Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) (18 page)

More applause.

Allie places her hand over mine. “If you don’t marry her, I will.”

“You’re already married.”

“I’ll get a divorce.”

“Does everyone have a flute of champagne?” Sam asks.

I look down at the table, and sure enough, we all have champagne.

“If your table doesn’t, please raise your hands.” She looks around the room. “Okay, then. Everyone raise your flutes.
Salute!
” she says, everyone echoes her and taps flutes.

“Thank you all for coming. God bless. Enjoy,” she says, and holds up her flute.

I watch my angel make her way to her table. She sits down between her sister and Mr. Muscle.
I hate that man.
Then if things couldn’t get any worse, I watch a steady stream of men visit her table, vying for her attention, practically drooling all over her.

Allie taps my shoulder. “Go talk to her.”

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

By the time dessert is served, I’ve counted thirty-seven men who have paid her a visit, all of them looking like they want to eat her up.

Allie laughs at me. “Good God, Romano. You look like you’re about to explode.”

You have no idea.

A band starts playing and everyone at Sam’s table stands, except for her beautiful sister and her
GQ
husband.

Mr. Muscle takes her hand and they make their way to the dance floor.

I stand. “I’m going to check out the ice bar. Can I get you anything?”

Allie smiles. “I’m good,” she says, pushing me away. “Go get her, Romeo.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m good. I’m going to mingle a bit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Logan, I’m a big girl, don’t worry about me. There are some people I want to talk to, and then I’ll find my way home.”

“Are you sure? I hate leaving you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Get out of here. And don’t fuck it up—again.”

I chuckle and make my way to the ice bar. When I get there, I order a scotch then stand and watch her. Yes, that’s what I do. I stand and watch like an idiot. The thing is I don’t know how to play this out. Clearly, I’ve fucked up, big time, and she’s obviously not happy with me. I should have given more thought to where she would be seated, and perhaps sending her my hotel key card wasn’t the best move. If I’m going to win her over, I need to stop thinking with my dick. But dear God, look at her. She has bewitched me; taken over my heart, my soul, and my body.

I down my scotch and order another. As I continue to watch her and Mr. Muscle dance, I think about the possible
whys.
Why didn’t she want me to know her true identity? Maybe it has something, or everything, to do with her money. My net worth is somewhere around twenty million. I can’t even fathom a billion, let alone thirty billion. I’m sure a lot of guys see her as their ticket to the easy life. But she knows I’m not into her for money; I wanted her before I even knew her last name.

Could she be betrothed to some duke or earl since birth? Allie did mention her grandmother is
Lady
Grant. Maybe she sees me as below her station, a commoner, a lowly hockey player from Canada. That just sounds stupid and Victorian. But then again, she wasn’t thrilled about my profession, and now after what happened at the game, she probably thinks even less of it and me. Damn!

Maybe it’s the press, being in the public eye, being exposed? Allie said her family hates the press, goes to great lengths to avoid it. She might think I play hockey for the fame and the notoriety, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

As I continue to think on these possible
whys
and others, nothing adds up, nothing makes sense, and nothing will stop me from having her. For all her wealth, her position, and her family, Sam is forever the girl on the beach, the woman who changed and challenged me, the woman I can’t get enough of. She’s the woman I love like no other, the woman who will love no other.

I take my eyes off her and look around the room, and wished I hadn’t. I see all the men who are watching her dance, watching her every move, and I see red. I want to throttle each and every one of them. Throw their bodies against the glass, push them to their knees, slam their heads into the ice, and beat the ever-livin’-shit out of them. I want to claim her, lift the back of her dress, and bury my cock balls-deep, right in the middle of the dance floor. I want to make her come and scream my name like a banshee as I come hard inside her, and all around her, marking her as mine.
Jesus Christ, Romano, you’re losing it!

The longer I watch, the more control I lose. My gut clenches, my vision blurs, my hands sweat and shake. My tumbler of scotch begins to slip through my damp fingers. I tighten my grip and place it on the bar, narrowly avoiding a small disaster and certain unwelcome spectacle.

What the hell is wrong with me
? She has turned me inside out, exposing the beast within. The sad, forever-grieving, testosterone-raging beast I unleash only on the ice. He’s threatening to uncage himself, step off the ice, right here and now.

When Mr. Muscle twirls her around and dips her, revealing too much thigh and way too much breast, it’s my undoing. The dip that uncaged and unleashed the beast. The beast downs the remainder of his scotch and makes his way to the dance floor. Weaving his way through the dancers, he pauses behind Mr. Muscle and taps on his tuxedo-clad muscled shoulder.

He turns and smiles. “Mr. Romano.”

“Mind if I cut in?”

“What the hell? Why are you here?” Sam asks.

“I was wondering when you’d get your shit together and make your move, Romano.”

“What? You knew he was here and you didn’t tell me?” Sam asks, clearly not happy.

He grins. “He wasn’t on the guest list. I had to clear his entry.”

“What?”
Clear my entry
?

Sam folds her arms over her chest. “Why are you here?”

“Thank you, angel.”

The space between her brow wrinkles. “What?”

“Your dress. It’s a little too revealing. If you could fold your arms over your chest just like that for the rest of the evening, I would appreciate it.”

Mr. Muscle laughs, slapping his knee. “Dear Lord, have mercy, another Ryan,” he says, wiping his happy tears.

“What?”
Ryan?

Sam stomps her heeled foot. “Stop it. Both of you.”

“What? Why me? I haven’t done anything. I don’t even know what he’s talking about.”

“Why are you here, Logan?”

“Matt’s wife Allie is here, representing the Rangers.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“Matt’s sick. She asked me to escort her. I had no idea… about any of this,” I say, waving my arms about.

Her shoulders relax. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rude. It’s just… I’m a little taken aback.”

“I’m sure you are. So am I.”

Mr. Muscle holds his hand out. “Lee Johnson, head of Grant security.”

I nod, reluctantly taking it. Slowly, most everything begins to click. I look between them. “You’re not… and he’s not… because if he is… I will throttle him.”

Lee laughs, slapping his knee again. It’s annoying.

Sam shakes her head. “God, Logan. Chill out. All of Lee’s friends use the back door.”

“What?”

She lifts a brow.

“Oh.”

“Yes, I’m a total gaywad. So you better watch your fine ass.”

I take a step back.

He shakes his head at me and grins. Placing Sam’s hand in mine, he says, “She’s all yours, Romeo.”

I wrap my hand around hers.

He pats my ass. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Romano.”

I stiffen.

He chuckles and shakes his head as he walks away.

“Don’t worry, Romano. Lee’s yanking your chain.”

I raise a brow.

She smiles. “Sorry, my bad. There’s not a safe word one can place in front of
chain
, when one is talking about Lee.”

I nod my agreement and pull her into my arms, holding her close. We don’t say anything to each other for a long minute. Then we say each other’s name simultaneously.

“You go first,” she tells me.

“I’m so sorry about the game. I wasn’t thinking and I—”

She places a finger over my lips, silencing me. “No. I’m sorry, Logan. I had no right to… well, to
feel
.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I have no claim on you. We hooked up. I pushed you away, never even gave you my last name. When I found out about the Romeo balcony and the Juliets, I was angry with you, angry about your past. And when you sent me the note with the key card… well, it kind of pushed me over the edge, and I lost it.”

“Sam, I’m—”

“Let me finish, Logan. As I sat in your balcony, between the new Juliet and the Tweedles, all these thoughts and insecurities started running through my brain; I couldn’t stop them. I felt used, common, and generic. I hate feeling that way, Logan. I don’t want to feel that way, or be treated that way. I want to be and feel unique, special, prized. After I had time to think about how I set you up, sending the Tweedles to your hotel room, I realized my behavior was childish and below me. I’m no better or worse than they are, because I let them get to me.”

I’m so confused right now; I don’t know what to say. She’s not mad at me, she’s mad at herself. Sure, her behavior was childish, but I deserved it and more.

She looks over my shoulder. “Fuck. How the hell did he get in?”

“Who?” I ask, turning.

She puts her hands on my shoulders, placing me directly in front of her. “Don’t turn around. He’ll see me.”

“Who?”

“Arnold.”

“Arnold?”

“Oh, my God. I think he saw me. He’s marching this way.”

“What?”

“The man marches. He doesn’t walk. It’s the weirdest thing.”

“What?”

She grabs my hand, pulling me off the floor. “We need to get out of here.”

I plant my feet, bringing us to a stop. “Is this Arnold threatening you? Because if he is, I’ll—”

“For God sakes, Logan. Now is not the time to go all hockey-man on me.”

She latches on to my elbow, near dragging me off the dance floor toward the exit. “I don’t like this. If this guy—”

“He won’t hurt me, he’s just—”

“Samantha!” a man shouts from behind us.

“Oh, my God,” she says. “We need to hustle. We need to hide.”

She pulls me out the exit.

“I’m not hiding from this guy,” I tell her, bringing us to a stop.

“If you care for me, you will.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” she says, letting go of my hand. “Please don’t tell him where I am.” She turns and fast-walks down one of three halls. How she manages to walk that fast in her four-inch strappy heels is beyond me.

I catch up to her as she stands in front of a door, turning and jiggling its handle.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Logan, just go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I follow her to another door. Finding it locked, she curses under her breath and continues her fast-walk trek down the hall to the next door. It’s open, and she steps inside and begins to pull it shut. I block it with my foot. “I’m not leaving.”

“I don’t have time to argue with you, Logan. Get in or get out.”

I step in, and she shuts the door.

“What the hell is—”

She puts her hand over mouth. “Be quiet.”

It’s pitch black. I feel around. “Where are we?”

“It’s a supply closet,” she whispers.

I take a step back, banging into something. It falls to the floor and shatters.

“Logan, cut it out.”

“I’m just getting my bearings.”

“Well, stop it.”

I reach out for her.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Feeling me up.”

I chuckle. “I wasn’t. But now that my hand is there…”

She bats my hand away. “Stop it. You’re not touching me until we get a few things straight.”

Crash.

Bang
.

“Ouch!” she cries.

I reach for her, finding nothing but air. “Where are you?”

“I’m on the floor. I tripped over something. I think a bucket.”

I laugh.

“It’s not funny.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Okay,” she says, and chuckles. “It’s funny. Help me up.”

“I can’t see a fucking thing. We need a light.”

We hear footsteps just outside the door.

“Mr. Johnson,” a man calls.

“Duke Stanford. What can I do for you?”

“Please, call me Arnold. I don’t know how many times I must tell you.”

“Okay… Arnold. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for Ms. Grant. I’m pretty sure she came this way. No, I take that back. I’m positive she came this way.”

“Well, I’m positive I haven’t seen her. Did you check the dance floor?”

“She was dancing with a dark-haired gentleman. But I must say, I don’t think he was a gentleman. He was holding her in a rather inappropriate manner. Especially for one betrothed.”

“Betrothed,” I hiss.

She kicks me.

“Ouch.”

“Be quiet,” she whispers.

“They hurried off and came this way. It’s imperative that I locate her.”

“What’s going on?” Lee asks, his voice tight.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“What’s so imperative?”

“Samantha has been avoiding me all week. I’ve gone to her office and loft countless times, and I went by Grant International… well, you know.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson, for your trouble. I can assure you, I am not a security risk. I would never harm my intended.”

What the hell?
“Intended?”

“Romano, shut your trap.”

“I’ve left messages and texted her, I don’t even know how many times.”

“One hundred and four,” Sam whispers.

One hundred and four!

“Her PA told me she was in Hong Kong, but I knew she was lying. You see, I’ve known about this event for months. I am a major foundation contributor, after all.”

Sam huffs. “Major contributor, my ass.”

“I have… I’ve got something important to ask her.”

“What’s so important that it can’t wait?” Lee asks. There’s a long pause. “Oh, I see.” Lee chuckles.