Owning Violet
Page 18
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“I can’t watch this anymore. I’ve seen enough.” I turn on my heel and start walking, not sure where I’m going, what I’m doing, what I’m even thinking. My mind is on fast forward, flipping through the endless possibilities, the scenarios that could play out tonight. I don’t know what to do, what to say, how to act.
All I know is that I need to get away from Zachary. Get away from Pilar and Ryder and … all of them.
I can’t take it.
“Violet, wait.” I hear Ryder’s deep voice call after me but I don’t stop. His request actually makes me move faster as I stride through the crowd, not paying attention when someone calls my name, when another person waves. I don’t care. I just want to leave, to get some fresh air and clear my head. Right now it’s a jumble of confusion, of liquor, of arousal and irritation and hate and need.
I spot the double doors that lead outside and I rush toward them, pushing both of them open so I walk through the center as they swing wide. I take in deep, gulping breaths of air as the cool spring night hits me. A few people are mingling outside and I glance around. Despite my irritation, I’m impressed with the lit rectangular pool in the center, the giant pots of overflowing colorful mixed flowers scattered about. It’s a gorgeous night, a gorgeous location, and I can’t believe the majority of us were stuck inside when we all could be out here, admiring the night sky, all the lit buildings, feel the refreshing breeze blow across our skin.
“Violet.” I feel a warm hand clamp my shoulder, strong, assured fingers burning into my skin, and I close my eyes. His thumb traces the strap of my dress, slips beneath it for the briefest moment, and I hold my breath. Hating myself for wishing he would touch me more … but then his hand drops away and I’m left feeling more alone, more despondent than ever.
“Please leave me alone,” I whisper harshly, not caring in the least if I’m offending him. I blame the alcohol. I’m usually so careful with my words, with my behavior. But Ryder? He struts around the building without a care, so really, why should I worry?
“I upset you.” Ryder’s deep voice washes over me and I brace myself, not wanting to feel a thing except anger or irritation. But I feel something … different. Never, ever before has a man’s voice twisted me up inside and made me yearn. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m just …”
“You’re just what?” I ask, my voice small, my back still to him. I can’t face him. I’m afraid I’ll stare into his eyes and drink in all of those handsome, perfectly masculine features and do something stupid. Like throw myself at him. Beg him to take me out of here and make me forget.
Warmth suffuses my body and I release another shuddery breath. This is definitely the wine talking.
“Jealous. Worried.” Another pause, this one heavy with unspoken tension. “Pilar and I … we have an unusual relationship.”
“Really.” A snort escapes me and I slap my hand over my mouth, embarrassed. I shouldn’t have reacted. I hate that I did.
“It sounds ridiculous, I know. But she helped me when I was at my lowest point and I feel like I still owe her. We’ve had plenty of … understandings in the past, but she knows how I feel about Lawrence.”
I finally risk turning around, angry because I already know how he’s going to answer my question. “And how do you feel about Zachary?”
His lips thin and his nostrils flare the slightest bit. Even angry, he’s devastatingly gorgeous. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Three words, so simple yet filled with passion. And not the good kind of passion, either. Hateful, deep, and abiding, that’s how they sound. Why he dislikes Zachary I’m not sure. They’re business rivals, but there’s so much hate, and it’s not one-sided. “But why?”
“He’s a conniving, underhanded asshole.” I glance down to see Ryder clenching his hands into fists. “I know he’s your fiancé, but I can’t help the way I feel. We’ve been in competition against each other for two years and he’s done some pretty underhanded things to me. My opinion of him is tainted by our work history.”
“He’s not my fiancé,” I say.
Ryder frowns. “What?”
“Zachary. We’re not engaged.” I don’t know if we’re ever going to get engaged, but I don’t tell Ryder that.
“Of course. I’m not surprised.” He’s practically fuming, he seems so mad, and I can’t help the tendrils of pleasure that curl through me at his words. “I can’t say I’m not glad he’s such a stupid fuck. And why would an intelligent woman like you waste so much time with that asshole?” He studies me, his anger fading into confusion. “What’s even more puzzling is why are you still talking to me?”
My heart kicks up speed at the way he’s staring at me. “Wh-what do you mean?”
He moves closer, intimidatingly so. I feel trapped. “We both know who I am. What I’m like.”
I don’t really know much about him at all, but I don’t argue. “Really. So tell me, what are you like?”
He smiles, and something deep within me begins to throb. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Frightened by the intensity in his eyes, the double meaning in his words, I walk away from Ryder without a backward glance, heading toward the railing so I can see the view of the city more clearly. Leaning against the metal bars that separate me from certain death, I tilt my head back and close my eyes, relishing the rush of the wind. It’s stronger here, closer to the edge. I can’t remember the last time I stood close to the edge, either figuratively or literally.
All I know is that I need to get away from Zachary. Get away from Pilar and Ryder and … all of them.
I can’t take it.
“Violet, wait.” I hear Ryder’s deep voice call after me but I don’t stop. His request actually makes me move faster as I stride through the crowd, not paying attention when someone calls my name, when another person waves. I don’t care. I just want to leave, to get some fresh air and clear my head. Right now it’s a jumble of confusion, of liquor, of arousal and irritation and hate and need.
I spot the double doors that lead outside and I rush toward them, pushing both of them open so I walk through the center as they swing wide. I take in deep, gulping breaths of air as the cool spring night hits me. A few people are mingling outside and I glance around. Despite my irritation, I’m impressed with the lit rectangular pool in the center, the giant pots of overflowing colorful mixed flowers scattered about. It’s a gorgeous night, a gorgeous location, and I can’t believe the majority of us were stuck inside when we all could be out here, admiring the night sky, all the lit buildings, feel the refreshing breeze blow across our skin.
“Violet.” I feel a warm hand clamp my shoulder, strong, assured fingers burning into my skin, and I close my eyes. His thumb traces the strap of my dress, slips beneath it for the briefest moment, and I hold my breath. Hating myself for wishing he would touch me more … but then his hand drops away and I’m left feeling more alone, more despondent than ever.
“Please leave me alone,” I whisper harshly, not caring in the least if I’m offending him. I blame the alcohol. I’m usually so careful with my words, with my behavior. But Ryder? He struts around the building without a care, so really, why should I worry?
“I upset you.” Ryder’s deep voice washes over me and I brace myself, not wanting to feel a thing except anger or irritation. But I feel something … different. Never, ever before has a man’s voice twisted me up inside and made me yearn. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m just …”
“You’re just what?” I ask, my voice small, my back still to him. I can’t face him. I’m afraid I’ll stare into his eyes and drink in all of those handsome, perfectly masculine features and do something stupid. Like throw myself at him. Beg him to take me out of here and make me forget.
Warmth suffuses my body and I release another shuddery breath. This is definitely the wine talking.
“Jealous. Worried.” Another pause, this one heavy with unspoken tension. “Pilar and I … we have an unusual relationship.”
“Really.” A snort escapes me and I slap my hand over my mouth, embarrassed. I shouldn’t have reacted. I hate that I did.
“It sounds ridiculous, I know. But she helped me when I was at my lowest point and I feel like I still owe her. We’ve had plenty of … understandings in the past, but she knows how I feel about Lawrence.”
I finally risk turning around, angry because I already know how he’s going to answer my question. “And how do you feel about Zachary?”
His lips thin and his nostrils flare the slightest bit. Even angry, he’s devastatingly gorgeous. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Three words, so simple yet filled with passion. And not the good kind of passion, either. Hateful, deep, and abiding, that’s how they sound. Why he dislikes Zachary I’m not sure. They’re business rivals, but there’s so much hate, and it’s not one-sided. “But why?”
“He’s a conniving, underhanded asshole.” I glance down to see Ryder clenching his hands into fists. “I know he’s your fiancé, but I can’t help the way I feel. We’ve been in competition against each other for two years and he’s done some pretty underhanded things to me. My opinion of him is tainted by our work history.”
“He’s not my fiancé,” I say.
Ryder frowns. “What?”
“Zachary. We’re not engaged.” I don’t know if we’re ever going to get engaged, but I don’t tell Ryder that.
“Of course. I’m not surprised.” He’s practically fuming, he seems so mad, and I can’t help the tendrils of pleasure that curl through me at his words. “I can’t say I’m not glad he’s such a stupid fuck. And why would an intelligent woman like you waste so much time with that asshole?” He studies me, his anger fading into confusion. “What’s even more puzzling is why are you still talking to me?”
My heart kicks up speed at the way he’s staring at me. “Wh-what do you mean?”
He moves closer, intimidatingly so. I feel trapped. “We both know who I am. What I’m like.”
I don’t really know much about him at all, but I don’t argue. “Really. So tell me, what are you like?”
He smiles, and something deep within me begins to throb. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Frightened by the intensity in his eyes, the double meaning in his words, I walk away from Ryder without a backward glance, heading toward the railing so I can see the view of the city more clearly. Leaning against the metal bars that separate me from certain death, I tilt my head back and close my eyes, relishing the rush of the wind. It’s stronger here, closer to the edge. I can’t remember the last time I stood close to the edge, either figuratively or literally.
