Page 6 of Stalk Me

“How’s that?” he asks. I can feel his eyes raking over me, taking in every detail of my body. As if we could stand there and flirt, as if everything I have isn’t fucking tainted beyond saving.

“It’s almost there,” I murmur, letting my voice drop to that husky register that makes boys think they have a chance. He fumbles with the bottle, splashing even more vodka into my cup. Perfect. I hold it up, clinking it against his in a silent toast. For a moment, I wish I’d asked Leyla to make the introductions. The more people I surround myself with, the harder it’ll be to track my actions, but I can’t back down now. Besides, it’s best if I leave an impression on my own anyway.

I take a long sip, scanning the room. Most of these people probably know exactly who I am—or at least, they think they do. The Queen family’s black sheep daughter, sent away to be reformed. If only they knew the truth about what really happens at those parties back home.

A girl calls his name, drawing his attention away, and I’m once again left alone. Before I can panic, someone slides an arm around my waist. A deep voice murmurs, “There you are.”

“Do I know you?” I turn to face him, my voice slightly slurred from the alcohol. It’s taken effect a little too quickly, but I brush off the feeling. Everyone here is drunk.

He grins at me, and a tiny memory nudges the back of my brain, asking if we’ve met before. We definitely haven’t. I wouldn’t forget that grin or the way his eyes light up when he smiles. Plus, if we’d been introduced, I would’ve noticed how tall he is. He has several inches on me, and I can feel the warmth radiating from his chest, so close it seems like he’s everywhere. I pull away, but his arm tightens around my waist, as if he’s afraid I’ll run away.

“We’ve never been formally introduced,” he says. Even over the thumping music, his deep, drawling voice commands attention. He shifts to stand behind me. “But I’m confident I’m going to change that.”

With his warm body pressed against mine, it’s a challenge not to flinch, but the alcohol clouding my brain helps. Besides, I need this—a good distraction, a pretty face, someone who can take my mind off everything. Someone to use until my heart has returned safely behind its old defenses and I can remember why attachments aren’t an option.

Instead, I lean back, feeling his hard muscles under my shoulders. As his arm tightens, I almost ask what brand of cologne he uses—it smells familiar, but I can’t quite place it. Whatever it is, the musky, warm smell does something funny to my pulse.

“How do you plan on changing that?” I ask, forcing a smile. Keep him on edge. Make him prove he can handle you.

“I have a few ideas, actually.” His breath tickles the shell of my ear. I bite back a shiver as it sends an unexpected zing down my spine, and something more—this aching need, building inside me.

He’s a distraction, a stranger, and someone I’ll never see again. That’s all. That’s all I can allow this to be.

“Prove it,” I say, turning to kiss him on the lips. I let my hand rest on his chest, and he responds immediately, kissing me hungrily. I don’t bother to respond in kind. When the kiss ends, I’ll flash him a coy smile and leave him panting and wanting more. He’ll chase me, and when we find ourselves in some dark corner, I’ll make him fall apart for me. It’s always the same and always easy. Easier than letting people in, than admitting how fucked up I am.

After all, who in this country doesn’t have a skeleton or two hidden somewhere?

When the kiss ends, though, I don’t sense his immediate desire the way I normally would with some random guy I was messing around with. Instead, he pulls away first, smiling. “That was a surprise,” he says. His gaze flicks down to my chest, which is rising and falling rapidly from my quickened breathing.

“But a nice one.” I return his smirk. Fuck, he smells good. His handsome face looks vaguely familiar, but I’m still hazy from the alcohol and can’t pinpoint it.

This isn’t unusual. People only ever want me for one thing. The only time they care is when they’re craving something, and I can provide it. This guy is just another trust fund baby who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. His messy brown hair and muscled frame practically scream jock. I force myself to give him the same look he’s giving me: curiosity mixed with the confidence that he can have anyone or anything he wants.

“Are you looking for trouble? Because I guarantee I can provide it.” The playful glint in his eyes leaves me undone. “I haven’t seen you around here, but I heard rumors about your arrival. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure you’re Luna Queen.”

I let out a soft laugh and then hold my finger against my lips, feigning embarrassment. “It appears you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Dougie. Dougie Holland. And we have plenty of mutual friends.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I mutter into my drink. His looks and the mention of multiple friends clearly indicate he’s part of the most annoying “popular” crowd at Shark Bay, the clique made up entirely of golden kids born with silver spoons in their mouths, and Dougie obviously fits right in. “Your name sounds familiar though.”

“There was a news article about me two years ago… an unfortunate incident that got me exiled to this godforsaken island,” Dougie mutters as he plays with the neckline of my shirt. His light touch is enough to send sparks through my entire body. He dips his hand lower, hooking his fingers against my skirt and running his hand down my thigh. I close my eyes, momentarily wishing this could be someone else, and in a desperate move to redirect my thoughts, I tilt my head upward, leaning in closer to his gentle warmth. “I’ve heard a lot about you too.”

“All bad things, I hope.” I press closer than necessary to be heard over the music, letting my breath ghost across his neck. His pupils dilate.

“Nothing but trouble, according to Belle.” His thumb brushes the sliver of skin exposed between my shirt and skirt. “But I like trouble.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the line. Instead, I trail my fingers up his arm, feeling the muscle tense under my touch. “Prove it.”

As expected, his hand travels higher up my leg, tugging the hem of my skirt upward. It’s probably clear what he expects to happen tonight. When you sell it, boys are always looking to buy it.

Dougie doesn’t hesitate, pulling me toward the hallway. We stumble into an empty bedroom—probably his, judging by the sports posters and scattered textbooks. The door barely closes before his mouth is on mine, eager and demanding. His kisses taste like expensive whiskey and desperation. Heat rushes through me as I kiss him back, working the buttons of his shirt open.

Dougie grins at me. “Eager, are we?”

“Trying to beat the rush before the party’s over,” I say, smiling innocently.

He lets his gaze rake over me, his pupils dark with lust. The edge to his movements tells me that he’s too far gone, too deeply immersed in imagining the next several minutes. To him, this is a game—slipping away from his friends, bringing a stranger home, moving in for the kill, bragging to his buddies and maybe mentioning it in the right places… if there’s even an afterward.

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