Page 76 of Mad Love

25

Maddox

Whoever came up with the word “chilling” is off base. I’m “chilling” on the couch with my foot on the coffee table watching another episode of a real-life crime show, with a drink in hand and my cell phone next to me.

I should be relaxed. Chilling. Then why do I have the burning need to smash my fist into the wall?

Blaise is spending another night with that prick? What happened with our agreement that she would only hang around for one night and one day?

Dammit! I glance at my phone. I haven’t answered her text for a reason. I am pissed. Jealous. Never have I been this angry or jealous. The narrator’s voice drones on on the television. I channel flip. There isn’t anything interesting on. I’m wallowing in my loneliness, missing my girl.

The phone rings. No one calls me at midnight unless it’s to tell me shit’s hit the fan. I pick up the phone. Granger’s name lights up the screen. Panic has me shooting out of my seat.

“If that bastard hurt her—”

“Calm the fuck down and get your ass to the Venus Nightclub. Blaise is there.”

Not only is she spending another night with Cillian but she’s at his nightclub? Damn her. I end the call and strip off my clothes on the way to the bedroom. After changing into something more presentable, I take the elevator down to my personal underground garage. To take back what’s mine I need a fast ride. My sight lands on my gun-gray McLaren. Yep, she’ll do.

* * *

Isit at the bar with a view of Blaise. She is in the middle of a group of men. One male holds her gloved hand to his chest. They move as one. Side to side. Back and forth. Hips swaying. They’re too close for my comfort.

I should step in. Yank her from the guy’s hold. Except this is my chance to soak in her beauty. She is smoking hot in a red satin dress, the sides held together by strips of material. The fit of the short dress shows off her tiny waist and the curve of her hips. And those sky-high skin-tone heels? Fuck me. I’d strip her of her dress, leave her in the heels, and fuck her from behind.

She’d cry out my name. Beg me to go faster and harder. Help her come with my fingers, my mouth, and my cock. But she doesn’t like to be touched skin to skin.

Can I live with that?

Or will her “oddities,” as she calls her coping mechanisms to her trauma, be a deal breaker for me? Sex is all about touching. Giving and receiving. So is conversation, and Blaise has listened. Has given of herself by dropping her guard and being vulnerable. She hasn’t eaten meat since she was rescued. Blaise didn’t have to tell me that. She could’ve explained it away with a different reason.

Maybe she’s an animal lover and the thought of eating meat doesn’t sit well with her. Or she doesn’t like the taste. There’s many reasons she could’ve given me. Instead, she gave me a truth that set her up for being judged as a freak, an oddity, a strange woman.

Blaise isn’t any of those things. I find Blaise to be very normal. She has fears, hopes, and dreams just like everyone else. Has suffered loss, losing her parents and her grandfather. What she hasn’t experienced is falling in love. Can I give her that? Or will my selfishness for skin on skin win out?

The guy leans close to her. Whispers something in her ear. My doubts fall to the wayside, replaced by anger. I drain my drink. Slam the glass down on the bar. Dropping a one-hundred-dollar bill next to the glass, I rise from my seat and storm onto the dance floor.

The men surrounding Blaise see me. They cross their arms over their chests and form a solid wall of testosterone. To get to my girl, I’ll have to go through them.

Gladly.

I slam my fist into one man’s face. Must’ve broken his nose. The cracking of bone rises above the music. I pound my fist into his friend’s stomach. The guy doubles over. I shove him aside. The guy holding Blaise’s hand drops it like it’s burning embers.

Good.

I snatch her hand in mine. She sways on her heels. I pick her up.

“What are you doing here?” She’s slurring her words.

“You were drinking,” I accuse.

“Guilty.”

“This is a twenty-one-and-over club and you’re not legal, Blaise.”

“No shit.”

“Watch the language.”

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