My Cruel Lover (Wicked Poison 3)

“You don’t like most people. Why are you even talking to her?” Beckham asks Archie.

Archie smirks at me, and I can’t help the smile I give in return.

“Don’t entertain the asshole,” Beckham barks at me.

“That’s exactly why. Because you’re interesting when you’re riled up,” Archie says. “Plus, she’s beautiful, and I would like to see her dance. Wouldn’t you?” Archie goes to stand, but Beckham does first and reaches over and pulls me up. Now on my feet, he tugs me out of the area where we’re seated.

“I don’t want to dance with you.”

“Too fucking bad,” Beckham says. When we get to the crowded dance floor, he turns and pulls me to him, so our bodies are aligned, not caring that we aren’t dancing to the rhythm of the music, only that our bodies are in full contact with one another. I feel him move my hair from my shoulder before his lips connect with my skin, and his tongue licks from my shoulder to just under my ear. A shiver breaks out across my body, and I lean into him a little more, and the world around us evaporates.

Completely.

Our hips sway, my head rests on his chest, and his mouth stays on my bare shoulder, his hands resting just above my ass, gripping onto my hips.

I could pull away.

I should pull away.

But it feels too good, which seems to be the dilemma with Beckham.

And I’m afraid if I don’t get the courage soon to pull away, I may never be able to.

He’s not like Anderson, and he’s nothing like August either.

Beckham is his own brand of man, and I’m fast falling into his trap.

“Is this why you haven’t been answering my calls?”

I pull back at those words because they’re clearly directed at us. And they are so close I can hear them even through the loud music pumping through the club. Beckham keeps his hands on my hips, not letting me get away.

“Who even is she?”

Now that I can actually see her, I smile, but her eyes zero in on me, clearly not happy.

“What the fuck are you looking at bitch?”

I pull away from Beckham now to see he’s visibly angry.

“This is not a me problem,” I say to Beckham and back away. “He’s all yours, sweetheart.” Smiling, I turn and walk back to our table, all eyes are on me and wide with surprise. Rylee is back from the bar with two drinks in her hand, and she passes one to me. Archie is sitting there messaging on his phone, then he lifts his eyes as I take a seat that’s available near him.

“I see you met one of his crazies.” Archie laughs. Then his face goes from smiling to serious. All playfulness leaves his expression as he focuses on me. “Beckham is probably the only person on this planet I care about. I’d literally kill someone if they hurt him again.” He pauses, looks me up and down. “You feel me?”

“No. I do not. And was that a threat?” I ask with my eyebrows raised. No one will ever be threatening me again. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.

“Of course not, just simply informing you.” Archie stands and wanders off, and Rylee sits next to me, watching Archie leave and nudging me with her shoulder. “You okay?”

I shrug. “A little drunk, but fine.” I smile.

“Archie is …” she looks away as she speaks, “… let’s just say he doesn’t like anyone but Beckham. And, well, Beckham hardly likes anyone.” She laughs. “Archie’s scary, I get it. But he can see what we all see.”

I squint, my brows pulling together. “Huh?”

“We see the way Beckham is around you. Even if he says the wrong things, his actions with you are different to anyone else. Archie can see it. And because he remembers what happened last time Beckham lost someone, he doesn’t want that to happen again.”

“Is he dangerous?” I ask, completely ignoring everything else she said. I don’t want to know that she thinks her brother sees me differently, I prefer how we are now with no talk of emotions.

“Only to those he hates.” She giggles. “Which is almost everyone.” She shrugs.

“We should go,” Beckham says, standing in front of me. Thinking he’s talking to Rylee—because clearly, he isn’t talking to me—I don’t respond. “Jacinta.” This time he says my name.

Is that the first time he’s called me by my name?

Am I that drunk that I can’t remember?

“What?” I crinkle my nose at him.

He offers me his hand. “It’s time you got home. Come …”

“Come?” I laugh. “No, thanks. I’m good.” I turn away from his hand to see Rylee holding in her laugh.

“We need to talk, and I can drive you home while we talk,” he says again.

Looking up at him, I have to remember what an asshole he is. Because who says no to going home with a man who looks like him? Dark hair matched with dark eyes and a face that could stalk a runway, he has well-defined, everything.