Selling Scarlett (25 page)

"It looks awful," I say bluntly.

He shrugs, but his nonchalance is completely ruined by a wince. I look at his back, through the reflection in the mirror. There are a lot of welts, and they all seem to be about the same size. “Did Priscilla do that?”

"You think I'd let a woman do this to me?" He looks so stern and masculine, I feel stupid for asking such a question. Not my business.

But there's something in his eyes. Something hard, almost a challenge, and I can't help feeling like I'm being warned away.

I suck in a breath, struggling to speak as I try to pull the answer from his eyes. "Did you?"

He’s quiet again, giving me a chance to examine his face. There’s a nasty bruise on his jaw. “This was a choice," he finally says.

A choice?
My stomach rolls. "Are you saying that you did that to yourself?"

He reaches for me, grabs my hand, and as he pulls me closer, I know I'm in trouble.

"I'm not saying anything." His free hand comes behind my head, his fingers in my hair as I look into his handsome, bruised face. "You're the one talking."

"About you,” I whisper.

"About me."

"I think you need to be more careful,” I say, throwing what he said at the bar back at him. “I don't want to see
you
hurt."

His eyes flare, and for a second I think he's going to walk out, but then he groans and pulls me even closer. "You know what hurts?" he grits, his hand splaying over my ass, squeezing as he pushes me against his chest. "This hurts," he says, and I can feel him through my shorts.

He's hard and ready, totally jacked up.
For me
, I realize. I shock myself by reaching down—I want to touch him—but I stop and hover over his hard, smooth abs. His eyes widen and I feel his hand close over mine. That's all it takes. The world folds in on me, and the small, dim room becomes a fantasy. I'm rubbing my fingers up and down his bulge, amazed by the hard, stiff length of it.

Hunter moans, and I press a little harder. The way he flinches makes me worry I'm hurting him,
but he's rocking into my hand like he wants me to press harder. I roll my palm around the round head of him, and he pushes his face into my shoulder. "Christ."

I stroke him up and down, eager to feel all of him.

"Unzip your pants," I say. It sounds unsteady, because I'm trembling.

He looks down at me, his face bent into a question, and I nod, nuzzling his throat as I pant. I'm still aware that this is a terrible idea—I'm going to get hurt; of that I'm sure—but right now, I want to keep his eyes wide and his mouth open, his body curled over mine, his hands clutching my shoulders. Right now, Hunter West is lusting for me hard.

He unzips his slacks and I reach for him, pushing past the elastic of his underpants so I can feel him skin-to-skin. Oh my God, he's hard as steel. So soft—and burning hot. The second that my fingers touch his velvet skin, he gasps and jerks inside my hand. I smooth my fingers down him, feather-light until I reach the base, and then I stroke a little, like I learned today.

He starts to pant, and I stroke up and down again before I tentatively cup my hand and reach lower. I've never fondled anyone's balls before, and I'm loving the shock on Hunter's face as he pulls away to look into my eyes. His are dazed, almost glowing. I can feel his body shaking. His knees are shaking.

"Libby," he groans. "Jesus."

Then he's pulling me against him, pushing my blouse up, shoving my strapless bra away and closing his lips over my breast.

I moan, and he cups my ass and pulls me closer, so I can feel him, big and hard, through what I can now see are boxer briefs. My hand comes out of his pants and I rock against him just a little; he groans and grips my hand in his. He thumbs me through my shorts and I whimper as his fingers push past my underwear to stroke over my lips.

“Hunter,” I pant, and his finger glides inside.

I could die happy right here, but then we would be Hunter 2, Elizabeth 0, and I can’t let that score stand.

Using every bit of willpower I have, I reach around his arms, pushing past the elastic of his boxer-briefs to cup his head. My fingers glide down on each side of his cock and he moans, pressing his forehead against mine, kissing my mouth. His is open, panting. "Elizabeth."

The way he says my given name, all breathless and lustful, is conditioning. I wrap my fingers around him, pumping him near the top. With my other hand I cup his balls. I'm surprised by how heavy they feel.

The hand that's stroking his cock moves over his head, finding it slick.
I made Hunter wet
. That thought makes me wet. His cock is pulsing and when I glide up and down again, he lays his cheek against my shoulder, holding onto my back with one hand while his other teases my clit.

"Libby..."

The nickname brings me back to the here and now, and I loosen my grip on him. His hand, holding onto my shoulder, trails down to cup my ass; his fingers in my panties shove deeper inside and I feel pressure building there. I shift my hips, desperate to relieve it.

"Hunter," I groan. I feel shaky, almost scared.

He tugs me to him, lifting me up and carrying me across the room. We go through a big, glass door and into somewhere hot—the sauna, where he gently lays me out on one of the benches. I watch through lust-heavy eyes as he grabs a red towel and lays it on the wood plank floor; then he lifts me in his arms again and spreads me out. My pants are unzipped and folded down. His hand is moving and I'm gasping.

Hunter West.

Oh, yes.

No. I shouldn't be doing this.

"You're with Priscilla," I whimper.

He laughs, a hard, dry sound. "I'm not."

"I don't even...know you," I pant. It doesn't matter to me, but it should.

He thumbs my clit and I arch against his hand. "What’s to know?"

He's kissing my breasts, with one finger inside me. I've got one hand inside his boxer-briefs, and he is groaning in my ear.

This is wrong, this is so wrong. I know it is, but I can't stop.

"We're in a bathroom. I must be crazy."

"Sauna," he pants.

Then his finger glides out of me and skates over my clit. I clench my knees around his arm, barely able to keep my hand on his cock moving as I tremble.

"I can't do this," I whimper, although I obviously am doing it.

He rests his hand atop my mound, but I still have him by the shaft. My hand trembles, and it must feel good, because he shuts his eyes. As he does, his hips rock into me, and heat blooms all over my hand. His eyes flip open and I'm shocked to find that this is...wow.

I blink up at him, fuzzily aware that Hunter is coming and I should stroke him. He groans so loudly it hurts my ears, and his hands come down on my shoulders.

He pants, and drops his head against my shoulder in a way I love. I cup his cheek. My mind is racing, and as my pulse calms, I ask, only loud enough to rise above the sound of our deep breathing, "Why do you call me Libby?"

He lifts his head, his eyes on mine. His softens, like he's remembering something nice. "I used to know someone named Libby. She was kind...and when I met you, you reminded me of her."

I flush with shame. So the name is not for me. Of course not. He's dating a porn star, for crying out loud. Is he like this with everyone, I wonder? Sex on a stick, making women everywhere drop what they're doing and give him a hand-job in club bathrooms? I think about his back, unable to reconcile the grisly wounds with the look of kindness burning in his eyes right now. He must be some kind of fiend.

I draw my hands back to my sides, scooting away so I dislodge the hand that's still in my panties. I'm staring at his handsome face while telling myself that this is it. This insanity with Hunter West is over now.

"Libby, what's—" wrong?

How could I ever begin to explain?

I stagger to my feet and throw open the sauna door, and I’m into the bathroom before Hunter is even on his feet. I'm crying before I get into the hall. By the time I sprint into the parking lot, I know I have a lot to learn about more than sex—starting with how to shield my fragile heart.

*

~HUNTER~

I can't go after her. I can't even move. I'm shaking everywhere. I can't believe I told her that—the name Libby. I’ve never mentioned her to anyone, ever—not even Marchant. But I told Elizabeth DeVille. I told her something secret, something as personal to me as flesh and blood—and she looked at me like I'd just slapped her. Why did it make her so upset? Does she think Libby is a girlfriend?

'Libby' came into my mind the moment I saw Elizabeth DeVille trying to pop the hood of an old Porsche in the middle of the road in the middle of the night. She'd begun as a neon blip on my infrared security camera, but even then I could see her temper, her determination. As she watched me in my garage later that night, her perceptive eyes brought the first Libby back to mind. I have a thing for names, so the few times I saw her again over the years, I would remember how she reminded me of Libby.

I don't bother asking myself why I always end up doing crazy things with Libby DeVille. I already know I don't have the answer. She just does it to me. Gets under my skin like a rash.

As I leave the sauna and stroll back into the stall where I left my shirt, everything on my body aches, but nothing more than the regret inside my chest.

Chapter Twenty-Three
~ELIZABETH~

"Scarlett!"

"SCARLETT!"

"There she is!"

I'm standing in the parking lot by the side of the Joseph building, having just declined a ride from—of all people—Michael Lockwood, the guy who Hunter bashed to pieces, when my posse catches up to me. I turn around, and before I can get a good view of anything, Juniper smashes into me, surprising me with a ferocious hug. "We were dreadfully worried!"

"I'm sorry, girl." Loveless pats my head, and Bella says, "We've been looking for you for half an hour."

Juniper releases me, and I look down the row of concerned faces. "I'm really sorry. It's my fault. I went to the bar and..."

"That's when I saw Juan," Loveless says. "He was my client a few years ago and I hadn't seen him since then so I guess I got distracted."

I feel relieved. None of them saw me with Hunter—at the bar or in the bathroom.

"I'm so sorry," Loveless says. She grabs my hand, and I'm being tugged behind the rest of them. I assume we're going to our ride, and a few seconds later, there is Rod in the Escalade. The other girls shuffle me inside first—"So you don't get lost," Bella teases—so I end up in the back, sandwiched between Loveless and a wall.

As we crawl onto the crowded strip, I listen to the girls talk about the reason we're leaving 'early'. Apparently Domino, Marie V.'s overzealous client, started talking crap about the guy whose nose he broke in the fight, and Loveless thought it was a good idea for the Love Inc. crew to leave.

"So I held you guys up? I'm sorry."

"It was Loveless's fault for leaving you," Juniper says. "Don't worry. We're a family here. We forgive each other."

"How was Juan?” Bella asks Loveless. "Still looking fine as mama's apple pie?"

"Finer than a key lime pie," Loveless confirms.

She glances over at me, giving me an exaggerated wink. I don't really understand it, and it's not long before I find myself drifting off into my own little bubble of Scarlett angst. How is it possible that I’m selling my virginity as a fund-raising measure, but I'm so addicted to my crush that I'm all tied up in knots
not
over the auction the day after tomorrow
but over who said crush is screwing and why.