My forehead creases as I assess her. Typically, people don’t notice my uneasiness and it makes me question why she’s been paying such close attention to me. I remember the countless times London use to drag me to noisy places, either not noticing that I hated the noise or not caring.

“What?” Lila touches her hair self-consciously and then glances down at her dress that brushes the middle of her legs. She has a sweater jacket thingy over it, which makes no sense to me since it’s hot as hell outside. She also has a pearl bracelet on and a diamond necklace and everything about her screams money, a rich princess pretty much. We’re so opposite, yet I can’t seem to stay away from her.

“It’s nothing,” I say, patting the bar with my hand. “I’ll take a few shots with you, but you have to order them.”

She lowers her hand to the bar. “Why?”

I restrain an eye roll. “Because the bartender is obviously into you and I’m guessing he might get the shots for you faster.”

She glances over at the bartender talking to a group of women. “He’s not my type,” she says nonchalantly, looking back at me with curiosity. The lights from the dance floor flash across her face and there’s no use trying to deny how beautiful she is, princess or not.

“Not preppy enough for you?” I tease, but underneath my skin, irritation surfaces.

She props her elbow on the bar and watches me, not saying anything. It’s making me uncomfortable. I want to ask her what the hell she’s thinking about and why she’s staring at me like that, but I don’t because I’m afraid of the answer. “What do you want to drink?” she asks.

I shrug, taking an uneasy deep breath, hating how unsettled I feel inside. When did things get so complex between us? How did I let it get that way? “I’m going to have to go with tequila.”

She giggles under her breath. “To kill ya coming up.”

She raises her hand, leans over the bar, and flags down the bartender. She slips off her jacket, the thin straps of her dress revealing her shoulders and the low-cut back showing her smooth skin. I’m not sure if she does it on purpose, to get the bartender’s attention, but it works. She orders a shot of vodka and a shot of tequila. He grins at her, drinking her in, and I want to punch him in the face just for looking. I’m not much of the jealous type, so the feeling throws me off a little.

The guy on the barstool next to Lila starts flirting with her a few seconds later, eying her lips as she chews on the straw. He’s older, at least twenty-five, wearing a black suit and ridiculously shiny shoes. Lila seems vaguely interested in him, not laughing at his jokes, yet she lets him place his hand on her thigh and inch it up north.

I’m getting pissed. I’ve never had much of a possessive side—I’ve seen my father overact too much with my mother, even if she was just talking to the mailman—but right now my jealous, controlling side is coming out. As the bartender sets the shots down in front of us, I grab the top of her barstool and spin her in my direction so the guy’s hand falls off her leg.

Her eyes widen as the guy shoots a glare at me. “What the hell, Ethan?”

I have an arm on each side of her and my hands are just beside her hips. I lean in so she can hear me. “If you want me to stay here with you and take shots, your attention needs to be on me.” I wince at my own words, but it’s too late and I can’t retract them.

Her expression is calm, yet her eyes carry interest. “Okay,” she says simply and gathers the shot from the counter. She raises it in front of her, giggling. “To paying attention.”

I shake my head, rolling my eyes at her drunkenness, but a laugh slips through as I collect the shot glass. “All right, Lila.” I raise the glass upward. “To paying attention.”

I’m about to clink our glasses when she pulls back. “That goes for you, too,” she says and when my expression slips to confusion, she adds, “You have to pay attention to me tonight, too.”

Why do I see this going very, very wrong? “Okay.” I’m an idiot. “You have my one hundred percent undivided attention, Lila Summers.”

Her lips curve to a smile and then she clinks her glass against mine. We both pull away and tip our heads back, devouring our shots.

“Now what?” I ask, slamming the empty glass down on the bar while she gags on the drink—she always does.

Her grin is almost devilish. “Another one?”

I sigh and shrug, feeling slightly better as the alcohol burns its way through my body. “Why not?”

“Why do you think it’s so hard to be alone?” Lila asks, struggling to keep her eyes open as she gazes out at the night sky through the cab window.

I’m turned sideways in the seat, with my knee up, so I’m facing her, even though she won’t look at me. I lost count of how many shots we had hours ago and I can barely comprehend how we got to a cab—stumbling, laughing, as she rubbed her hand up the front of my jeans. No, that can’t be right, can it?

“I think being alone is fan-fucking-tastic… well, maybe… sometimes…” I mumble, draping my arm on the back of the seat. I stare at her for a moment, taking in her bare skin in the moonlight. I want to touch it. Lick it. Even bite it.

I’m bursting with sexual energy and I channel it to my foot on the floor, bouncing my knee. There’s something different about tonight, something out of the ordinary, this strange need to keep getting closer to Lila. It could be the alcohol. Or it could be something else, but there’s no way my tequila-soaked mind is going to reach any sort of answer.

Lila turns her head toward me, her pupils wide and shiny. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

I keep tapping my foot on the floor, trying to think of a better answer than the first one that pops into my head, but I can’t find one. “Because I’m thinking about you.”

She glances at the cab driver, a thirtyish guy wearing a baseball cap, and then her gaze lands back on me. She sucks her lip into her teeth and I have to bounce my knee faster or I swear I’m going to fucking lose it. “Thinking what about me?” she asks, looking wary, interested, and exhausted.

Don’t say it… “I was thinking about what it would be like to lick you… or bite you… either one really.” It seems like I should regret it as soon as I say it, but regret is nowhere in my reach at the moment.

Her breathing quickens and her voice comes out shockingly unsteady for someone who has sex so much. “Then do it.”

I blink, wondering if I heard her right through the massive amount of alcohol consuming my thoughts. “What?”

She holds my gaze steadily, even though she seems really nervous, her voice trembling. “Then bite me. Or lick me… whatever you want.”

Every part of me is screaming not to do it, that I’m breaking my rules—rules I set for a reason. But desire and fucking tequila rampage the rational side of my mind. Drawn by a needy current, I lean forward, sweep her hair off her shoulder, keeping our eyes locked the entire time, and she quivers as my fingers brush her collarbone. When I reach the curve of her breast and trace a line above it, she bites her lip and groans. It’s way too much. My body feels like it’s going to combust. Before I can even acknowledge what I’m doing, I duck my head forward, slip my tongue out, and lick a path from her collarbone to the arch of her neck, grazing my teeth softly along the path.

“Oh God… Ethan.” She shivers, clutching her hands at her side. “That feels way too good.”

My eyes close and my breathing becomes ragged as I battle to pull back, keep my hands to myself, fearing that if I touch her, I’ll rip her clothes off right here in the back of the cab. And I can’t go there. It’s not the same as when I hook up with random women. I can feel a connection with Lila and sex will ruin it, especially when I bail out afterward.

“Lila…” I trail off as her hand glides up the front of my shorts. “I think…”

I bite down on the sensitive spot right below her ear, just above her neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough that her shoulder jerks upward, and my hands clamp down on her waist, my fingertips delving into the fabric of her dress.

“Do it again,” she whispers, breathless, her hand rubbing me hard. “Please.”

I remember how she told me she never begged, and suddenly all my doubts dissipate into the sea of alcohol swimming around in my head. I move my mouth upward to the tip of her earlobe, breathing hotly on her skin the entire way, and then I graze my teeth along her earlobe, slide my tongue out along it, and taste her just like I wanted to.

“Oh… my… God…” She releases a slow breath that’s echoed by a whimper, her chest curving forward and pressing against mine.

I’m a little stunned by how much she’s enjoying it and by how much I’m enjoying it, too, my moves fueled by an adrenaline surge and yearning in my body. I swear all the sexual tension inside me is pouring out in my motions. I’ve lost control. I place my hand on her bare leg and glide it up until it’s fully underneath her dress, her skin searingly hot against mine, and my fingers graze the edge of her panties. The warmth and wetness that I felt when she had the towel on is there and all I want to do is say fuck my rules, slip my fingers inside her, and lay her down on the seat.

“Shit, Lila…” I sound choked as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to decide what’s right and what’s wrong—what I need to do and what I want to do. “I think we should—”

The cab jerks to a stop and Lila and I quickly pull back, looking stunned. I’d seriously almost forgotten that we were in a cab. We’re at the entrance of her apartment, the lampposts lighting up the parking lot. It’s late, the neighborhood quiet, and the cab driver looks really pissed off.

“Jesus,” she whispers, blinking her eyes open, and then she aims her attention at the door. Her hand is still on my cock and my hand is still up her dress.