Page 5 of Significant
Wolf backs off, leaving me alone in his king-size bed.
“I didn’t take you for a quitter,” I mumble, struggling to keep my eyelids open, pouting like a child whose favorite candy has been taken away from her.
The bastard laughs.Beautiful and arrogant bastard.
Just the beginning
I feel the rays of the sun warming my face. I throw a pillow on top of my head, the daylight hurting my eyes. I stretch myself, my head hurting, feeling like a truck drove over my whole body. I shouldn’t have drunk that much last night.Last night?Crap.
Wide awake, I open my eyes and look around me. Definitely not my bedroom. Everything is so bright, so luxurious, so big. From the massive windows with silk beige curtains to the three-person canapé with fresh roses, this place looks like we jumped back in time to the old Grecian era. I glance at my dress on the floor, my heels a few inches apart, and start to put everything together.
Wolf and I did share a heated kiss last night. I can’t believe I lowered myself to his arrogance. But nothing more happened, right? I scan what I am wearing. Positive point, I’m dressed. My blue lace panties are here, and I’m wearing a white fancy silk shirt, smelling just like him. Something addictive and sensual, like an erotic scent of rosewood with sandalwood and amber, a powerful and refined fragrance. Which brings me to the negative point, why am I wearing Aaron’s perfectly shaped shirt?
“Ma belle.”
I struggle to swallow, beheld by the view in front of me. I just arrived in a mythological setting. Aaron LeBeau is facing me, with only a small white towel to cover his perfectly proportioned herculean body. He is the epitome of sex. Water drops are sliding down throughout his muscular chest to his well-defined abs. His strong arms are contracting as he winds his fingers through his wet hair. I notice the tattoo of the face of a wolf howling on the left side of his chest, behind it a skull with the number 7 on it.
The dark inking of the drawing expresses a profound murky pain and anger, which leads me to believe it isn’t random. I’d define myself as an artist—even if I haven’t finished any artwork in months and never gathered my courage to expose my art to the world. But one thing I learned is that art always has a meaning, a story on an unconscious level. This tattoo is proof that Wolf has a secret—and a heart.
I bring the sheets closer to my breasts when I feel Aaron scrutinizing me. I’m ashamed of my actions yesterday. The way I allowed myself to fall so low, and yet I feel empowered by the way his regard betrays his yearning for me. I shouldn’t. I was supposed to use him for my article, and instead, I’m in his sheets. It looks like a win for LeBeau. He’s devilishly wrong, and I’m broken enough to know a man’s interest doesn’t last. I need to snap out of it. My heart starts racing, my insecurities resurfacing at the thought that Wolf might have seen me naked, and I probably embarrassed myself enough for my ego to cope with it.
“Aaron. What am I wearing?” I knit my eyebrows together, mad to have been so reckless. I always take care of myself, and wearing Aaron’s shirt is proof of my failure to do so last night.
“You’re wearing a shirt.” He sits on the corner of the bed, a ghost of a smile stretching his lips. I inhale deeply. I’m not in the mood to play his game. It might be amusing for him, but I will not burn myself willingly.
“Tell me what happened last night,” I command.
“Breakfast first.” He tries to get up from the bed, but I tackle him.
I’d played Wolf’s game last night. I fell under his spell, but I have too much pride to let him win this round as well. Even while the bastard enjoys the view of me sitting on his lap, my messy long hair brushing against his cheek, my hands trembling to steady myself. “I need to know! We didn’t sleep together, right? Why am I wearing your shirt?”
“Someone is feeling bossy this morning.” He yanks me to him, shifting my body in one move while clutching my waist, so he can position himself on top of me. I look small compared to his muscular body dominating me. “But I prefer to be the one on top,” he adds.
I’m breathing harder, the sudden proximity making my breasts connect with his strong torso. There is something about him that magnetizes me, a power he exercises on me—a power I shall never give him again. I look away, incapable of meeting his predator’s eyes. I need to deny this alchemy, even if every nerve in my body is reacting to him, begging to be electrified with him. I’ve sworn off men, especially the ones who send so many red flags.
“I’m pleased to notice your attraction for me wasn’t because you were drunk.”
I shove him away, lifting myself out of bed. “I wasn’t myself; I’m not attracted to you. I’m not one of your easy girls!” I storm around the room, looking for my clothes. “And, trust me, you aren’t my style.” My eyes narrow. I want to burn him the same way I felt burned by how I lower myself to his man-whore charm.
“And yet, you responded to each of my touches with twice the intensity I gave you. Sounds like you’re lying to yourself.” He gets out of bed and walks in my direction.
No, I’m not going there. “I don’t like men like you. You know, the type of men toying with women,” I shout while looking for my damn phone. “You think you got it all figured out, Wolf? Well, let me tell you, scoring a woman who got drunk isn’t very impressive. It’s desperate! You and your alpha male ego are desperate.”
By snapping at him, I realize I’m not angry at him, but at myself. I was the weak one, the one who lost control, the one who couldn’t resist my primal needs. I let Stephan get to me, I wasn’t strong enough, and I probably ruined my chance at getting that interview. Old fears rush back. I have too many emotions inside of me and I’m exploding. Maybe I’m angry at men after all.
Aaron’s jaw clenches as darkness flickers in his eyes, my words sticking in his craw. I rush toward the bathroom, but he chased after me. He blocks the entrance, caging me with his muscular arms.
“I don’t fuck women who don’t want me. And I don’t abuse women. It’s always consensual.” I start feeling the embarrassment rushing through my cheeks, but he is not done with me yet. “Last night, you fell asleep. I changed you so you’d be comfortable and gave you my bed to sleep in while I took the fucking sofa.” He leans toward me, and my back hits the wall under the pressure of his angry eyes. “So no, I didn’t fuck you, nor take advantage of you. I’m not a pig, in spite of what you think of me. I’m not. That. Desperate. Elle.” He articulates each of his words like daggers into my heart.
“I’m sorry.” I look down, not daring to meet his eyes, knowing I was way out of line. “It’s just, I freaked out when I saw I was wearing your shirt and couldn’t remember the rest of the night. I didn’t want you to…” I huff, my fingers rubbing nervously together. The words of my mother are haunting me—Never show your insecurities to a man, or he’ll give you more reasons to doubt yourself.I manage a fake smile. I’m not vulnerable.
“I’ve been a gentleman, Elle.” And weirdly, by reading into the powerful intensity of his stare, I believe he’s telling the truth. But he’s a man.And men are liars.
“Did I embarrass myself yesterday?” He snorts at my question, pulling himself next to me on the wall. And I couldn’t be more convinced that some questions are better left unanswered.
“Well, I bet you were looking cute as a lobster mascot.”
I throw my head into my palms. I told Aaron LeBeau my most embarrassing story, admitting I was crushing on a football player during my teenage years—and that he made fun of me while I was wearing a lobster outfit. Great.
