Looking Inside

She stood abruptly, dumping the incendiary book into her bag and grabbing clumsily at her coat. Her mind was awhirl with what was about to happen. Trey Riordan had signaled—no, he’d ordered—her to go to the bathroom. He was about to confront her, talk to her . . .

Quite possibly yell at her for getting aroused in public and teasing him so mercilessly for two nights in a row. She couldn’t quite be sure from his fierce expression what he planned. This was uncharted territory for her.

Her lungs tight, she plunged down the two steps to the main floor of the coffee house. She instinctively veered away from Trey’s chair like she might from the smoke and heat of a raging fire. Regret slinked into her awareness when she noticed that several men were tracking her progress toward the exit, their excitement obvious.

Shit. She’d been doing her little act for Trey, of course. But others had unintentionally been as caught up in her performance as she was.

FIVE

Stacy Moffitt frowned at her disapprovingly when Eleanor breathlessly requested her phone at the counter. She’d be tattling to Jimmy, Eleanor’s friend, about Eleanor’s odd presentation at the event. Her behavior hadn’t been outrageous to anyone but Trey, but still, it’d been notably unusual for those familiar with Eleanor.

She glanced furtively back into the coffee house, positive Trey would be stalking toward her, perhaps intent on retribution for her daring at teasing him. The idea excited her unbearably. Her eyes widened in alarm when instead of Trey, she saw the black-bearded guy rushing her.

“Are you ever going to actually stay for the whole event?” Stacy hissed as she extended the envelope that held Eleanor’s phone.

“I’m starting to doubt it,” Eleanor mumbled, snatching the envelope from Stacy’s hand. The bearded guy was almost to the desk. She hurried out of the exit, intimidated by his glistening, feral-looking black eyes.

She’d been so caught up in being late to the event . . . and then utterly captivated by Trey and her book. She’d forgotten about the guy’s rabid stares from last night. She increased her pace, anxious to avoid him. Her heels tapped rapidly on the tile floor of the lobby.

“Hey, come back here,” he ordered.

She broke into a jog, alarmed by the roughness of his tone.

“Come back here, you little cock tease.”

Her breath hitched when his footsteps grew faster. He was chasing after her. Alarmed by his aggressive snarls, she blindly headed for the doors and the street. Abruptly, the pursuing footfalls halted. There was a skidding sound on the tile floor.

She looked over her shoulder as she plunged out the doors, her heart pounding like crazy in her ears. She saw Trey holding the bearded guy’s arm while the man spun around at the unexpected restraint. She halted in the doorway, horrified to see the bearded man lift his fist in preparation to strike. Looking beyond irritated, Trey caught the man’s arm, halting the blow with shocking ease. The bearded guy cursed and started to struggle, but Trey was much the superior as far as size and fitness. He held him off with both hands with relative ease. He looked over at Eleanor, his glare singeing her.

“Go. Get out of here. Now,” he growled between clenched, white teeth.

She inhaled sharply, experiencing his words like a slap. It’d been the first time he’d ever spoken to her.

It’d probably be the last.

Could you have screwed this up any more royally?

She plunged into the November night, racing toward the curb blindly. Only one thought guided her: escape. She wanted to shut her eyes and block out Trey’s furious expression.

Frustration swept through her

when she saw how snarled traffic was. It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. For many people, the holiday had already begun. Spotting a cab with its light on, she jogged into the halted traffic.

“Eleven sixty-one Lake Shore Drive,” she gasped, slamming the door shut and locking it. She strained to see into the museum’s lobby, but couldn’t make anything out from here. What was happening inside? Was Trey fighting that man? What if he got hurt, all because of her selfish lust?

The light turned and the cab inched forward sluggishly. She couldn’t stand it. She had to get out of here.

“Just turn right up here,” she told the cab driver.

“You want to take North Avenue? It’s worse than LaSalle.”

“Whatever . . . just get me away from here.”

She saw the driver glance at her suspiciously in his rearview window, but she didn’t care. Her entire awareness was focused on getting out of there. He turned right. The museum disappeared from sight within seconds.

What would have usually been a five-minute cab ride took four times as long because of their meandering route and heavy traffic. She mentally lectured herself on her stupidity the whole way. She wanted to explore her sexuality with Trey, and she wanted to be daring in her attempt.

But maybe she was too inexperienced to recognize the possible consequences?