Panicked, I grabbed Dylan and did the first thing I could think of.

I kissed him.

19

“Hey! You two!” The sharp voice of the smartly suited security guard saw me jumping out of Dylan’s embrace like I’d been electrocuted. “What are you two doing up here, this is off limits to guests.”

“Oh, uh, sorry,” I stammered, feeling my cheeks blazing. “We were just, uh...”

“Yeah, we’re well aware of what you were doing.” One of the guards smirked. “Go and make out in a bathroom like everyone else, this is a restricted access area.”

I flicked my gaze to Dylan, but he was just gaping at me like I’d hit his reset button, so I turned my very best contrite smile to the guards. “Yes, sorry, we didn’t mean to ... uh ... we were just looking for...”

As I stumbled over my words, playing the part of a drunk girl caught making out with some guy, the guard’s attention shifted over my shoulder just a second before Beck’s hands slipped around my waist.

“There you are, baby,” he said, turning me in his grip and crushing his lips to mine. For a second, time stopped and all that mattered was the way Beck moved his mouth, the way he forced his way past my teeth and claimed my damn soul. That was, until someone cleared their throat and I squeaked in fright.

Beck—of course—was much slower to release me than Dylan had been, and when he did it was only to glare at the guards. His hands still clasped my waist tightly, and when I spun around to face our company, I could feel his hard length pressed against my back.

“Can we help you, gentlemen?” he demanded of the guards in an ice cold voice.

The one who’d scolded me was just gaping in confusion, so the other one cleared his throat. “Uh, you’re in a restricted area, Mr. Beckett. Would you mind taking this party elsewhere?”

There was a long, crazy awkward pause, then Beck huffed a sound of irritation. “Maybe you should signpost these things better. Come on.” He shifted me so I was tucked into his side with his arm around my shoulders then brushed past the guards with Dylan tight on his other side.

When we were well clear of the office wing—and the guards—Beck stopped abruptly and whirled around, pinning me to the wall.

“Beck—” Dylan started to say, but cut short when Beck’s death glare landed on him.

“Go back to the party, Dylan,” he said with no outward showing of emotion, but it was very clearly a command and there was zero room for arguments in his tone. “Here, take this.” He held out the flash drive, which Dylan took with a reluctant glance in my direction. “Now fuck off. Riley and I need to chat.”

Beck’s steely glare turned back to me, and I caught Dylan mouthing “sorry” at me from over his broad shoulder.

I tightened my jaw and raised my chin to meet Beck’s glare. He was trying to intimidate me, and I’d be damned if I let him.

“Did you have something to say?” I asked him in what was supposed to be a sassy, sarcastic way. Instead it came out as a provocative whisper, and I wholeheartedly blamed our front row seats to the senator’s sex show.

He was in no hurry to reply to me, letting the tension build between us until my nerves were wound tighter than a violin bow.

“Riley,” he finally said in a voice like sin. “Did I just see you kissing Dylan?”

Dread rippled through me, and I sucked in a sharp breath to defend myself. But shit! How could I backtrack out of this one?

“Before you say anything,” he continued, in that dangerous, seductive tone, “I’ll remind you that although we may be fighting right now, I have in no way relinquished my claim on you. And I have no intention of ever doing so. You belong to me, Butterfly, and you fucking well know it.”

His caveman routine turned me right the fuck on, but it also got my back up. “Excuse me?” I demanded, letting my anger boil up and embracing it. “I don’t belong to anyone but myself, you misogynistic prick. I’m not a possession to own, and if I choose to kiss Dylan then that’s my fucking choice, Beck.” I practically growled his nickname at him, stubbornly refusing to call him Sebastian like I had when we were on better terms.

The fact that I’d kissed Dylan to give us a plausible excuse for being where we weren’t supposed to be, well that was beside the point.

He glowered at my words, his jaw ticking with barely concealed fury. Sucking in a deep breath, he leaned in closer to me. His hands were braced on the wall either side of me, my back flat on the wallpaper, and his face was just inches from mine. I had nowhere to run to ... even if I wanted to.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Butterfly,” he whispered with dark promise, “I do own you.” He paused and leaned in closer still, until our lips were just a breath away. “Just like you own me.”

Blame it on the martini, the sex scene we’d all witness, or temporary insanity, but I totally lost control. At his whispered confession that I owned him, I closed the distance between us and kissed him with all the pent up anger and frustration of the past month.

Our tongues met, tangling together in a frenzy of emotion, our teeth clashing and our lips devouring. My hands found the back of his neck, gripping tight and demanding more as his body crushed me into the wall. Every inch of me was pressed to him as we drank each other in, and I moaned against his mouth.

Conflicting emotions swirled through me, fighting for supremacy but all I wanted was to pretend none of it existed. We had our issues—by God we had our issues—but just for a few minutes I wanted to forget all the betrayals and the pain and the goddamn infuriating control-freak bullshit. All I wanted, was to get lost in Sebastian Roman Beckett and deal with the rest later.

“Sebastian,” I groaned as he kissed down my neck, and he froze. “What?” I demanded, feeling panic flare at the sudden loss of contact.

“Say it again,” he ordered, his lips hovering over my skin. His breath was warm against my damp skin, and every exhale sent lightning bolts of sensation flickering through me.

A smile curved my lips, realizing what I’d just said. Fuck it, if that’s what he needed...

“Sebastian,” I breathed again.

This time, it was like a switch had been flipped. His mouth returned to mine, kissing me with bruising intensity as he lifted me clean off my feet and hitched my legs up around his waist. Thank fuck for the dramatic split in my dress, or that move would have surely ripped it. Not that I gave a shit, it would be worth it.