ALICIA
I'm grateful Rider asked me to dance. Sitting there alone made me feel like the least popular girl in school and took me back to my days when I was.
I didn't have many friends in high school. Most considered me a book nerd. I was picked on. Chosen last for things. Then, when I was eighteen, my dad opened his first club. The one in the same city I'm currently in. Suddenly, people who were always mean to me wanted to be my friend. Those who didn’t give a shit about me when I was teased were suddenly vying for my attention. And I was stupid enough to fall for it. There's nothing quite like being dumped by the most popular guy in school, while in the middle of the club I just got him in, even though he was underage. Then watching him hit on someone prettier than me and pretending like he didn’t even know who I was.
Now I have a different problem. If men know who I am, they don't talk to me because they're afraid to approach me. As if I’m different from any other woman. But when I'm in the club, with the lights down low and the bass thumping, they don't see me as the wealthy woman whose father owns the place. They see me as just another woman on the dance floor who they can try to put the moves on.
I'll dance with them, but I never let them take me home. Well, I used to, but then someone—a woman who I thought was my friend—broke all my trust. Now I keep to myself. I focus on work and have no social life, which is fine by me. It’s safer this way. No one can use me if I don’t put myself out there.
Rider asked if he should pick me up at home. I immediately said no. The last thing I want is for him to see just how sad and pathetic my life is. My home is so damn neat, even my curtains get cleaned weekly and not by a housekeeper. It’s all me. This is what happens when I have too much time on my hands and get all my work done ahead of schedule.
Looking into his blue eyes, I wonder why he asked me to dance. So, I throw caution to the wind and boldly ask him.
He cocks his head and considers my question for a moment. "I could lie to you," he states seriously. "I can tell what you’re expecting to hear, that I felt pity for you.” How does this guy know me so well when I’ve only just met him tonight? “But that's not it,” he continues. “What I saw, from my spot along the wall, was the most beautiful woman in the room, sitting at a table with a sad look on her face while others were having fun, and no way was I going to let that continue. You deserve to dance as much as everyone else. And these losers who were too chickenshit to ask you to dance, it's their loss."
"You still felt sorry for me," I counter.
"No, that's not what I said. I said you looked sad. It was a shame you were alone. If you were mine, I'd never let you come to one of these events by yourself."
"I'm no one's. There's no man in my life. Usually, when someone wants to date me, they want something in return. They want money or sex. They never just want me." Isn't that the saddest, most pathetic statement I've made all night? Guess I’m living up to his sad girl comment. It’s a fantastic way to make the man dancing with me fall for me. Wait. Do I want that? I have to admit his honesty is refreshing. Most men say what they think I want to hear. Not what they are thinking.
Rider opens his mouth to speak but then stiffens, his arm wrapping protectively around me. He's peering over my shoulder.
Turning, his hand remaining on my hip, I find my father walking toward us. He’s dressed in a crisp tux with his greying, light brown hair combed neatly back. The man might not be intimidating by his physical appearance, but once you hear him speak, you can’t turn away. He’s a strong businessman who always gets what he wants.
Dad pretends I'm not here and focuses on Rider. "Are you the cop who's supposed to be looking after my daughter?"
"Yes," Rider replies firmly.
"Then why the hell aren't you doing that? You're supposed to be protecting her, not putting the moves on her." Luckily, Dad knows how to keep his voice down as not to attract the attention of everyone around us.
Before Rider can reply, I cut in, "I asked him to dance. He looked so stiff up against that wall. I thought it might be good to dance, even if it were for only one song. And he couldn't say no since he was here for me."
Dad's eyes narrow at me. "He's here to do a job, sweetheart. Now let him do it." He gives Rider a hard glare before turning and walking back to a group of men who I have no doubt he's in the middle of some kind of deal with.
Rider drops his hand from my waist but clasps his other hand with mine. He leads us off the dance floor and back to the table. "You didn't have to do that. I can answer for myself," he states.
"If I didn't, he would have gone back to your boss and probably gotten you fired."
He scoffs. "That's highly doubtful. I've been with the force for fifteen years."
"Do you know how much money he donates to the community...to your force, as you put it?"
"Honey, I'm not worried about my job."
My body stiffens; my features harden. I’m not his honey, nor do I appreciate being called that—especially in that tone. "You can go back to your post now. I'll be leaving soon, then you won't have to see me again."
"What if I want to? See you again, that is." Is he serious? He’s giving me whiplash with his attitude shifts.
"Tell me this, which one is the real you? The one who held me close while we danced, speaking the truth? Or the one who got arrogant the second I mentioned your job? Because I can tell you which one I don't like very much right now."
He looks like he wants to say more—to answer my question—but instead, he straightens his back and walks away from me, returning to the wall where he can keep watch.
Dropping back into the chair I was sitting in, I stay for what feels like hours, just staring and stewing. People walk over and thank me for the work I do for the charity. Some tell me about their donations, and I respond with how grateful I am. I truly am, even if right now I want nothing more than to get the hell out of here.
Rider’s eyes are on me. I can feel them. Not like they were when I first came in. They are heated now and, if he were standing in front of me, I wonder if I’d find a fire burning in his eyes. Wonder if it would be from anger or lust. I saw both within those depths.
Guests start to leave and, when the room is about half full, I decide to follow suit. Rider walks me to the limo but then insists on following me home to ensure I get there safely. No matter how much I protest, he doesn't budge. Nothing happened on the drive over here or during the event. Why does he think something will now?
I glance back through the tinted window of the limo and find his SUV directly behind us. I'm irritated about the way he spoke to me. I hated the arrogant tone of his words, though I can't deny the part of me that's happy he's back there, following me to my place, like a protective knight.
The limo driver pulls up, and I use the remote in my purse to open the gates to my home. I live just outside the city. It's quiet here but close enough that I can be downtown in no time. My home is a large, two-story, brick Colonial. Lights line the drive to the garage and front door. Rider is still behind us, his headlights bouncing into the limo when he goes over a slight dip at the bottom of the driveway.
The driver stops and I get out, not giving anyone time to open the door for me. I thank the driver and tip him but ignore Rider as I walk away.
As soon as the limo starts to pull away, Rider is there behind me as I unlock the front door. The heat of his body hits mine, warming me in ways I'm not sure I want to deal with.
With the turn of the handle, I open the door and step inside, spinning before he can enter. "Thank you for watching over me tonight. You can go now," I dismiss him.
"Not yet. I want you to know which man you were with." So my question got to him. Good. "I’m arrogant. I'm not going to deny that." He leans one arm on the doorframe, pulling his jacket taut against his muscular arm, revealing the gun he has holstered to his side. "I'm damn good at what I do, and yes, I’m arrogant when it comes to that. However, I'm also the man you talked to on the dance floor. The one who told you the truth. I was dead serious when I said that. Do you know how fucking beautiful you are? How perfect? Any guy would have been damn lucky to dance with you."
His words undo the tension inside of me. I don't think—only react. Stepping forward, I press my lips to his. He doesn't kiss me back right away, and I wonder if I made a huge mistake. I'm about to pull away when his arm snakes around my back and pulls me flush to him. My hands immediately go to his shoulders to push his jacket off as he steps into my home and kicks the door shut behind him, engaging the lock. He releases me long enough to shed the jacket and carefully remove his guns.
"Does anyone else live with you?" he asks.
"What? No."
"There's not a maid or a chef who lives here?" The fuck?
"For your information, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."
His eyes blaze. "I'm not asking to be a dick, Alicia. I want to make sure if I put my guns down on your table here, no one will touch them."
My cheeks flush. "Oh, sorry. No one else is here." Could I be a bigger idiot? I wouldn't be surprised if he turned around and got the hell out of here.
With his guns on the table, I start to tremble under the intensity of his gaze. He steps to me with raw power, and I'm doing everything I can to not let my legs give out.
This man was so put together at the event. So strong and sure of himself. So professional. But in here, it's like a switch has flipped, and he's showing me his other side. The one who looks like he’s about to devour me on the spot.
I want that.
So much.
His hand comes around me again while the other one finds the zipper of my dress at my back. With slow precision, he unzips it as his tongue sweeps into my mouth.
I begin undoing the buttons of his crisp, white shirt, revealing the toned body underneath. As my fingers explore every ridge of his stomach, he backs me down the hall and into the kitchen. My dress is abandoned somewhere near the door. I'm left in nothing but a black lace bra and matching panties.
He lifts me onto the counter with ease, and I instinctively part my legs for him. The bottom of his shirt is still tucked into his pants, hanging down over his ass, almost completely off. I waste no time ridding him of it as he kicks off his pants and boxer briefs. He slips one finger down my stomach and over the sheer fabric of my panties. I shudder at the touch.
I moan as his lips find my nipple, and he sucks me into his mouth. Every part of me is coming alive. I never do this. Not anymore. Not in a long while. No more one-night stands. No more random men in my home. But he isn't just some man. He's a detective and one who spent the night watching over me, showing me there are still honest men out there. Or at least, I hope. What if he said all that to get to this point with me? Even as the words tumble through my mind, I know they aren’t true. Rider is different. I let go of all my prior reasons for not letting people into my home and allow myself to be present with him right now.
His hands slip into my panties, tugging them down as I lift my ass from the cold granite of the counter. Then he's pushing me back gently and kissing a path from my stomach to where I want him most.