Chapter 9
Sworn Enemy
Camille
It's not exactly easy to find a vacant taxi on a Friday night in New York City. Thankfully, there's a certain glamour to a 6'3 muscle-bound athlete dressed in a sharp suit, with a girl slung over his shoulder like an action-hero from a movie.
Go ahead, ask me how I know.
The second Beau picked Piper up, as if she weighed nothing, and threw her over his broad shoulders …? I couldn't hope to explain it—but flares of jealousy exploded in my heart, and my insides twisted and throbbed with a pathetic yearning.
But it was a relief to know the taxi drivers of New York felt the same way as I did. Because once Beau stepped to the curb, and his long arm rose straight into the air to hail a car, the traffic immediately parted. And not one, not two, but three cabs all veered over to the curb and pulled up alongside Beau.
He turned to me with the breezy, charming smile that said it all.
Amazing. Amazing, isn't it, how life just works in magical ways for one Beau Bradford. You could hate him for that if you wanted. Lord knows, that was how I'd spent my whole life up until now. But once you spent some time with him, you had to admit—he truly had a charm. And it was nice when he used that charm for the powers of good rather than bad.
We climbed into the first cab. Beau gently set Piper down in one side. I slid into the middle seat, and Beau climbed in last. I gave the cabbie the address, and we took off for Piper's place on the Upper East Side.
Beau reached into his pocket and passed me his cell phone. “Here.”
“What's this for?” I asked.
“Put your number in,” he demanded.
I laughed. “Why?”
“So I can send you the selfie,” he said.
I started tapping in my number.
“Is that all you want my number for?” It was my voice, plain as day. But I couldn't believe those words had come out of my mouth—and sounding so sultry and playful to boot.
Was I seriously flirting with Beau Bradford? I mean, God, I know I was drunk … but … ugh.
Beau smiled. “Maybe not.”
I handed him his phone back. “Well, I don't want any dick pics, FYI. So if that's what you're thinking, you can just stop. If you send me any, you're dead.”
Beau laughed. “Really? After I go out of my way to try to be a nice guy and help you and your friend out? I think I have the right to send you at least one dick pic.”
He was only joking.
I let out a groan that was only for show. “Fine. One dick pic, but that's all.”
I was only joking, too.
“But for real, Beau, I owe you. Thanks again. Really.” I set my head against his round shoulder. Normally I wouldn't. But I owed him my gratitude. And I was drunk.
And oh hell, I can admit it, it felt nice. All that hulking muscle made for a fantastic pillow. No wonder Piper had passed out on Beau's teammate.
“You're welcome,” Beau said. “To show you what a nice guy I am, I'll even forget how you said I couldn't do anything sweet if my life depended on it.”
I giggled. “Stop it.”
Beau put his arm around me. Again.
And, for some reason, I put my hand on his thigh again, just like I had in the club. I guess because his thigh was there for the taking.
And because I want to touch him, damn it.
Under my palm, I could feel the deep ridges of his hard, muscular thighs. It was a dangerous texture: one that tempted you to run the tips of your fingers over his trousers, visually mapping out the peaks and valleys of his impressively carved thighs.
What are you doing, Camille? You're playing with fire and you know it!
After a brief internal struggle, I forced myself to stop touching him. I returned my hand to my own lap as if it'd never happened.
But the damage had been done.
The cab went silent—the only sound was the hum of tires on the road, the impatient honks of the traffic around us, and Piper's soft, rhythmic breathing.
But the moment had grown tense. The air was electric. Something had to happen next—the moment called for it. I knew that. I knew what was coming.
And then it did.
Beau turned to look at me. Hesitantly, I turned my gaze up at him.
“Beau,” I said.
I'd meant it to sound like a warning, to ward him off, but instead … I only sounded breathy, weak, vulnerable. Like I wanted him.
Beau didn't say a word.
Instead, his giant hand cupped my face and steadied me.
“Beau,” I said, softer, as he leaned in.
All the anger I felt towards him, all the bitterness, all the teasing I'd endured … all of that had built up for years, like a giant tidal wave that grew ever-larger and loomed ominously over the coast. And now, just now, I realized that I'd been standing and helplessly staring at it all along. Watching that wave grow just before it broke over my head and wrecked me.
Boom.
All those conflicting feelings crashed and surged over me as his lips met mine.
He's not so bad! I told myself as my lips parted, and I kissed Beau back. His fiery lips were soft and juicy, like slivers of a perfectly ripe peach.
A wave of self-loathing rolled over me. What the hell are you doing! Of course Beau is bad!
I pushed against him and tried to wiggle away—but that only made him want me more. His huge hand swiped at my side and pulled me right back beneath him.
Oh God.
I couldn't make up my mind.
The only thing I knew was that I'd never, ever been kissed like that before. It was hot, undeniably hot, to share a forbidden kiss with a sworn enemy.
I kissed Beau back, my hand against his cheek as we kissed deeper.
I'm going against everything I believe in. I'm kissing a guy I hate. A guy who was way too cool to ever be seen with me in high school.
His tongue searched my lips. I whimpered, delighting in the grit of his stubble as it roughly scraped against my fingers. With a wildfire rising between my thighs, I met his tongue with my own.
And then Beau's titan-sized hand went between my legs, his fingers tracing the soft skin of my inner thigh.
Surprised, I pulled back and gasped.
“Shh.” He quieted me with another one of his perfect fucking kisses.
I kissed Beau back. I softly moaned into his mouth as hand slid higher up my bare thigh.
My legs parted, granting him access—and betraying me in the process.
No, I thought. We really shouldn't be doing this. At all. Ever.
Easy, then—tell him to stop. Right?
But … his touch … it's so good.
His fingers brushed and traipsed and danced all around my soft inner thigh. He was teasing me. His kiss had already gotten me worked up, but this wasn't fair.
But then, finally, he slid his thick finger against the crotch of my panties.
I had to stifle a long, deep moan, hoping the cabbie hadn't heard me.
Beau grinned. He whispered in my ear, his breath hot and warm on my lobe.
“Your pussy's so fucking wet, Cam.”
Those words were so wrong, especially coming from the tongue of Beau Bradford. They were so wrong, yet my pussy heaved helplessly. And a rush of juices dampened the crotch of my panties worse.
Beau noticed.
“Damn,” he groaned, rubbing his fingers along my slickness. “God, I want you so fucking bad.”
Under my dress, Beau burrowed his thick finger beneath my thong. He stroked my folds gently, teasing them apart until I throbbed, yearning for him to push in and enter me. But no—every time he glided by my entry, he only threatened me with the tip of his finger, but refused to give it to me.
I grabbed hold of his forearm. But to make him stop, or to guide him deeper into my wetness … I wasn't sure.
And I didn't have time to find out. Because at that very moment, Piper suddenly stirred.
“Mmm?” she moaned.
We both scrambled to sit upright and look proper.
“I tooooold you. She ordered two red velvet cakes,” Piper mumbled. She smacked her lips, leaned her head back against the door, and her breathing resumed.
“She's sleep talking,” I said to Beau. I let out a sigh of relief, but my heart kept racing.
He gave a nod.
And we settled back into our seats as if nothing had happened.
But I knew the storm hadn't passed. We were only in the eye of it now.
And now all we could do was sit in stiff, awkward silence, wondering what the hell I'd just done.