage side before. I’ve always been careful to hide the cruelest parts of my nature behind cool control in the bedroom. I manipulate and seduce to get what I want, but I’m never fully myself.

The prospect of letting my mask drop entirely tempts me to the edge of sanity.

I grit my teeth and barely restrain myself from shoving her against the wall to claim her mouth with all the ruthlessness I’m capable of.

Not here.

I can’t let anyone see me like that.

Expect maybe her.

The sensual promise of this darkest game makes my blood burn in my veins. My fingers tighten around her nape, and I drag her closer. I nip at the sensitive spot beneath her ear, and she releases the most erotic little whimper I’ve ever heard.

She wants this. She wants me.

The real, unmasked version of me that I’ve never shown anyone.

This is dangerous. Reckless.

I don’t know Abigail at all, and I’m considering a rash act that’s completely out of character for me.

“Abby!” A masculine voice calls out from behind me, tearing the moment I’m sharing with my pretty prey.

She jerks in my hold, and for a moment, I firm my grip on her slender neck. She draws in a sharp breath and softens against me, melting into the harsh touch.

So fucking perfect.

“Abby.” The man says again. “I can’t find Stacy. She’s not answering my calls.”

I round on him, fixing him with a glower like he’s a fly I’ll swat away without a second thought.

He pales slightly, and his mouth drops open on a gasp beneath his neat black moustache.

Fuck.

I struggle to summon up my civilized mask again. This person is clearly Abigail’s friend, and he’s concerned for another woman they know. I can’t eviscerate him for daring to interrupt us.

“Franklin?” Her voice slurs slightly on his name when she returns to a normal speaking volume. I hadn’t noticed the slower cadence to her speech when we’d been whispering forbidden secrets.

Is she drunk?

I recall the fact that she drank at least two slushies before I plied her with one and a half cosmopolitans. How much of a lightweight is she? Did she have even more slushies before I arrived at the bar?

I’d been concerned about allowing her to drink her second cocktail, but maybe she’s already had too much.

I force myself to put distance between us so that her friend, Franklin, can talk to her.

She stumbles away from the wall as soon as I stop pinning her.

I rake a hand through my hair, strangely agitated.

“Where’s Stacy?” she asks, and her eyes are slightly unfocused as she squints at the crowd of people swaying on the dancefloor.

Franklin sighs and rolls his eyes. “Not you too, Abby. Come on, I’ll get you home before you stumble off with some hottie.” He wraps a supportive arm around her shoulders and starts to steer her away.

She sways into him, and it takes all my willpower to stop myself from tearing her friend away from her.

She clearly needs the support, and I’m a stranger to her.

The stranger who plied her with alcohol and then cornered her at the bar. I practically groped her in public.

No wonder her friend is considering me through narrowed eyes. I must seem like a predator to him.

I am a predator, but not in the way he thinks. The idea of claiming Abigail when she’s inebriated leaves me cold. I want her fully aware of every moment we share. And I don’t want her to experience an ounce of regret in the morning.

So, I fold my arms over my chest and remain rooted to the spot while I watch him steer her toward the exit.

“Is Stacy okay?” I hear her ask. She’s speaking unnecessarily loudly; she’s clearly lost her volume control.

“I don’t know.” Franklin is exasperated.

“We can’t leave her,” Abigail insists.

“She already left. We can call…” Their conversation is lost beneath the pulsing music, and I’m left standing in the corner like a granite statue.

My teeth are locked hard enough to make my jaw ache, but I have to remain resolutely still to prevent myself from going after her.

A mad idea sparks.

I can’t let her slip away.

I need to know this woman, and I won’t give up so easily.

My coiled muscles relax, and I saunter after her, keeping a dozen revelers between us to conceal the fact that I’m following her.

I didn’t even get her number. I can’t openly pursue her now without drawing negative attention from Franklin. He’s clearly protective, and I don’t want him to try to stop me from getting to my prey.

It would be unfortunate if I had to hurt her friend.

That would complicate my plans to seduce her.

I follow them out into the night, trailing her until she disappears into a dilapidated apartment building.

When I’m reassured that Franklin isn’t in her apartment—I can see her clearly through her window that provides a view into her living room—I stroll away from her.

I know where she lives now. I can come back in the morning.

I’ll find a way to conveniently meet her again. Charleston isn’t a big city, and it won’t seem too strange for us to see each other coincidentally.

She won’t know that our second meeting will be by my design.

I’ll have Abigail in my bed, and I’ll learn her darkest secrets. She will surrender, and then this strange, clawing need that’s assailing me will abate.