CHAPTER EIGHT

The club had a different energy during the day. No music played. The lights were bright, shining in every corner. Shannon felt as if she was wandering backstage and peering at all the pulleys and levers, the sets and costumes that made a Broadway show go ’round. Because there were no smoke and mirrors now. Those would only come with an audience or a crowd in the evening.

Even with the lights switched on, Edge still possessed the sleek sensuality it was known for, with its silver bar, low divans, gauzy curtains, and its rich colors—colors of desire, like wine reds and deep purples.

Her footsteps echoed across the black tiled floor that would be lit up tonight, illuminated by rays of smoky light from the ceiling, by crescents of blue from the stage, by shimmery gold beams.

The click of her high heels punctuated the strained silence between the two of them as they walked through his quiet club. She wasn’t sure what to say next. She’d simply asked Brent for a minute alone to chat, and James had scurried off. No one else was there, as far as she could tell, except the two of them.

“It’s like seeing how a magician pulls off a card trick,” she said as she turned to survey the scene, eager to break the quiet.

“Speaking of, I have a new one I can show you.”

“You do card tricks now?” she asked, because she could picture it. It seemed like his style. He’d always loved cards and had played in poker games at school now and then. She could see him brandishing a deck with a ‘now you see it, now you don’t’ sweep of his hands.

He laughed, and she sneaked a peek once more at the man by her side—so much taller, so much bigger than her small frame. Her eyes definitely hadn’t been playing tricks on her last night. He was still devastatingly handsome, even more so with his casual look today—jeans and a navy blue button-down. It was untucked, and with the cuffs rolled up it revealed his strong forearms, and some of the ink he’d gotten in college. She’d gone with him for his first tattoo, the black sunburst just above his wrist. She’d joked that it fit his “sunny disposition” and he’d promptly scowled and glowered. But then he’d draped an arm around her and flashed her his winning smile.

“Nope. But I’ll need to work on that next. Can I get you something? Water? Soda? I’m happy to serve you something stronger, but I don’t imagine you’ve started drinking at eleven in the morning,” he said as they reached the silver bar. A small red bag was on the counter, as well as the usual accouterments of napkins and cocktail straws.

She shook her head. “I have a meeting at noon at the Cosmopolitan. So, a Diet Coke could be great.” Being near him, and needing to say the words Michael had told her to say, made her throat dry.

Brent offered her a stool at the bar, then walked behind the counter and poured a soda from the tap. He handed her the glass. “I’m not a bartender. I just play one on TV,” he said, imitating the deep tones of a TV announcer. His attempt at humor made her smile.

She downed some of the soda. She’d never been so grateful for a sip of Diet Coke before. It quenched her thirst and gave her some newfound courage to own up to her actions last night. She held the glass in one hand and parted her lips to speak. But he was already talking.

“Shannon,” he said, his voice intensely serious, his deep brown eyes focused on her. “You’re right. You’re completely right. I need to apologize for so many things. But first I need to apologize for pushing things too far last night.”

She froze, her fingers gripping the glass. An unexpected bead of worry streaked through her. She didn’t want to hear that he might not want her. Not when she couldn’t extinguish her desire for him.

But she didn’t show up at his club to satisfy the sweet ache in her body. She was there to right her own wrong. To soothe the shame in her soul. She held up a hand as a stop sign and shook her head. “You have nothing to apologize for. I came here to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have slapped you last night.” She put down her glass as she fidgeted with a silver bracelet on her wrist. She took a breath to center herself, then looked in his eyes. He was regarding her intently, as if she were an equation he didn’t understand.

“I have no idea why you would apologize to me,” he said, walking around the bar and joining her on her side.

“I shouldn’t have behaved like that. Hitting you. That’s not the kind of person I want to be.”

He laughed deeply. “One, I deserved it. I was a dick. Two, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it makes you like your mother. But you’re not. That was completely different.”

She shook her head, her voice rising as she disagreed with him. “You didn’t deserve it. I shouldn’t have done it.”

He took a step back and narrowed his eyes. His voice was strong, overriding hers. “You are completely wrong. I’m the one who needs to apologize—”

“No, you’re not!” she said, and now she was borderline shouting.

“Yes, I am,” he said, his voice like a stake in the ground.

Then it hit her. The two of them were actually arguing over who had the right to be more wrong.

She reined in a laugh. “Do you realize what we’re doing? We’re fighting again. This time over who should apologize.”

A small smile formed on his lips. “Yes, we are,” he said. Then he turned serious as he dropped his hands on her shoulders, parking them there. She loved how he held her. His firm grip sent a flurry of sparks across her arms, bare in a silky black tank top. “But I’m winning this round,” he added, a glint in his eyes. “Like I said, you have nothing to apologize for. You are nothing like your mother. And I deserved that slap because you were right. I haven’t apologized to you and there’s so much that I need to say, and I wanted to start by just giving you a little something.”

He let go of her to reach for the bag on the counter. “I picked this up this morning. Dropped it off here,” he said, handing her the shiny red shopping bag with slim handles. Her heart beat faster. He had always given her little things when they were together. Pretty postcards of London, Paris, Vienna, and all the places where she wanted to go someday. A song she’d heard at a coffee shop and wanted to listen to on her computer. A mini lemon cupcake, because every now and then she permitted herself little treats.

She opened the bag, rustled around in the tissue paper and pulled out a thin, blush pink, silk scarf. She didn’t even try to contain a smile. “This one’s a scarf,” she said.

“I know. And I bet it looks amazing on you. I also thought if you wanted to leave it behind, I can steal it again, so I can say I’m sorry another time. I’ll say I’m sorry ten thousand times if I have to. And I know this scarf doesn’t even begin to cover all of my crimes, so I hope you’ll take it in the spirit I’ve given it. It’s just a little something because I thought it was pretty and I thought it would look good on you. But then, everything looks good on you,” he said, his hands clenched at his side.

She could tell he wasn’t angry. Instead, he was holding himself back. He probably wanted to put the scarf on her. She probably would have let him in the past, but everything between them now was too raw, too new, too dangerous. So she tossed it around her neck, striking a pose. She was flirting, and surely she shouldn’t be. But it was so easy, so familiar to play like this with him. And it felt so good, even for a sliver of a moment in time.

“Thank you. I love it,” she said, stroking the fabric. His breath hitched as she touched it, and she let go quickly, reaching for the glass of soda and taking another sip. Her hands felt unsteady. She looked at him again. His hands were in his pockets now, and he was shifting back and forth on his heels.

“But Shan, that’s not all I have to say. That just barely scratches the surface.”

“Okay, what else is there?”

“Listen, I don’t even know how to begin to say I’m sorry for breaking your heart, as you said last night,” he said, holding her gaze. “What I can tell you is this. It is my biggest regret. And you know I never talked about the specifics of our relationship when I was doing standup in college,” he said, his voice stripped bare, the way he’d always talked to her when he wanted her to know he was serious. She trusted that voice. She knew it cold, and she knew the promise he’d made to keep the details of their private life out of his comedy. So she’d never be the girlfriend that a comedian used as the butt of a joke in his routines. “That remains the case. But there was one bit that I did, and I suppose I was always hoping you would see it. I did it so you might see it. But you told me last night you never did, and I’d really like to show it to you because I think this says everything I want to start to say. Will you watch it?”

Shannon gulped, and nodded. She didn’t push back as she had when Colin had started to show her the video. She didn’t resist. Maybe that made her a fool, or maybe it just made her ready. Four million others had seen it, but she was the only one who’d watch it as the intended viewer.

“Show it to me,” she said, her voice soft, nerves trickling through it. He dug into his pocket for his phone. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she was incapable of staying far away from Brent, not when he showed this sweet, tender, loving side. She’d come there only to apologize, never expecting he’d feel the need to do so, too. Not after his quick retort last night. Now that he’d begun saying his mea culpa, she wanted all of it.

She crossed her legs and leaned back against the bar, her spine digging into the metal as the clip began—the part she’d seen. He strolled across the stage talking about ‘that guy’ at a business meeting who gets caught with porn on his screen during a presentation. Then he talked about how he effectively became that guy when he was meeting with the head of a hotel chain.

There was something so surreal about this moment. She was with flesh-and-blood Brent, and she was watching Brent from a year ago, too.

“You’re in two places at once,” she teased, as she glanced at him then back to the screen. She stopped talking as the clip moved past the point where she’d hit stop the first time, when he’d said he Facebook stalked his ex.

The on-screen Brent tapped his chest, the look on his face one of utter disdain for his own antics. “Ever done that to your college girlfriend? Searched for her on Facebook? Looked up her pictures?” he asked, looking at the audience, as the camera swept out to capture several of them nodding.

“Yeah. Me too. I looked up my girl. Spent a ton of hours trying to figure out what she was up to. Translation—is she still hot and gorgeous, and did she marry some other guy?”

A rush of heat spread across Shannon’s chest from those words. Meaningless words, but still the compliment thrilled her.

“And then I forgot to close the browser page before I went into a meeting. And that’s what popped on screen as I was making my business pitch. Her Facebook page. So now all my new business partners know I’m the guy who pines away for his college girlfriend.”

Her breath caught, and she turned to him. He was watching her, cataloguing her reaction to his bit. His eyes searched hers, but she returned her focus to the phone, more interested now in on-screen Brent. Because on-screen Brent wasn’t talking about getting caught watching porn, as she’d once thought. He was talking about her.

“But in my defense, if you saw her, you’d pine too. She was...” He stopped walking, stopped talking, and for the briefest of moments, he was not on stage—he was lost in time, it seemed. The next word seemed to fall from his lips with regret and wistfulness, “…perfection.”

She brought her hand to her mouth, covering her trembling lower lip. She sucked in her breath, holding in all that she felt, the overwhelming rush of emotions. It was just a comedy routine. He was great on stage, even when poking fun at himself. But even so, she was flooded with so much possibility from the way he talked about her.

“So not only was I busted for Facebook stalking my ex, but I’m also the complete asshole who let her get away. She was the one. The one who got away. Let this be your lesson, men of the world. Don’t be me. Don’t be King Schmuck.”

The clip ended.

When she’d originally watched the first half of the video, she’d wanted to reach her hands through the screen and throttle him.

Now, she wanted to squeeze her own heart for the stupid way it dared to beat the tiniest bit faster when he’d said perfection.

Silence cloaked them both. She stared at the screen, not quite ready to meet his eyes, too afraid of what she’d see. She’d only come there to clear the air, and now she was spun back in time, feeling everything again.

Lust. Desire. Sadness. Anger, too.

Without looking up, she asked quietly, “What part?”

“What do you mean—what part?”

“What part did you want me to see?” she asked, keeping her voice steady so she wouldn’t reveal the cascade of emotions waterfalling through her chest. “Because it’s funny. But which part is for me?”

She kept her head down. If she looked in his eyes, she’d lose herself. She’d lose her center. She’d lose every ounce of strength she’d relied on during the last ten years.

His voice was a confession. “She was perfection... she was the one... and I was the complete asshole who let her walk away.” Then his fingertips brushed against her wrist. She held in the hot shiver she felt from his touch. “I’m sorry I didn’t go with you. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you. I’m sorry I gave you an ultimatum. I’m sorry I twisted words around because I was desperate to keep you.”

His words now were a thread that pulled her up. She lifted her face and looked at him. In a second, she knew. He wasn’t performing, he wasn’t acting, and he wasn’t faking a thing. His eyes were serious. She believed him. She wanted to believe her body, too, and her body knew what it wanted.

She’d always listened to her body, had always been deeply in tune with its wishes and wants. Since she was four years old she had wanted nothing more than to dance. She had danced every day, harder, faster, better, until she was at the top of her game, and then tore her ACL one day during a rehearsal. But still, she remained a physical woman. She liked to be one with her body. And just then, her body and her heart wanted the same damn thing.

For Brent to make her feel good again.

As only he could. As only he ever had.

When she and Brent had been together, he’d fucked all her troubles away. Every kiss, every touch, every taste was the antidote to every painful memory. Sex with him was exhilarating. It was the greatest rush, the sweetest high. It was ecstatic amnesia. When he fucked her, she was no longer one of the Paige-Prince kids. She was not the left behind, the whispered about, one of those kids whose mother murdered their father for money.

With Brent she was muscle and bone, and she was solid and strong. She was a woman wanted by a man.

She wanted that man too. With everything inside her. The desire burrowed into her blood. It called out insistently, like a beating drum, like a fire in her veins. She might regret this later. She might regret it in a few minutes. That moment she didn’t feel regret. She felt hungry. She felt greedy.

She felt justified.

“Perfection?” she asked, tilting her head to the side, reeling him in with his own description of her. “I’m perfection?”

He inched closer, nearly inhabiting the same space. “Yes,” he said in a low rumble that sent goosebumps over her skin, a promise of other things he’d say in that wickedly sexy voice. “You are perfection, and everything I said was and is true.”

Her tank strap slid down the slope of her shoulder. “You pine for me?”

“You’re the one who got away. And I can’t stand the thought of that happening again. I will do whatever it takes to keep you,” he said, and the words torched her heart. They started a goddamn bonfire in her belly.

And they scared the living hell out of her.

So she pushed back. “But you don’t even have me.”

“I am well aware of that. And I intend to change it.”

She didn’t know if she was ready to hear these things from him, not when she still had so much to say. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, tugged him between her legs, and practically snarled at him. “I don’t know how to believe you.”

“You don’t have to believe me,” he said, his voice matching hers, sounding furious, too. “Because I’m going to show you.”

The heat in her core shot up. God, he turned her on when he was like this, even as she fumed. She gripped his shirt tighter. “I hated how you left,” she said, airing her grievances like dirty laundry as she spread her hands across his shirt, his firm chest one layer away. “I hated that you picked your career over me. And I hated not seeing you every day.”

His eyes narrowed. He wedged himself between her legs. His dick was hard against her thigh. Rock hard, and it excited her. “I hated not seeing you, too,” he said, his voice rough and hungry. His entire body seemed to vibrate with restraint. She wanted to watch that restraint snap. She wanted to live in that moment when control spiraled away.

He grabbed her hips, his big hands wrapping around her bones, his thumbs digging into her sides. This was their dance. Their foreplay. They knew their steps. “Every day I wanted you,” he said.

“I wish I didn’t want you so much,” she hissed, the words cutting her throat. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes blazing, his lips rising in the barest of a cocky grin—the one that had always melted her. The effect was as potent as ever. It seared her body.

“How much do you want me?” he asked.

“More than I should.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Want me,” he said, speaking the words like a command. But he didn’t have to tell her that—she was already there. She wrapped her arms around his neck. She curled her legs around his hips. She crossed her ankles against his hard, firm ass.

“I do.” She barely wanted to speak the words. But she didn’t want to deny this desire. She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. “And I want you to say you’re sorry the way you used to. The way you did when we fought before.”

He froze. Then, his eyes floated shut briefly. When he opened them, he picked her up and lifted her onto the bar. “Stay right here,” he growled.

She watched as he quickly stalked across the quiet, cavernous nightclub to the front door, making sure it was locked. He returned to her, placed his hands on her face, and said, “There’s no one else here. Unzip your jeans.”

She bit her lip, lust thrumming through her body. She opened the top button, slid down the zipper, and pushed her tight dark jeans to her thighs.

“Fuck,” he groaned, as he stared between her legs. Her panties were pale pink and completely soaked through with her desire.

“Do you like what you see?” she asked, seductively.

He swallowed thickly, and breathed out hard. “You know I fucking love it.”

“How much?”

He peeled her jeans down to her heels. She kicked off her shoes, then he pulled them off the rest of the way, tossing them on the floor. He groaned as he roamed his eyes over her legs. He brushed his lips across her left ankle and she shivered, then he licked a path up her calf. His mouth on her skin was divine. It was rightness returning to the universe.

But he stopped, standing up and grasping her chin in his hand. “Tell me what you want.”

“You know what I want,” she whispered.

“And you know I want you to say it. Say the words.”

Her eyes met his. “Touch me. Taste me. Eat me.”

“More,” he said as he held her face. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Brent,” she moaned, writhing on the counter, the ache between her legs threatening to take over her mind, to devour her reason.

“You know it turns me on when you say it,” he said, grabbing her hand with his free hand and guiding her to his crotch. She gasped as she palmed his erection. So thick and long.

“Fuck me with your tongue,” she whispered, and he throbbed even through the denim. “Please, Brent. Fuck me with your tongue.”

In a blur, he moved, his hands circling her ankles. Then her feet were up on the counter, her knees raised, and she was spread wide for him. His face was right there, his breath ghosting over her panties, his mouth so close to her slick heat.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Say it again.”

“I’m so incredibly sorry.”

“Show me.”

“I’ll show you any time, babe,” he said, using the term of endearment he’d used before, and it melted her. She burned hot when he flicked his finger against her clit. She cried out in pleasure. “Take these off for me. Take off your panties and show me how much you want me, too.”

She slid off the underwear and threw them on the floor. His eyes glazed over as he stared hungrily between her legs. “You haven’t stopped wanting me at all,” he said, as he ran one finger through her center, and she lifted her hips, seeking out contact.

“I haven’t,” she murmured. “I still get off to you.”

“You have no idea how much I think about you.”

“Tell me,” she said, her voice needy, her body seeking confirmation.

He stroked his index finger through her slippery wetness. “I jack off to this beautiful sight. I picture you dancing for me, stripping for me, and driving me crazy until you finally let me taste your sweetness,” he said, as he kissed the inside of her thigh. “I bet you taste like heaven,” he murmured.

“Find out.”

He dived in and she moaned—a long, loud cry that carried through the club. Pleasure rippled through her instantly. He kissed, he licked, and he sucked. He adored her pussy with his sinful mouth. She threw her head back, gazing at the ceiling, as she took his forgiveness. She savored it, letting him worship her the way he always had.

“Do I taste as good as you remember?”

“Better,” he said, breaking contact to answer her. “You are the best thing I’ve ever had. The only thing better is the way you taste when you come.”

“Oh God,” she said, words swallowed up by sensation as her body took over. He licked her mercilessly, his wicked tongue stroking her heat, sending her soaring, flying into a world of absolute bliss.

She trembled from head to toe. She burst with pleasure so intense it blotted out everything but his touch. She arched her back, lifted her hips, and rocked into him in a frenzy.

He’d always said that going down on her was like being fucked, too. That she’d get so into it, and it drove him wild. Her reactions, the way she moved her hips and grabbed his hair truly made it a face fucking, and he’d craved it just as much as she had. The evidence, the proof of how she loved his touch lay in the way she moved under his mouth.

“Shan, do that. Fucking go crazy,” he told her, and she was right there with his command, thrusting wildly, writhing and wriggling as he groaned and consumed her pleasure with his mouth.

Stars circled her head. The earth fell out of orbit. The sky split open.

She grabbed his hair, screaming in pleasure, calling out his name, as she came on his tongue.

* * *

That had gone better than he’d expected.

Better than his fantasies. And while he’d had countless dreams about her sweet pussy, he’d never dreamed that today his face would get reacquainted with his favorite location in the entire universe.

He scooped her soft, warm body into his arms. She was practically glowing, and masculine pride burst in his chest. “I was right. You are perfection,” he whispered in her ear.

She purred. At least, she made a sound that suggested utter contentment. He kissed her cheek. “Am I forgiven?”

She laughed, the sound so high it rang through his empty club.

“What?” he asked, furrowing his brow, as she pulled on jeans and shoes.

She took the scarf off her neck, wrapped it around him once, and held the ends. She looked him square in the eyes. “It’s going to take a lot more than one orgasm for that to happen.” She glanced at the scarf. “And that’s why I’m leaving this behind. So you can find me again.”

Then she walked out.