Something Wild: A Reckless and Real Prequel Novella (2 page)

“
D
on’t do it
.”

I take my very full glass of red wine from the bartender and frown at Connor Everett. “Do what? Don’t drink this wine? Or don’t get so trashed that my wine goggles get me laid tonight?”

“Don’t try to seduce information out of Sam Bradshaw.” He leans against the bar and scans the reception. Connor’s cute, long, and lean, big hands and kind eyes. Some might even call him handsome, but long ago I gave up on trying to get my brain to see him as something I find more sexually appealing than a Care Bear.

Apparently he finds what he’s looking for—or whom—because he stops scanning the crowd and swallows hard. “You’ll only get hurt.”

I follow his gaze to see Sam sitting at a table with his family. “A little pain is okay, as long as it’s consensual.”

Connor gives me a look. “I’ve got this under control, okay? Cancel any of your plans to help me out by letting Sam under that skirt.” His gaze skims over me and he grins. “Looking hot tonight, by the way.”

I smack his arm. “You’re with Della now and not allowed to say those things to me.”

He winces and rubs his arm. “Even if it’s true?”

I roll my eyes. “Have you
met
Della?”

“Good point,” he mutters. “Stay away from Sam.”

“What are you, his keeper?”

“He needs one, but no. Della admitted she asked you to help.” He dips his head and locks eyes with me. “I’m telling you now that I don’t want you to.”

“Are you
jealous,
Con?” I singsong. My smile falls away when something flashes in his eyes. “No. You’re with
Della
now.”

He looks away, guilt all over the hard angles of his face. “I know. And this isn’t about jealousy. It’s about me trying to take care of a friend. Della shouldn’t have pulled you into this, but that’s my fault for telling her anything to begin with.”

“Well, I’m already
in
it, so you might as well tell me what’s going on.”

His jaw hardens.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll just tell Sam you’re poking around and see if he knows why.”

Connor whips his head around. “Don’t.”

“Then tell me.”

“I’m going to kill Della,” he grumbles.

I take a long swallow of my wine, waiting.

“Last week, he withdrew a large sum of money from his account, and his father’s concerned Sam might be involved with something bad.”

“Like what?”

Connor shrugs. “Gambling? Hookers? Hell, this is Sam we’re talking about. It could be anything.”

I swallow the rest of my wine and settle the glass on the bar.

Sam’s at his table by the dance floor, nodding as his father tells him something. I think Connor’s right to be worried. There’s something different about Sam tonight. He’s distant. Distracted. Again, he seems . . . heartbroken.

Could it be that Sam—a notorious player—has allowed someone close enough to his heart to break it? Or is my loneliness making me see things that aren’t there?

That doesn’t explain the money, though.

“So we have a deal?” Connor asks. “You’ll forget that Della told you anything?”

“Sure.” I nod to the bartender, who refills my glass. God bless him and enablers everywhere.

Connor’s shoulders sag. “Good. I know it’s none of my business who you sleep with, but you can do better than a player like Sam.”

“I didn’t say anything about not sleeping with him.” I take another swallow of liquid courage as Connor grimaces. “Oh, stop acting like I’m some vestal virgin who needs protecting.”

“Connor!” Della calls. “There you are! Come dance with me!”

I shoo him away. “Go have fun.”

I wait until Sam’s family has evacuated their table, then make my way over to him. He’s sitting back in his seat, legs spread wide, rolling a bottle of beer between his hands as he watches the drunken wedding guests go “to the left” then “to the right.” My own table cleared out earlier, but I said I wanted to stay and dance a little. In truth, I just wanted Sam.

I turn my chair to face the dance floor, like his, and sit. He looks over at me, and his gaze snags on my crossed legs—at the spot where the hem of my skirt meets my bare thighs.

Sam’s always been a good-looking guy, but tonight, in his suit and tie, his face smooth, his eyes smoky, there’s something about him that makes my mouth water. Or maybe it’s that my lady parts are on high alert since our texts yesterday.

“Hey,” he says, then turns his gaze back to the dance floor. His eyes might be there, but his mind isn’t. He’s somewhere else tonight. How sexy is a man with a broken heart?

Is there a ladylike way to say,
“Hey, you seem a little down. Want me to ride you until you can’t remember her name?”

I’ve known Sam since we were kids. He’s a few years older than me and he moved away while he completed his undergrad. When I was in high school, I crashed one of his parties and tried to find my way into his bed. He was a junior at Notre Dame with a reputation for being a player. I was a senior in high school, dumb enough to admit I was still in possession of my V-card.

But even bad boys have a code of honor, and that night, Sam followed the code to the letter.

“Wanna talk about it?” I ask.

He swings his gaze around to meet mine, and the intensity of the feeling in his eyes almost pushes me away. That’s what it’s supposed to do—shut people out, make them back off. This isn’t the happy-go-lucky Sam I’ve always known.

“About what?” he asks, the dare in his eyes.

“The girl who broke your heart.”

He lifts a brow. “Is that what the gossip mill is saying? That my heart is broken?”

No. That’s what every inch of your face is saying.
“That’s the rumor,” I lie. There’s no rumor, only my suspicion.

He releases a noncommittal huff then really looks me in the eye for the first time all night. “Do you think I’m the kind of guy who gets his heart broken, Rowdy?”

“
Liz
,” I correct him, surprising myself. I’ve never minded the nickname he gave me when I was fifteen. And I’ve never minded
Lizzy
,
either. But tonight, I want Sam to call me something else. Something more mature. “And there’s nothing wrong with getting your heart broken. It just means you’re human.”

Something flashes in his eyes—hurt or defiance, or maybe both.

“Do you want to dance,
Liz
?” He emphasizes my name, and I like how it sounds on his lips—slow and sensual, like a lazy morning spent naked in bed.

I follow him to the dance floor, completely aware that he hasn’t taken my hand or given me so much as a smile. When he pulls my body against his, it doesn’t matter. This is what I’ve been waiting for since last night. Maybe for four years. The feel of his hard chest, his hands on my back, so warm I can feel their heat through the thin fabric of my dress. It’s almost as if his heat is marking me.

“Let me help you forget her.” When he stiffens, I pull back to see his reaction. Surprise only shows in his eyes for a split second before he covers it with a smile. His crooked grin says,
I know what you want and I’m going to give it to you
. Even knowing he’s using it to hide something, his smile sends a little shimmy through my insides that settles as a thrumming pulse between my legs.

“Hey, Rowdy,” he whispers against my mouth. “You’re not still a virgin, are you?”

I hesitate at the question, then tug at his tie to bring his body closer as we move. “What if I was? Would it be so terrible, being my first? Isn’t there some old-fashioned part of you that would enjoy that, Bradshaw?”

His smile vanishes, and that gives me a small amount of satisfaction, but aside from that, I can hardly make out his expression in the flickering candlelight. “I said I don’t do strings.”

“I’m no innocent.” Not since that weekend I surprised him at Notre Dame. Sam may have turned me down, but I didn’t spend the night alone. “And I never offered strings.”

“Are you sure? Because while I don’t do strings, I do enjoy . . . restraints.” He brushes a thumb over my bottom lip.

My breath catches and my pulse picks up speed. “If you’re trying to scare me off with talk of bondage, it’s not going to work. I’m not a little girl anymore, Sam.”

His gaze dips to my cleavage and rests there for a moment. “I can see that.”

“And I can take anything you can dish out.”

“Have you ever sucked dick with your hands tied behind your back? Ever been on your knees and let a man guide your mouth just where he wants it?”

My pulse triples at his words, and my girlie bits go wild. They’re pathetic, really, but who can blame them? They’ve waited four years for this, and I’ve made them suffer through some seriously subpar male attention in the meantime. “You talk a big game.” I tuck my hips to rub against him. My sober, intellectual self would be offended by the idea of Sam seducing me with talk of a blowjob. But I’m not sober, and if he’s trying to turn me on, it’s working.

“It’s not just talk,” he says, his voice low, promise in his eyes.

Yes, even bad boys have a code of honor, and tonight I plan to find a loophole in that code.

Liz leans her head on my shoulder, and the smell of her shampoo fills my nose—something flowery and feminine. Damn, she smells good. And she feels good in my arms.

I didn’t want to come to the wedding tonight, and I was attempting to bail out when Dad gave me that
look
. That “You will not disappoint me or this family” look. I barely know the bride, but her parents are friends with my parents, and, being a Bradshaw, I’m expected to keep up appearances at all costs. Smile when you’re supposed to smile, show up when you’re supposed to show up and, above all, don’t fuck up.

If my father only knew . . .

On the other side of the dance floor, my dad catches my eye and nods toward Sabrina, who’s talking to my mom. Dad’s told me more than once that I need to dance with her tonight. “Shit,” I mutter.

“What?” Liz asks, following my gaze to the redhead across the room. “Who’s she? She looks familiar.”

“Her name’s Sabrina.”

“Fancy,” Liz says. “Let me guess, she’s not the kind of girl who has a nickname like
Rowdy
?”

Not at all. “She’s a friend of the family, and the governor’s daughter.”

She draws in her breath. “That’s why she looks familiar. Wow. They could be sisters. She looks so much like her mom.”

“Dad would like me to woo and wed her to make sure he gets Governor Guy’s endorsement when he runs for the position.”

“Your dad wants to be governor?”

“He’s been laying the groundwork for years. He’ll run at the end of Guy’s second term.”

“So you should probably go dance with her,” she says.

I let my hand drift to her ass, and when I squeeze, her big blue eyes get bigger. “Probably,” I admit. “But I’d rather dance with you.”

Ever since Asia surprised me at my house on Thursday night and dropped the bomb of all bombs, it’s been as if the world was trying to eat me alive. Right here, though, with Liz in my arms and her sweet perfume filling my head, I feel . . . safe. Bigger. Like I can face my demons and come out stronger. Maybe it’s because she’s petite or because she’s always been my little sister’s friend, but the way Liz looks at me makes me feel like a fucking gladiator.

“Don’t worry about it.” She shrugs. “I understand family stuff. Truly.”

I join my hands at the small of her back and pull her closer. “I’m not done with you.”

Sighing, she leans her head against my chest. “Best news I’ve heard all night.”

“You’ll be around when I’m done humoring my father and his dreams of arranged marriages?”

As she laughs, her teeth sink into her lower lip. She traces invisible patterns on my dress shirt, in no hurry to leave my arms, thank Christ.

“I used to work here when I was in high school,” she says out of nowhere. “I helped serve at wedding receptions and Christmas parties.”

“I bet you rocked the uniform.”

She grins. “You know it. Nothing as sexy as a girl in a bow tie.”

“You could pull it off. In fact, I’m picturing you in a bow tie right now.”

She pulls back to look at me. “Odd fantasy.”

“I didn’t say you were wearing anything
else
.”

She lowers her voice a fraction. “There’s a small conference room outside of the ballroom and to the right. Meet me there after your dance.”

Then she steps out of my arms and walks away, and I’m left watching the way her ass swings in her skirt and wondering just what she plans to do in that conference room.

Liz is sweet. I’ve had to remind myself of that fact since she was fifteen and staying over with Della. I’d come home long after everyone else went to sleep and find her lounging in the family room in a sleep shirt with no bra underneath. I’d find her watching me when she didn’t think I noticed. A couple of years later, I was at Notre Dame, and she showed up at a house party looking for trouble. She got drunk and threw herself at me, and I turned her away. Because she was seventeen and I was twenty. Because she was drunk and I was sober. Because she was a virgin and I had experiences most grown men only get to dream about.