Lost the Handle (Nashville Assassins: Next Generation #8)

Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

Quinn

I wasn’t going to come. I shouldn’t have come, but Flynn Anderson is always a good time. We’ve been hanging out a bit since Benson left. Flynn always has a quick smile and lots of booze. After the shitshow of Ava and knowing that when I got home, Emery would be there with those eyes I so desperately wanna fall face first into, I needed to let off some steam.

The steam I needed to blow off multiplies in mere seconds with one look at her. Emery sits with the sneakiest little grin on her face. Her hair is up in a tight topknot, her makeup dramatic, the smoky eye shadow making her gray eyes pop. Her lips are blood red, and I have the urge to sink my teeth into them and make her bleed.

But that isn’t what has me harder than a goal post in below-freezing temperatures. No. Emery wears the shortest of skirts, the curve of her ass and the thickness of her thighs on full display for the world to see. I don’t miss the way that Sawyer and Flynn ogle her. Each dimple on her thigh has me panting as I watch her cross those sexy legs and lean in, rolling her eyes at something Sawyer has said.

I can’t hear anything but the roar of my heartbeat in my ears.

This is why I’ve stayed away. Because her body, each dimple, each stretch of her skin, begs for me to lick and kiss it.

Fuck, just to taste her again.

My throat bobs as I continue to allow myself to take her in. Heat gathers in my spine with every laugh, smile, or little eye roll she gives. This is wrong. I shouldn’t be watching her. I shouldn’t be wanting her. Ava was right. Emery didn’t want me, and I can’t trust that her feelings are real. Though, I can’t ignore the way I yearn for her. My need is so real, it physically hurts me.

I have to stay strong.

I pull my gaze away and inhale deeply as I trace the scene with my eyes. The rooftop of Whiskey Row is for VIPs only. Flynn buys it out every once in a while, and I notice a lot of guys from the Nashville Assassins are here. But none of them see me; all eyes are homed in on Emery. The wildcat that everyone knows to stay away from.

If not because of her dad, then because of me.

Unable to have her sitting there looking all fucking sexy and not claimed, I head toward her just as Katarina asks to drive the Bugatti.

No way in fuck.

“No one drives my car.” Emery shakes her head, her cheeks filling with color. I’m not sure if it’s from the alcohol or her lie.

I lick my lips, and before Katarina can interject, I say, “But me.”

Emery’s eyes flash up to me, her pupils blowing out as they meet mine. Fuck, she looks good. My heart is hammering in my chest as I greet everyone, feeling her gaze on me. I take the drink from Flynn after he assaults me in a hug before I lower myself beside Emery. I don’t mean to crowd her space, but it’s as natural as breathing, and I don’t want guys looking at her. Her body is sending off all the right heat, and I know if I slid my hand along the inside of her thigh, she’d be soaked for me. I can see it in her eyes.

The desire.

My hand shakes as I take a long pull of my drink, needing the alcohol to drown out my need for her. As I lower my cup, I try to listen to whatever the fuck Sawyer is laughing about, but my eyes zero in on her thighs. All thick, juicy, and just begging to be squeezed. My mouth goes dry, my heart clenching in my chest. She doesn’t usually dress like this, and it’s fucking with my head to know that people are watching her. Just in the few minutes I’ve sat here, Flynn and Sawyer have drunk in the thighs that are only meant for me.

I need help.

What am I doing?

I need to get up, get away from her. But instead, I lean into her, my lips right at her ear. Before I can even speak, her scent envelops me, and my eyes drift shut. My skin tingles, and I want nothing more than to nuzzle my nose in her neck to enjoy the smell of my meal before I devour it.

No. You can’t do that.

But I want to.

Fuck, I want to.

I open my eyes, and through gritted teeth, I bite out, “Trying to get the attention of everyone in here with that short skirt?”

She doesn’t go still; she doesn’t even stop grinning, but I notice her lashes fanning out against her cheeks. I watch as she turns her face to meet mine. If I leaned forward just an inch, my lips could touch hers… But then she takes my jaw in her grip. My eyes hood as she angles my head to the side, and her lips brush against my ear. “Not everyone. Just you.”

Well. I walked right into that, didn’t I?

My cock strains against the zipper of my slacks, but neither of us moves. I close my eyes, begging for someone to save me. Or ignore us completely. I don’t know. This girl makes me fucking nuts. Needing to put distance between us, I somehow get out, “That’s highly inappropriate, E.”

I feel her lips curve against my ear. “You and I both know I thrive on the inappropriate side.”

Fucking hell. I know exactly all the inappropriate things she’s talking about. She almost has me with that comment. My desire is drowning me, but somehow I pull from her grip, our eyes clashing. Hers are full of my lust, and while I feel every bit of what she is feeling, I cover it with anger. “You could be sending the wrong message to every guy in here.”

Her lips curve, and she rolls her eyes like the damn brat she is. “I’m not sending any message to anyone but you.”

“Em—” I groan, but she cuts me off.

“I’m not here to stroke the ego of any fragile male in this bar. I wore this for you—and only you.”

I press my lips together and ignore how her words make me soar. “This can’t happen.”

She leans in, and I can’t move even if I want to. I’m caught in her gaze, in her orbit, and I don’t want to escape. “Your cock says otherwise.”

I exhale a shaky breath, my cock throbbing as I shake my head. “Nothing can happen.”

“It will.”

“Emery.”

“Quinn,” she snaps back, her eyes narrowing. “I’m over this back-and-forth. You keep saying nothing can happen, but you and I both know it will.”

“No.”

“Sure.”

“Em—”

But words fail me when she stands. Her skirt is riding up in the back, and from where I sit, all I see is butt cheeks. Thick, tanned globes that I want to mold in my hands and then bite. With a knowing grin, she slowly moves to pull her skirt back down. It doesn’t contain all she has, and I cover my mouth to keep in the groan.

Pleased with herself, she goes over to where Flynn is dancing to join him. I know she’s doing it to get under my skin, and fucking Flynn knows it too. He may not touch her, but he entertains her as they dance. Meanwhile, I’m stewing in my anger. When Journey looks over at me, he leans on his elbows and grins up at me. His hazel eyes are shining from how much he’s had to drink, but also, he knows I’m struggling.

“You could ask her to dance.”

“I’m engaged.” I scoff.

“Sure, but not dead,” he says with a shrug.

“You and I both know that dancing with Emery will lead to us naked.”

“That’s the point,” he teases, waggling his brows at me. “It’s better than brooding over her and wishing she were dancing with you.”

“I’m good,” I lie. Truth is, my cock hurts as bad as my heart.

He gives me a look that says he knows I’m lying. “You two are good together.”

I can’t answer him. Emotion floods my mind, and I have to look down at my drink. I’ve missed her for three years; I can handle one more. Even if it means I’ll be miserable. I keep hoping that perhaps when I’m married, she’ll back off. She’ll see I meant what I said, and then when Ava and I divorce, maybe Emery will still be around.

But given the way the whole VIP section is watching her, I can’t help but feel that won’t be true. She didn’t want me three years ago, and I know how she is. She only wants what she can’t have. But by next year, she’ll have gotten bored with the chase and moved on.

How the hell can I be ready to risk it all when my heart wasn’t enough before?