Pas de Deux: Part One (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 1) (24 page)

“You been eye-fucking Sammi for, oh, ten minutes now.”

“Hell I am.” Cillian turned and set his empty glass down on the bar. “Just good to see her havin’ fun.”

“Uh-huh.” Baz grinned. “Nothin’ to do with her hidden twerk talents, am I right?”

“Dude, shut up. And you better not be lookin’ at her ass.”

“I would never.” Baz’s mouth fell open, a hand coming to his chest. “I was lookin’ at you lookin’ at her ass.”

Damn. Was I that obvious?
A pang of guilt hit him as he thought about two nights ago at her apartment and how distraught she’d been, and how bad it hurt to listen to her story. He shouldn't be looking at her that way, not after what she’d gone through.

As the DJ wrapped up his set, the girls started making their way off the dance floor toward them. Cillian narrowed his eyes and could tell by the way she swayed slightly in her heeled boots that Sammi was drunk.

“We're takin’ off.” Niq slung an arm around Sammi’s shoulders. “I just remembered we have children.”

“Aw, you're so lame.” Sammi pouted, her eyes hazy and slightly bloodshot.

“How are you getting home?” Toni demanded.

“Jazz, or something.”

Cillian glanced at Jazz, who was currently nuzzling her boyfriend. By the look of things, he doubted if she was going to want to play chauffeur tonight.

Niq turned toward him. “Good seeing you again. See you at dinner tomorrow.”

Toni smirked. “Yeah, sleep tight. You'll need it.”

Cillian shook his head and waved as they left. He glanced over at Jazz, and motioned for her to come closer. “I can take her home.”

Jazz eyed him suspiciously. “She's pretty drunk. I should really make sure she gets home okay.”

“I got it. It's no problem.”

“Baby, let the man take her home.” Brian appeared behind her, clasping her shoulders and leaning into her neck. Cillian smirked.

Jazz frowned. “If you're sure.”

“She’ll be okay with me. I promise.”

Jazz nodded slowly. She said goodbye to Sammi, and then left with Brian, glancing back at Cillian as she went.

“So, you're my chauffeur.” Sammi wobbled toward him. “Hope you don’t mind going all the way out to the North End again.”

Cillian smirked at her and grabbed a toothpick from a container on the bar and popped it into his mouth. “Not at all. Why don't you get your stuff and I'll get you home. You, uh, hit it a little hard tonight.”

She giggled. “I did, didn't I?” she exclaimed. “I'll be right back.”

He watched her teeter off toward the back, then strolled to the door, leaning against the wall next to it and chewing at his toothpick as he waited. She reappeared a few minutes later, tugging on a long black cardigan, a bag slung over her shoulder and tears in her eyes.

“You okay?”

She wiped at her eyes. “I can’t do any more goodbyes. The girls are killin’ me.”

He chuckled and offered her his arm for balance as they headed outside “I didn't know this was all so emotional for you.”

“Me either. I was happy to be leaving.”

“Maybe all that tequila had something to do with it.” He chuckled, cringing away when her elbow dug into his ribs. He led her across the street where his truck was parked. He helped her up into the cab, then got behind the wheel.

As he drove, he felt the heat of her gaze and glanced over briefly, catching her smoky brown eyes locked on him and traveling slowly down his body.

“What's up?” His neck grew hot. Sammi had never looked at him like this before.

“Nothing.” Her voice was low and velvety. The tone made his ears prick with curiosity, but he kept his eyes front the rest of the trip.

He pulled up to her building and got out to open her door and help her out, but halfway around the hood of the truck, her door opened and she slipped out, dragging her bag behind her.

“Walk me to my door?”

Don’t I always? “Sure.”

Her hand slipped around his elbow again and they walked up the stairs to her floor. He grabbed her arm to steady her when she slipped a little.

“You okay?”

Sammi giggled. “Yeah. Just a little tipsy, I guess.”

He tightened his hold on her to make sure she cleared the rest of the stairs. When they reached her door, she turned around and leaned against it, looking up at him.

He hesitantly returned her smile, starting when he felt her hands slide up his chest suddenly. He grabbed one, stopping her.

“What—what’re you doing?”

“Nothing.” Her eyes locked onto his as her free hand slid higher to wrap around his neck and tug slightly.

For half a second, he leaned toward her as she brought her face to his, her full, pink lips slightly parted. His eyes popped open wide in surprise.

Holy shit she’s trying to kiss me what the fuck do I do…

He almost went for it, but at the very last second, calling on every ounce of willpower he had, he turned his head and her moist lips landed on his cheek.

“Cillian,” she whined, her hand resting on his cheek. She tried to pull his face toward hers, the whisper of her breath brushing against his lips. Again, it took all of his strength to resist, and this time, he reached up and took her wrist in his other hand.

It’s safer if she doesn’t touch me.
Safer for whom, he wasn’t totally sure.

“Sammi. C’mon. You're wasted.”

“No way. Just a little tipsy, that’s all.” She pulled her wrist from his grasp, his hand too willing and eager to let it go, and this time she wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled her face closer. Her lips barely brushed his before he took a step back, breaking her hold.

“Don't. Not like this.”

“Don't you wanna kiss me?”

“Not when you're drunk. Let's go inside.”

As Sammi sighed and turned her back to unlock the door, Cillian squeezed his eyes shut  and wondered if he was crazy. A gorgeous, sexy girl he really liked had thrown herself at him, told him she wanted him, and he was saying no? He almost reconsidered, almost grabbed her then and pressed her against the door.

She doesn’t need a fuck-buddy, she needs a friend. Don’t be a fucking animal. She’s drunk.

She finally got the door unlocked and almost fell through it when it opened. He grabbed the back of her sweater and hauled her in to grasp her waist and steady her.

“All right. Time for bed.” He was used to putting drunk people to bed—no one could tie one on like his Army buddies. “Hey, Rocky,” he added, spotting the cat curled up on the blanket draped over the back of the couch. In reply, Rocky yawned widely, showing off his long, sharp fangs, and then gave a tiny squeak that Cillian assumed was a greeting.

“Just puttin' your mom to bed.” He steered Sammi into her bedroom.

He leaned her against the wall and then turned toward her bed to remove the pile of small, decorative pillows, dropping them on the floor and pulling the comforter back.

“Wait here, okay? You need aspirin.”

Cillian went to the kitchen and got a glass of water, then opened a cupboard door in her bathroom to locate a little bottle of ibuprofen. With two in hand, he grabbed the glass of water and also the small trash can next to the toilet, just in case. He carried everything back the bedroom and stopped short. The trashcan fell from his hand.

Sammi stood next to the bed, wearing just her tee and a pair of black lace panties. Her boots and jeans were piled by the wall.

Cillian was momentarily frozen, unable to do anything more than stare for an instant, taking in her dark, tousled hair, the way she was staring at him, one knee propped on the bed. She held out a hand.

“Come here.”

Hell. No.

Cillian shook his head and set the glass and pills on her nightstand. “Sammi…I can’t. Get in the bed, please.”

She smiled and bit her lower lip in a way that made him want to bite it for her. “Yeah, thats’s the point.” She took his hand and pulled him toward her, his traitorous body all too willing.

With tremendous effort, he gently grabbed one of her arms. “Sam, stop.”

“It’s okay.” She continued trying to pull him closer.

“No, it’s not. You’re drunk. It ain’t right.”

“Don’t you want me?” She pressed against him, trying to kiss him again.

If you only knew.
“Sammi, go to bed. Come on. You're wasted. You don't even know what you're sayin’ right now.”

“Sure I do,” she whispered into his neck, and he shivered, biting back the needy curse that bubbled to his lips at the sensation.

He took a deep breath and ran his hands gently through her hair, cupping her face. “I’m not gonna let you do somethin’ you’ll regret. I like you too much for that.” He closed his hands around her waist, lifted her bodily, and dropped her onto the bed. Then he yanked the covers over her and tucked them in tightly around her.

“Are you serious?” She glared up at him.

“I'm not gonna do this with you when you're drunk.” He looked down at her and had to bite back a smile at the look of drunken fury on her face. She struggled to sit up.

“What, am I not good enough for you or something?”

“You're perfect. But I got too much respect for you to do this when you're shit-faced.”

“Yeah? Well, fuck you!”

“Good night, Sam. See you for dinner tomorrow.” He turned for the door.

“You're not invited anymore!”

Her alarm clock suddenly sailed over his shoulder before crashing against the wall. Rocky shot past Cillian's legs and onto her bed. He glanced back at her, taking in the covers clutched to her chest and her wild hair.

“Yeah, I am. Good night, Sammi.”

Cillian shut the door behind him. Once he was outside, he blew a hard breath between his lips as he climbed behind the wheel of the truck. He'd tried not to think about it, but the image of her in those lace panties with her smudged dark eye makeup and messy hair was burned into his brain, and his body wasn't letting him forget his decision to walk away.

“I deserve a goddamn medal for that shit,” he muttered to himself.

Sammi woke up with a splitting headache and, for a blessed few minutes, no recollection of the previous evening.

Shooting pain assaulted her head when she tried to sit up, making her fall back against the pillows, groaning. Shakily, she brought a hand to her forehead and swallowed against the nausea rising in her throat. After a few deep breaths, it passed and she lay very still, her hand clamped over her eyes to keep out the painful daylight creeping through her blinds.

On the nightstand, she spotted a glass of water and two ibuprofen. The details of how those items arrived at her bedside were fuzzy, but she swallowed them nonetheless. Now, a cup of strong, black coffee was an absolute must. She sat up again, slowly this time, and swung her legs over the side of the bed to rise unsteadily to her feet. Then, a sense of wrongness struck her as she glanced around.

The clock that normally sat on her nightstand was missing, and she was wearing her work tee and panties—and that was it. The jeans and shoes that made up the rest of her outfit were strewn on the floor by the wall. Her mind raced as she tried to piece together the blur that had been the night before.

Last shift at Cliff’s. Lots of shots. Lots and lots of shots. Danced my ass off. Then…Cillian brought me home…

That brought her up sharply and she clapped a hand to her mouth as more memories flooded her mind. She recalled trying to kiss him repeatedly, and him practically carrying her to her bedroom. She remembered looking at his back while he pulled throw pillows off the bed, and then...

She groaned aloud as she remembered stripping off her clothes and trying to entice him into sleeping with her.

When she opened her bedroom door, the clock was on the floor in the hallway. Several long seconds of utter confusion passed as she stared at it, blinking.

What the hell is it doing out here?

The memory of the clock sailing through the air at Cillian’s retreating back flashed in her mind, along with the sudden recollection of shouted curses that accompanied the clock, and Sammi sat down hard on the edge of the bed again.

You cussed him out and threw a clock at his head, because he didn’t want to take advantage of your drunk ass? Nice, Samantha. You are so lucky he’s a gentleman.

Admiration, appreciation, and even affection for him surged through her. On the heels of that, sheer mortification and humiliation overtook her and for a moment she thought again that she might throw up, or start crying. Between the agonizing confession of her past the other night, and now her recent sexual forwardness, he had to be confused and turned off by her. What sort of message had she sent? Her face burned with shame and self-loathing.

There’s a reason you don’t drink tequila!

She’d never been one to blame things on alcohol, but she normally tried to make a point to stay away from hard liquor, especially tequila; it always made her crazy and had resulted in some bad decisions over the years. Including last night.

Sammi finally got up with a heavy sigh and walked out of the bedroom, Rocky at her feet. In the kitchen, she started the coffee and fed the cat. When the coffee was ready, she fixed herself an enormous mug, generously laced with sugar, and sipped until she felt halfway human again. Checking the clock on the microwave, she noted it was already late morning—she was running behind. She picked up her cell phone.