Midnight (McKenna Chronicles Book 1) (8 page)

“Raquel
Meyers.”

“Who
is she?” I probe; it’s unusual for Molly not to offer up the information
voluntarily.

She
shrugs, trying to maintain a nonchalant attitude. “Some super-rich socialite
who likes to spend her daddy’s money. Her family made a fortune in public
storage and she’s made a career out of spending it.”

“It
doesn’t sound as if you like her very much.”

“I
don’t know her; I only know of her, and what I’ve heard is similar to all the
other rich bitches who believe they’re better than everyone else.”

“And
how does she know Colin?” I try to keep my tone that of normal curiosity. She
pauses and looks at me oddly. “What?”

“They
were together for a while.”

“Oh.”
She doesn’t go into more detail and I don’t ask, pretending to people-watch,
but in reality I’m trying to work through the sudden onslaught of jealousy I so
don’t want to feel.

After
a moment, curiosity wins out. “So, are they back together?” Colin told me he
didn’t have a girlfriend and I wonder if he lied.

“Not
that I know of. I heard Raquel wasn’t pleased when he broke it off with her
last year and she’s been trying to get him back ever since, hence the
over-the-top party to celebrate his candidacy.”

“Sounds
a lot like Ella.”

“Maybe
once you have him you can’t get him out of your system. Like an addiction.”

Hmm,
sounds about right
. I haven’t had him, but I can’t get him out of my system
and that’s a problem.

“How
about we head to the bar and get something a little stronger than this shit?”
Molly tips her head back to finish her drink.

“Agree.
Then let’s go find you a husband.” I can’t help but laugh at her enthusiastic
expression.

~

There
isn’t enough alcohol in the world to prepare me for this, Colin and Raquel
Meyers. Her arm is draped delicately across his back guiding him through the
room, close to where Molly is bantering with a group of men. She’s an expert at
flirtation and the four men surrounding her are lapping up every sound of her
voice, every coy tilt of her head and every sexy flip of her hair. All of the
traits I’m seriously lacking, and each of them I wish to possess right now.

Colin
is stunning in a black suit, the lines hugging his tight, muscled frame, the
white crisp of his shirt highlighted by a slim, simple black tie held in place
by a silver tie-clip. He is devastatingly handsome, as each woman staring
adoringly at him could testify to, including myself. Damn it. I wish
wholeheartedly he didn’t have an effect on me, but he does. The rapid beat of
my heart and hitch in my breath the moment I see him is a testament to that
fact. Damn him, and damn my traitorous heart.

It
takes a monumental effort on my part to drag my eyes away. I side step behind
one of the large men in our quartet to hide, but it’s only a moment before I’m
peeking out from behind him to watch Colin and his date. Raquel is
beautiful—striking, actually. Tall and slim—as in, supermodel skinny—her red
silk dress falls delicately around her hips, the neckline dipping sharply. Her
dark hair is sleek and straight, shining past her shoulders. With eyes as dark
as her hair she exudes sensuality, and an unparalleled provocative elegance
wraps around her like a snake. Oozing confidence, she laughs elegantly. Raquel
Meyers is perfect.

An
illogical surge of jealousy rips through my abdomen at the sight of them
together, piercing in its sudden onslaught, to the point where I draw in a quick,
sharp breath. I know it’s ridiculous, yet it’s real and unwanted. There's no
comparison between Raquel and myself; I’m simple and uncomplicated, far from
the stunning creation gracing his arm.

Thankfully
Molly hasn’t seen Colin and isn’t aware of the change in my demeanor, or what
I’m sure was not a casual perusal of Raquel. Determined not to torture myself,
I nod to Molly that I’m heading to the bar, when in actuality I’m planning to
seek refuge as far away from them as possible.

With
one last glance at Colin I slip into the crowd, swallowed by the monotony of
three hundred people. An urgent need to escape clamps down and I need space, I
need to be anywhere but here.

During
my quick flight I accidentally bump into Evan, knocking him hard enough that he
lunges forward.

“I’m
so sorry, Evan.” I stumble, clutching his arm to ensure we’re both steady.

“Everything
okay?” Concern is evident in his eyes.

“Yes,
absolutely, I’m just headed outside to clear my head from the champagne.” I
smile, hoping desperately he believes the lie.

“Do
you need me to hold your hair for you?”

I
can’t help but laugh as he teases me. “No thanks. I can manage.”

“Okay,
let me know if you need anything. I’m happy to assist.”

I
choose not to go outside into the cold February air, instead heading to the far
side of the building, opposite to the party, where a long hallway opens into
another much smaller room showcasing the remaining machinery parts on the
walls. There are black-and-white photographs of the factory during its prime, along
with the people who worked here. It’s a beautiful art gallery of true history
and it’s calming: exactly what I need. My stride has slowed as I take in the
many worn faces standing alongside the actual machines they worked at for
decades, the pictures suspended on floating white walls scattered perfectly
throughout the space.

Without
the swarm of people, the air chills my bare arms, and I rub my hands over them
for warmth. Molly’s dress leaves little coverage and I long for the jacket she
also lent me.

My
back is to the door, and the only indication that I’m not alone is the acute
and intense surge of electricity that reverberates through me. I tense; there's
only one person who has ever driven this reaction from my body and I was hoping
to avoid him all night. The warmth of his suit coat drapes over my shoulders
before he speaks. His heat radiates from the soft material, warming me all
over.

“In
the early 1900s these buildings were built to make equipment farmers used
throughout the entire country. We’re standing in what used to be the main
offices; behind us is a portion of the manufacturing plant.”

Colin isn’t
touching me, but he’s standing close enough that his breath moves through the
loose curls framing my face. His proximity causes my heart to stop; literally,
it stumbles and begins to beat again with a loud, thunderous thump, which I’m
sure he must hear. I try to steady my breathing, the volatile pulse of it a
sure give-away of the effect he has on me.

“Most of the out
buildings were demolished in the eighties to allow room for new growth, but
many of the materials used in the factory hang on the walls around us in honor
of the men and women who worked here over the course of a century.” There's
passion in his voice, a reverence when he speaks.

“You’re a history
buff?” I ask, relieved my voice holds a tenor of calm I don’t necessarily feel.

The subtle shrug
of his shoulders moves the outline of his shadow, which is molded into mine
from the casting light behind us. In shadow we are united perfectly, an
enticing allusion, and I have to look away. But the real thing is just as
tempting.
Why does he have to be so damn beautiful?
His eyes are
directed at the photograph I was studying when he came in, yet I only see him.

“History is so
important; it’s what led us to the present and will see us through to the
future. I’ve studied the past, believing it will guide me to the right
decisions.” After a short pause he looks at me, his eyes a keen bright blue. “I
endeavor to know everything about the subject at hand. It’s important for me to
understand every nuance to ensure an appropriate outcome.”

Our eyes lock as
the electricity thrums, confirmation I didn’t imagine the strange current
between us.

“How’s your hand?”

I had almost
forgotten; it happened so long ago. Lifting it palm up, I show him the puckered
pink wound. “It’s fine. You did a great job with the butterfly bandages.”

I’m shocked when
he slowly runs a finger along the scar, warming the skin below it. “I’m sorry
you were hurt.” He looks me deeply in the eyes and I don’t know if he’s
referring to the injury or his dismissal.

“You don’t need to
apologize. I’m used to it anyway.” I wave my hand to push us beyond the topic.

“You’re used to
it?” His brow furrows as he asks the question.

I shrug and laugh
at his expression. “I’ve grown to expect the unusual. I run into things, trip,
drop stuff on my toes, embarrass myself somehow . . . Thankfully, the
events don’t normally involve blood.” My face pales as I remember it pooling in
the sink.

We stare at each
other for a moment, neither of us willing to break the deepening silence, the
air brilliant and lively between us. Thoughts of him with another woman demand
attention and I’m instantly frustrated.

Crossing my arms
under my breasts, I square my shoulders and ease toward his tall frame.
“Where’s Raquel?”

His eyes darken
and flash over my chest as he weighs his answer. “She’s just a friend,
Charlie.”

“You don’t owe me
an explanation.”

“Somehow I think I
do.”

“I get it, Colin.
Your words were crystal clear. You
can’t
with me, but you can with the
right someone: someone like Raquel. She’s bewitching. I applaud you on your
taste.” My voice drips with insolence. I have no idea where this rancid anger
is coming from, but it feels good. Letting my emotions surface is invigorating
and new; normally I would never challenge someone in this way. I’m shocked I’m
doing so with him.

“Don’t put words
in my mouth. That’s not what I said.” With narrowing eyes and a clenching jaw,
his expression belies the calm tone. His temper is flaring and I like it. It’s
. . . hot.

“Then tell me what
you really mean. If you don’t give me the true story I’ll make it up on my own,
and right now it’s ending with you and Raquel Meyers.”

“I can guarantee
you my story is not ending with Raquel. I have something else in mind for my
happy ending,” he taunts as he takes the last step closer so there's an inch
between us. I have to tilt my head back for our eyes to remain locked, my
thoughts scattering. I swallow reflexively, his words settling deep into my
belly as I wait for him to continue. I’m speechless.

“You don’t know
me. You have no idea how complicated I am, how complicated my life is,” he
breathes into me, holding me firmly with his eyes while our bodies remain a
hairsbreadth apart. “For some reason I can’t stay away from you. I’ve tried,
Charlie. I have, but each time I see you I’m drawn back in even though I know I
should stay away. You deserve more than me.”

His head dips
close and my heart stalls again, knees weakening. Without thought I lift my
hands, wrapping them into his hair to hold myself up. I pull against him,
drawing him closer still, and the connection feels . . .
right
, like my
hands were meant to live there in the soft waves, tugging and pulling gently. A
low rumble sounds deep in his chest in response to my wanton fingers. Eyes
closed, he lowers his lips to hover directly over mine. He breathes deeply,
slowly and methodically, taking my breath into him as if I’m the last whisper
of oxygen to fill his lungs.

“I can breathe
when I’m with you, Charlie. My lungs haven’t felt this full in so long.” Moving
a fraction, his lips brush against my cheek and my heart gallops. I can’t
think; the only thing running through my head is
please, please kiss me,
Colin
.

“Charlie,” he
whispers my name as his nose runs along the line of my jaw, rubbing delicately
along my skin. His hands, which have remained by his side, move to hold my head
tenderly, clasping at the top of my neck. His fingers are splayed into my hair
to hold me steady, but even without them I wouldn’t move, I couldn’t move,
paralyzed by riotous and unfamiliar desire. He begins a slow, deliberate path,
tracing his lips and nose along every inch of my face, breathing in every
minute detail as his thumbs draw a delicate line along my lips.

“Colin, please.”
To my horror I’ve whispered it out loud, and although it was barely spoken the
words seem to echo throughout the room.

For the briefest
moment he presses his lips against my forehead, holding me tighter than he ever
has before.

“I’m sorry.” He
says, pulling away harshly. My hands fall indelicately to my sides, empty and
wanting. “My focus has to remain on the campaign. This . . . us . . . can’t
happen.” His eyes are pained, yet steady.

I’m shocked. Once
again, in the matter of a second, he’s transitioned from hot and welcoming to
cold and detached, spiking my anger. “You need to figure your shit out Mr.
President. Don’t toy with me,” I say, full of sarcasm.  “Go play with
Raquel if that’s how you operate, but not with me. I don’t do drama, and
frankly that’s all this has been.”

“I shouldn’t have
come in here, I know that. I was telling you the truth when I said I’m drawn to
you on a level I don’t understand.” His eyes confirm his sincerity. “I’m not
trying to hurt you, Charlie. I can’t stay away from you and I don’t understand
that. I’ve not encountered feelings like this before.”

I pause, knowing
his thoughts are exactly my own. I can’t stay away from him; I know I should,
but for some unfathomable reason I can’t.

“Well, you seem to
be doing a good job of reeling me in and casting me back out. That’s not okay
with me. How’s that for an understanding?” I rush through the words as the last
remnants of anger course through my blood. Staring into his eyes to make sure
I’m clear, I softly say, “Don’t do this again, Colin. If you don’t want to hurt
me, then you need to stop offering a glimpse of what it’s like to be with you
only to push away immediately.”