Entangled with the wrong man

Entangled with the Wrong Man

Chapter 1

~ DRUSCILLA ~

The first time I decided to hit a club in my entire life… and everything went straight to hell.

At first, I figured it was just a glitch in the bass thumping through the speakers, or maybe some klutz dropping a tray of drinks. But then the crowd surged like a wave, people shoving and screaming.

Gunshots. Sharp, unmistakable cracks cutting through the packed dance floor.

“Run!” Kaila yelled, yanking at my hand. But I couldn’t budge. My feet rooted to the sticky floor, shock locking me in place like cement.

Two minutes earlier, Kaila, Avery, and I had been lost in the hip-hop beats, grinding and laughing our asses off for my bachelorette party. Bottles popping, confetti in the air, the whole nine yards.

Now? Chaos. Pure, heart-pounding panic.

I spun around, eyes darting through the strobe lights. Kaila and Avery were gone, swallowed by the stampede toward the exits. Everyone bolted helter-skelter, but there I stood, smack in the middle of it all, like a deer in headlights.

A shot rang out way too close. I watched a guy crumple to the ground, blood pooling under him.

God. My soul nearly jumped out of my skin.

I dove under the nearest table, the one that had held my cake just moments ago. My scramble knocked it over, and half the damn thing splattered across my face, icing clumping in my hair, smearing my cheeks like war paint.

But screw that. All I cared about was staying alive, getting the hell out.

Fingers trembling, I fished my phone from my purse.

I punched in Isaac’s number. It rang. And rang. No answer.

Where the fuck was he? Pick up. Please, pick up.

Ring.

Ring.

The shots echoed louder, closer. Another scream tore through the club. Someone else hit.

I dialed again. And again. Straight to voicemail every time.

Was this it? How I’d bite the dust tonight? Sweat beaded on my forehead, mixing with the cake mess.

I was about to mutter my last prayer, brace for whatever came next.

Then a hand clamped around my wrist. Firm, no give.

I gasped, twisted, ready to claw and fight. Slammed right into a solid wall of black. Black jacket, black shirt, black tattoos snaking up the forearm holding me tight as a vice.

“It’s okay. Stay calm and move,” a low, familiar voice commanded.

Not freaked out.

Not hurried.

Totally in charge, like he’d danced this tango before.

I should’ve yanked away.

I should’ve hollered for help.

Instead, I looked up.

And forgot how to breathe.

He was unfairly gorgeous. Dark hair tousled over his forehead. A faint scar slicing across one eyebrow, like a built-in smirk.

And those eyes…

God, those eyes. I hadn’t seen them in four years.

That mismatched icy blue and deep green that had me sneaking off to the bathroom at sixteen, fingers exploring in secret.

It was Ivan.

My stepbrother.

Those eyes fixed on me like I was the only solid thing in a world going up in flames.

“Ivan… what are you doing here?” I gasped.

“I should be asking you that, cake girl,” he grumbled. “But let’s get out of here first, unless you wanna die in that pretty dress.”

Ouch. Still got that sharp tongue, cutting like a knife.

I didn’t argue.

Couldn’t even form words. Just stared, struck dumb by how much hotter he’d gotten over the years.

I ran with him.

He kept his grip on my wrist, leading me to a side exit I hadn’t even spotted before.

The cold night air slapped my skin like a bucket of ice water. I doubled over, coughing, body shaking, lungs burning as I gulped down breaths. Adrenaline still roaring through my veins.

Cars screeched by in the distance. Sirens wailed, getting closer. For a split second, I thought I caught Isaac’s Mercedes Benz whipping past. My gaze tracked it. Nah, couldn’t be him. Plenty of those in Beverly Hills.

Ivan finally released my hand.

I stumbled back a step, hand clutching my chest.

“Thank you,” I stammered, voice sounding foreign, shaky.

He nodded, eyes glued to my face, not wandering.

I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly hyper-aware of my short dress riding up, makeup probably a wreck, looking like a fragile mess under the flickering streetlight.

“I should call my fiance,” I said on autopilot, lifting my phone to dial Isaac again.

Dead battery.

Of course.

A crazy laugh bubbled up in my throat.

Perfect.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

He watched me, head cocked like he was piecing together a jigsaw.

“You called him inside,” he said.

Wasn’t a question.

My stomach plummeted.

“How do you know that?”

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips.

Not kind.

Not mean.

Dangerous.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said softly.

Those words should’ve scared the shit out of me.

They did.

But not enough.

Because the way he looked at me made my pulse trip over itself, not sprint away.

Like I was already tumbling into a pit I couldn’t see the bottom of.

“Come on, let me take you somewhere safe for the night,” he said, hand on my shoulder, steering me toward his car. A sleek red sports car, gleaming under the lights.

He opened the door for me, and I slid in like a lamb to the slaughter, no questions asked.

He settled behind the wheel, and the engine growled to life.

***

“So what were you doing in the club?” Ivan asked as he shut the door behind me. I leaned against the wall, eyes tracking every shift of his body.

“My bachelorette party,” I replied, nerves jittering. First time in four years we’d been alone like this, door locked.

“Poor timing,” he murmured, shrugging off his jacket, then peeling away his shirt.

My eyes nearly bugged out.

His chest…

God, those abs were carved perfection, slick with sweat, catching the light.

I should’ve looked away. But I couldn’t tear my gaze off.

“What is it, pretty doll?” He smirked, following where my eyes lingered.

Heavens… he still called me that?

“Do you wanna touch?”

Uh… I swallowed hard. Blinked.

“No,” I mumbled. “Yes. I mean, no.”

Fuck. What was wrong with me? See my stepbrother shirtless after four years, and suddenly I can’t string words together.

Get a grip, Druscilla.

“Interesting.” His smile deepened, that wicked dimple popping in his cheek. His left eye, the amber one, seemed to glow brighter in the low light.

“Do not say no when you mean to say yes,” he said, pushing up from his seat.

He walked toward me.

I shouldn’t have come here. I knew it. But crashing with him for the night felt safer than whatever waited out there.

In a blink, he was right in front of me.

He tipped my chin up with one finger, scooping a smear of cake icing from my cheek.

He licked it off his finger and smiled. “So sweet.”

He leaned in closer, tongue flicking out to trace my skin, lapping up the cake. “Delicious,” his voice rumbled low.

I swallowed hard. Heart pounding like a drum.

When his lips brushed mine, I gasped. His kiss started gentle, a soft heat against my throat. My eyes drifted shut as his mouth trailed lower, savoring me like a long-denied craving. Each breath I drew melted into the space between us.

I kissed him back.

My hands hesitated at first, then rose to his bare chest. His skin burned warm, heartbeat thundering under my palms. He caught my wrists, held them there, like he needed me to feel it all, every fierce pulse, every held-back hunger.

He deepened the kiss, tongue exploring every inch of my mouth.

I felt my back lift off the wall. He hooked my legs around his waist, kiss unbroken, until he eased me down onto his king-sized bed.

“Should I stop?” he asked, pulling back just enough. I missed the warmth of his breath, his skin, instantly.

“No, don’t stop. Please,” I said, voice thick with a passion I’d never known.

Ivan’s touch had stirred something deep inside me.

I leaned up, captured his lips again. This time fiercer, hotter. And I matched him, kiss for kiss.

I felt his bulge pressing against my belly.

This was wrong. I knew it. But my body didn’t give a damn.

My panties were soaked beneath me.

I shifted my hips, grinding up against him.

I ached to be touched down there.

Like he’d read my thoughts, he rubbed my mound through my dress. I writhed under him, instant fire.

I wanted more. The dress was in the way, blocking too much.

I wanted him inside me.

Maybe it was the booze from the club… but no, it wasn’t. I wanted this. Badly.

Just for tonight.

I felt Ivan’s hand slide under my skirt, fingers hooking my black lace panties, tugging them down my legs.

He tucked the lace into his pocket and stared at my wet folds like a starving man.

“Touch me, please,” I said, eyes hazy with pleasure.

He stared at me and closed my legs. “I can’t. I don’t touch things that already belong to someone else.”