Page 57 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

I hang my head back, knowing he won’t back off. “I don’t know . . . a while.”

“Are you hooking up?” he asks.

“No.”

“What the fuck are you waiting for? Go dance with her.”

“Look,” I say, turning to face him. “I don’tlikeher, I just want to fuck her brains out. But I can’t do that because she happens to be Becks’s only friend, and Walton forbade me from sleeping with her. And now with the articles she wrote, she’s too involved with the band. If we hook up, it’ll just get messy for everyone.”

Key rolls his eyes then shrugs. “Since when do you listen to James? And for the record, I think you’re crazy. Isabella is awesome. But . . . looks like you might have missed your opportunity.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks past me over my shoulder and points. Spinning around, my eyes lock on Isabella, her arms wrapped around some douchebag in a baby blue silk shirt with one too many buttons undone. Her gorgeous body is pressed up against him as she tosses back another drink. That’s her third in only an hour, and while I don’t pretend to know the science behind it, I know damn well for her size she’ll be feeling pretty tipsy right about now.

My jaw and fists clench as I watch this guy’s hands slide over her bare shoulders, the shoulder I marked—he’s touching what’s mine. He leans forward to whisper something in her ear, and she smiles . . . fuckingsmiles, before his hands start to slide down her body. All of her delicious curves are at his fingertips while her eyes close and her head tips back as he grinds himself into her. That anger—that terrible, debilitating darkness—comes to lifeunder my skin, my arms vibrating with it. Then her eyes open and those chocolate brown pools lock on me and before I can stop myself, I’m moving toward her through the crowd.

Becks finds me first, a gentle smile growing across her face. “Dave, you coming to dance with us?”

I shake my head, my fists still clenched as I try not to reach out and strangle this guy. “No, we’re leaving. Izzy, Becks, let’s go.”

“What?” Becks asks, her brows furrowing. “Why?”

Fuck, this is her night. “I just mean, we’re going to head out onto the strip for a bit. Check things out.”

“Oh!” she says with a smile. “Yeah, okay!”

But Isabella hasn’t taken her narrowed gaze off me, like she knows exactly why I chose this moment to interrupt them.

“You’re not leaving too, are you, dollface?” the guy says as he presses his face to hers.

“Yeah,” I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the dance floor, “she is.”

I can hear Isabella protesting but I don’t slow down. I toss her jacket at her as we head for the exit. For all his being nosy, Key seems to have caught on to the fact that I want to leave, because he’s rallied everyone together. It’s not until the six of us are out in the parking lot that I let go of Isabella’s hand.

“Asshole,” I hear her mutter under her breath, but as everyone starts to walk toward the strip, she follows along whether she wants to or not, pulling her jacket back on. Peeking over my shoulder, I find her glaring at me, but I’m not sorry. I’m still seething, even though I have absolutely no right to. Isabella’s not mine, never has been, never will be, but that doesn’t mean I need a front row seat to some idiot grinding all over her.

“Is that a tiger?” Becks cries, pointing toward the front entrance of a casino.

Sure enough, there’s a huge white tiger lying on a platformoutside. Isabella pushes past me, her shoulder knocking against mine in what I sense is an intentional way to tell me she’s still pissed. Even though it’s well past midnight now, the streets are alive with people. Lights and sounds come from every direction as we take in everything around us. I don’t know how, but Isabella and a few others end up with a drink in their hands. Are we even allowed to drink outside?

But as I glance around, it seems to be the norm. Showgirls in bright feathered headdresses are passing out oversized shots, and my stomach churns at the way Isabella throws back two in a row.Shit.It’s not long before she’s stumbling a little, losing her balance every few steps along the chaotic street. I suggest that we all stop somewhere for food, thinking it’ll help soak up some of the alcohol. She hasn’t eaten since Bakersfield, but when we find a food truck, she ignores my attempts at trying to get her to eat some french fries.

It’s not until later, when we end up near a lavish hotel across from what appears to be a strip club, that I’m able to speak to her without drawing too much attention from the others.

“Izzy,” I say, tugging on the sleeve of her cropped jacket. “Are you okay?”

She rolls her eyes lethargically and starts to walk away.

“Izzy!”

Spinning around to face me, she almost topples over. Apparently those two shots on an empty stomach were enough to take her from tipsy to drunk. “Don’tIzzyme,” she says, her nose scrunched up. “And don’t call me that.”

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier, I was—”

She holds her hands up. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t care. Whatever you were earlier . . . whatever you are now . . .I don’t care.”

“Hey, guys,” James says, walking toward us. “Becks and I, we’re going to get a room at the Flamingo for the night. Youknow, honeymoon and all.” He grins. “How about we meet up at that diner by the chapel in the morning for breakfast?”

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