Page 17 of Backlash

“How?”

“Follow me.” I smile and take his hand. We head out the main entrance and toward the pavilion, now empty and cold despite the gas heaters. Everyone really has moved inside. Instead of cutting towards the pool house directly, though, I head toward the pavilion.

“This your idea of private?” Sterling mumbles. “Where are the cameras in here, anyway?”

“There aren’t any,” I say brightly. If I can get him away from my friends long enough, I know he’ll come around. At least, I hope he will. “That’s why we’re here.”

He narrows his eyes quizzically, and for a moment the brooding stops.

The sides of the pavilion are still covered by roll-down canvases, tied together to form a temporary wall to keep the heat in—they’ll also keep curious eyes out. I undo a couple of knots and pull the canvas to the side. “After you, sir.”

“What am I? Alice headed to Wonderland?” He shoots me a sloppy grin, seems to think better of it, and replaces the look with a scowl.

“You’re not Alice. But I did plan on making a stop in Wonderland.”

He’s ducking through the opening, so I can’t read his reaction. If that didn’t cheer him up, probably nothing will.

I follow him through and we come out exactly where I planned, on a path winding between a garden and the garage. Sterling is walking ahead of me already, too far ahead.

“Stop!”

He turns slowly in the darkness. “What now?”

“That path has motion-activated lights. They’re wired into the security system.”

It takes him a moment to understand what I’m getting at. “Who lives like this?”

“Everyone I know, unfortunately.” I point to the tall hedge that walls the garden. “It’s through here.”

“Your Wonderland has a lot of gates, Lucky.” Before I can go any further, he grabs me and spins me into his arms.

For a second, I consider fighting it. I give in, instead. My body molds to his. I taste the sharp sting of whiskey on his tongue as a greedy hand moves from my hip to my ass. His fingers fiddle with my short hemline before dipping under it to fondle the curve of my buttocks. I’m so lost to him that it takes me a moment to process what he’s doing—it feels too good. I’m painfully aware that he’s touching me in places I usually only dream about. The floodlights wake me up, and I feel a cold rush of air against my bare skin.

Yelping, I jerk my skirt back over my ass. We must have stumbled back far enough to trip the lights, which means we’ve also tripped the security system. I reach for his hand to grab him and get him out of here, but he refuses to move.

“Now I can see you,” he says silkily. He yanks me back against him, and I realize just how strong he is. I can’t fight it. Not that I want to. This is what I wanted tonight. Just maybe with less cameras.

“We shouldn’t,” I murmur as his hand slips between my legs, bypassing the scrap of underwear I wore as a nod to propriety and dipping deep inside me. “Sterling!”

“Ask nicely.” He kisses my neck.

“Not here.” My eyes shutter despite my objection, my core clenching around his probing fingers.

“I didn’t hear a question,” he says.

“Can we please go to the poorhouse?” I pant, trying not to moan.

His tongue flickers along my earlobe. “Why? What do you want to do there?”

“You know what,” I snap impatiently, but I can’t seem to break free of him. It feels too good.

“I need you to say it, Lucky.”

“So we can sleep together,” I whisper, feeling heat explode on my cheeks.

“Like a nap?”

I groan and it morphs into something guttural as the pad of his thumbs finds my ticking center. “Fuck. I want to fuck.”