Two Days (The Private Club 2)

“So you just go from bed to bed and from f**k to f**k and you don’t care who it’s with.”

“Of course I care.”

“It doesn’t seem that way.” I pulled away from him, angry at myself. I jumped up off the couch. “Look, I have to go. I should get to bed.”

“I never lied to you, Meg.” He jumped up as well.

“I never said you did.” I tried to walk past him, but he reached out and stopped me.

“I want you to spend the night with me.”

“I don’t want to.” I lied, trying to push past him.

“Liar.” He pulled me towards him. “You want me as badly as I want you.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“Deny it, then.”

“Why would I deny it? You obviously know that you can have any woman that you want. It doesn’t mean anything.” I shrugged.

“I don’t want just any woman. I want you.”

“Am I supposed to feel special? Woohoo, I’m your flavor of the day.”

“Brandon and I wanted to rule the world.” His eyes glittered into mine as he changed the subject. “We wanted to be omnipotent.”

“Why?”

“Why do boys generally want to rule the world?”

“I don’t think you’re like most guys.”

“I’m not better than them.”

“I don’t think you’re better either.” And then he laughed and shook his head.

“So honest, Meg.”

“I wish you were as honest.”

“I’ve never lied to you.”

“But you’re not telling me everything.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Put me in my place, why don’t you?”

“I’m not perfect, Meg. I’m 42 years old and I’ve lived a life driven by the pursuit of not caring.”

“How can you be driven by not caring? Most men are after money or power or women or whatever.”

“I had money. Money brings power and, well, women have never been a problem for me.”

“Because you’re so handsome, right?” I rolled my eyes.

“I can’t help it if women find me sexually attractive.”

“Give me a break.”

“I also can’t help it if I find you sexually attractive.” His fingers stroked my cheek.

“I’m not that girl, Greyson. I know, I know. I’ve acted like that girl, but that’s not me.” I took a deep breath. “I’m not comfortable here.” I mumbled the words, scared to see his reaction. “There’s too much going on. I think I want to leave.”

“What are you scared of?”

“I’m scared of the things I’m hearing. I’m scared that you really are the devil. I’m scared I’m going to lose myself and my perception of good and evil.”

“Do you think I’m evil?”

“I don’t know.” I answered honestly. All signs pointed to yes, but I didn’t want to believe that he was capable of such evil. I didn’t want to believe that I could be so attracted to and consumed with someone who was pure evil. I’d always prided myself on my common sense and ability to see who people were when I first met them. My people radar had never been off before, but I had never had this sort of attraction to a man before.

“I suppose that’s better than a yes.” He gave me a wry smile. “Will you stay?”

“Why do you want me to stay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Neither of us seems to know a thing.” I sighed and he wrapped his arms around me.

“Dance with me.”

“What?” I made a face. “Really?”

“Not dance for me, dance with me.”

“I’m not much of a dancer.”

“You don’t have to be much of a dancer.” He grabbed my hands and spun me around. “You just have to move.”

“We’re going to dance to ‘La Vie En Rose’?”

“Why not?” He smiled and put his arm around my waist and started humming. We spun around the room and I tried to match his footsteps and not step on his feet as we waltzed. “Da da da da da da, da da, da da, la vie en rose.” He hummed and sang and I smiled up at him as we glided together. We started laughing as we nearly hit the coffee table and I fell against him in my quick attempt to avoid his feet.

“Sorry, I told you I sucked.”

“No, you don’t.” His eyes were full of mirth and we continued dancing in silence, with only the music and his humming filling the room.

“You’re a good dancer.” I finally spoke after the song had finished.

“I used to dance with my mom.” His smiled. “She wanted me to be a ballroom dancer.”

“She what?” I looked up at him in surprise and he laughed.

“There are many things you don’t know about me.”

“But now I do. Well, I know some. You wanted to be a comedian and your dad said no, and your mom wanted you to be a ballroom dancer.”

“Which I never wanted, by the way.” He laughed. “I absolutely hated dancing with my mom every week. Now, of course, I’m glad she made me. I’ll always carry those memories with me.”

“Was she a good dancer then?”

“The best,” he said simply, and then held his hand out and twirled me around and around. “She was a ballet dancer when she was younger. In fact, that’s how my father met her.”