Something Like Love Page 12

  However, the moment my eyes land on his across the room, my already frantic heartbeat gallops in time with the jazzy tune being played over the speakers. In this moment everything fades, and the only thing that exists…is him.

  Quinn is casually leaning against a wall, watching me closely behind his plain black mask. I almost choke when his sensual mouth tips up into a dimpled smile, his silver hoop catching the light from the crystal chandelier above him. He’s wearing a simple tuxedo, but nothing about Quinn could ever be simple.

  The crisp white shirt draws out the bright green of his eyes, and the pressed black suit fits him perfectly, highlighting his muscular, brawny frame. The lapels on the jacket are black silk, and as my eyes drop to his pants, the snug material falls just the right way, drawing attention to a very impressive package. I can’t help but smile as I see a pair of black Chucks adorning his feet, completing his sexy, rebellious look.

  He gives me a small wave, and I barely am able to register a response as I watch his bright emerald eyes do a slow, deliberate appraisal of my body. I suddenly feel naked under his probing gaze. As he tugs on his lip ring suggestively, I almost buckle at the knees.

  But it’s not his piercing which has me almost leaping over the guests to kiss the hell out of him, it’s his hair. It’s been cut and styled like a freaking supermodel. His bangs are still long, but they’re fashioned into a messy peak, and the shorter sides are gelled stylishly, giving him a faux mohawk look.

  “Oh, Mia, you look beautiful,” someone gasps, standing directly in front of me.

  Taking a minute to compose myself, I see Cynthia smiling in front of me, looking rather stunning herself.

  Her long black hair is twisted into a messy side chignon, and clasped together with a small topaz clip, very similar to the one I’m currently wearing. Her black, strapless silk dress sweeps the floor behind her, hugging her petite frame. Her mask is akin to mine, but is black instead of white. She really looks fetching and quite regal with her minimal makeup. Her long neck is accentuated by a diamond drop necklace, and I have no doubt those diamonds are real.

  “Thank you, so do you,” I reply, realizing I’m staring at her without a word.

  A pink hue brushes her skin, and I see where I get my scarlet cheeks from. “Thank you. Have you seen Quinn?” she asks with a small smile.

  Oh boy, have I seen Quinn! I give her a small nod, feeling my cheeks flush when thinking about him in all of his tuxedo glory.

  “Polly cut his hair. I hope you don’t mind,” Cynthia says with a small frown.

  Mind? Holy shit, I don’t mind in the slightest. If possible, Quinn actually looks hotter—something I believed wasn’t humanly possible.

  “Not at all, it suits him,” I reply, trying not to look over her shoulder at my Prince Charming.

  “She said it’s called a fohawk, or something, I have no idea what that is.” Cynthia chuckles, reaching for two glasses filled with orange juice.

  “You don’t drink?” I ask, accepting the flute glass.

  “No, not really, they mess with my medication,” she confesses, looking happily around the room, obviously pleased with the sight before her.

  Medication? This is news to me. I wonder what she’s on. But this isn’t really the time, nor the place to ask.

  I suddenly see someone, who no doubt has to be Polly. She’s wearing an extremely tight ball gown, which very much resembles Belle’s gown from Beauty and the Beast. However, while Belle’s dress is yellow, Polly’s is a deep, fiery red. She looks beautiful.

  Her hair is styled into a messy twist, but long curls drop down from the elegant weave, shaping her face and long neck. The dress has about four hoops underneath it and is so wide she has a permanent barrier of about four feet around her. But with her frame, it makes her look majestic and sexy. The bodice has silver jewels encrusted across the neckline, and also scattered sporadically throughout the skirt.

  A young suitor makes a reach for her gloved fingers, kissing her lightly on the back of the hand. Polly’s eyelashes flutter from underneath her red mask, loving the attention.

  “Cynthia,” an older gentleman with a curly moustache says, reaching for her hand. “You look ravishing.” That’s my cue to excuse myself, because I need to find Quinn and make out with him like yesterday.

  I search the wall he was standing against, but am greeted by an older couple eating canapés, while chuckling lightly. Disappointed, I do a quick sweep but come up empty.

  Deciding to take a walk and look for him, I enter a few rooms, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I start to panic. Has Polly locked him away in her bedroom? Just as I begin to envision every possible kidnapping scenario, a familiar pair of warm hands lace around my middle, drawing my back to a very taut, divinely scented body.

  Instantly sagging when I press up against him, my body tingles in all the right places, and I can’t wait to get my hands on my man.

  “You look so beautiful,” Quinn whispers against my ear, his lips tickling my lobe.

  I need to turn around and face him, but his grip implies I’m not going anywhere. He drags me to a darkened alcove.

  “Th-thank you,” I stutter, my eyes slipping shut when his lips trail delicate kisses along my arched neck.

  My skin instantly heats from the delicious contact, and my body demands I smash my lips to his and never let go. I turn, and thankfully Quinn loosens his hold as we both dive for the other, pawing the shit out of our fancy clothes, which are an unwanted barrier.

  Quinn reaches for my mask, ripping it away, as the stupid thing is making it hard to keep up with his frenzied kisses. I run my fingers through this hair, and am happy to feel there is still a little length for me to grab onto and pull. He moans into my mouth, and holy Christ, the sound has my needy body mewling in pleasure. I want him like I’ve never wanted him before, and as his hand creeps under my skirt, caressing my bare ass cheek, I dare say he feels the same way.

  I’m breathlessly panting as we recklessly kiss, but I need to pull away before I pass out from lack of oxygen.

  Attempting to catch my breath, I puff, “Holy shit…I want you,” I whisper, unashamed by my blatant confession as I stare into his eyes.

  Quinn’s hand slips out from under my dress as he takes a calming breath, slipping off his mask. “Do you know how hard it is, keeping my hands to myself? You’re driving me crazy, and then you go and say something like that.” He bites his lip, suppressing a moan.

  “It’s the truth,” I reply, thankful my heart has slowed to a semi-normal pace.

  “I know it is, and that’s what makes me the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.”

  I smile at his openness, as I love the fact we can talk freely like this and not be embarrassed or ashamed.

  Back home, before all this happened, Quinn and I weren’t like this. Quinn had some notion he had to stay away from me because of Tristan. At the time he thought it best, but now—now I can’t imagine not being this way with him. To have to hide my feelings for him, and the way he makes me feel, feels almost unnatural, and also, wrong. I’m so happy we’ve come this far, and I can’t wait to move forward.

  Resting my hand on his stubbled cheek, I state, “No, that would be me.”

  Quinn’s dimple flashes me, and I smile, loving the fact that dimple is there because of me. But he unexpectedly turns serious, reaching for my cheek and drawing our foreheads together.

  “You’re my poison,” he whispers, and I gasp at the passion behind his words. “You’re my one weakness…but I’ve never felt so alive.” He lowers his lips to mine.

  This kiss isn’t lust-filled, it is loved-filled, and it’s my favorite kiss of all.

  We make out until my lips are bruised and swollen, and I’m about ready to ditch the whole party and drag Quinn upstairs. But he pulls away with a small smile.

  “Later,” he says, thumbing my pouty bottom lip.

  I raise an eyebrow, confused, but he makes himself very clear. “Later on tonight, I plan on st
ripping you naked and possessing every…single…inch of you.”

  I shiver at his confession as there is promise behind his words. I can only nod, because I know nothing remotely coherent will pass through my mute lips for the next few minutes.

  “But for the moment, I’ll get us something to drink. I won’t be long,” he says with a smirk as he lays a final kiss onto my eager lips before slipping on his mask and going to get our drinks.

  Is tonight the night? It makes sense that sex would be the next step in our relationship, and I’m not scared or having second thoughts. I just know that when we do, Quinn is right and he will possess every inch of me. But I’m not nervous, and I know it’s not something I will ever regret, because there is nothing I want more. This with Quinn, it’s real, and no matter how far I run, I’ll know he’ll run with me.

  “What are you doing hiding out here?” Polly asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “Just waiting for Quinn,” I reply, hoping my scarlet cheeks don’t give away what we were doing out here.

  “You’re welcome,” Polly says, straightening out her gown.

  “Pardon?” I reply, totally confused with what I’m thanking her for.

  “Tell me you weren’t drooling all over yourself when you saw Quinn’s smoking’ hair,” Polly confidently replies, aware of how good he looks.

  “Oh, right.” I chuckle, thinking she’s right and I do owe her a big thank you for making the hottest man alive even hotter.

  “You both scrub up okay,” she says, which surprises me.

  “Thanks, so do you. Love your dress. Although, red?” I query with a smile, looking at her satin gown.

  Her glossy lips tip up into a calculated smirk as she replies, “Well, now you’re not the only one with the nickname Red.”

  I half smile because I don’t know if she’s joking, or if she’s serious. Is she jealous? Did she wear a red dress so her nickname would be Red, too? My stiff upper lip smile reveals how uncomfortable I suddenly am. Thankfully, she picks up on my discomfort.

  “Anyway, I better get back out there. There’s one guy, holy shit, can you say hot! I dunno who he is, but I’m going to find out.”

  “Good luck,” I reply, feeling sorry for whoever’s caught Polly’s eye.

  “I don’t need luck.” She winks. “There’s just something about metal in a guy’s face that drives me wild,” she adds over her shoulder before skipping off.

  I don’t like her comment, as it makes me feel uneasy knowing that she’s probably looking at Quinn, drooling over his piercings. And the red comment has kind of thrown me off guard. It’s probably just my possessive, jealous side coming through, like it always does when Quinn is involved. But still, she has made it more than obvious she enjoys flirting with him, and that little stunt she pulled in our room has me worrying that maybe her kindness is cloaked to hide something sinister.

  She did threaten to do everything in her power to make me leave. What if this is all just a bullshit charade? A little show she’s putting on. And when I’ve let my guard down, she pounces and punishes me for believing that she actually has a genuine bone in her body.

  I tell myself that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. But in this circumstance, I feel that imitation borderlines on being a stalking menace.

  With that thought plaguing my mind, I realize I really could use a drink, and I wonder where Quinn is. Of course my overactive imagination conjures up scenarios of him being imprisoned by a persistent Polly. Or worse yet, her forcing him under the mistletoe for a Christmas kiss.

  Unable to face any other ridiculous scenarios, I pull on my mask and decide to look for him.

  Nat King Cole is playing over the speakers as I walk into the huge living room where the party is in full swing. Looking around the lavish room, which is filled with happy guests chatting while picking at the endless selection of finger foods, I know finding Quinn is going to be impossible, even with the extra height my shoes provide.

  I decide to walk around, as the living area opens up to a den, which leads into an alfresco area, which then wraps around into an adjoining balcony. He could be anywhere.

  The decorations look really classy, and Polly has transformed this house into a black and white Christmas wonderland. I sigh when I see her dragging some poor chump over to the hanging mistletoe, puckering her ruby lips.

  Thankfully the chump isn’t Quinn, but suddenly, I begin to worry. It’s not like he would bump into anyone he would know to stop and chat. My anxious eyes do a quick, last sweep, but I don’t see him anywhere.

  “Shit,” I mumble to myself.

  Politely pushing past mingling guests, I make way into the den, which is thankfully a tad smaller, but still nothing. Dammit, where is he?

  The cold air brushes my cheeks as I step out into the alfresco area where patrons are enjoying a cigar and port. They are casually standing around the in-wall fireplace, chatting, none the wiser that I’m about five seconds away from losing it.

  Stepping out onto the balcony when Quinn is nowhere to be seen inside has my teeth chattering, as it’s about zero degrees. Thankfully it’s not snowing, but I’m still freezing my very exposed butt off. Doing a quick look around, I don’t see him anywhere, so I decide to take a look over the railing, just in case he took Lucky out to do his business. Pushing into the banister, I look out into the open vastness. All I see are tiny candles lining the driveway, and manicured lawns. But no Quinn.

  Where is he?

  My eyes once again fruitlessly search the area below, hoping that he’ll magically appear, but deep down, I know something is wrong. I have to find him because wherever he is, I know he’s in trouble.

  With my heart in my throat, I quickly turn but am stopped mid-spin when a set of warm hands wrap around my middle. I instantly sag in relief, but as I lean back, I realize the body is not Quinn’s. But it’s also not a stranger.

  “Don’t be mad,” the husky voice whispers by my ear as he loosens the grip around my waist.

  Spinning around so quickly, I stumble thanks to my now impractical shoes. His hand shoots out to steady me, and I let him, because I’m seconds away from collapsing.

  The moment I see the familiar golden brown eyes hidden behind a black mask, my already pounding heart threatens to rip through my rib cage, unable to accept the reality of who stands before me.

  And that’s because there is no fucking way I am staring into the eyes of…Tristan Berkeley.

  Chapter 16

  Black, White and Grey

  “Tristan?” I choke out, holding onto the wooden banister for support as my eyes widen, not believing the sight before them.

  “Hi, Mia,” he gingerly replies, confirming he’s real and standing before me.

  “Wh…what are you doing here?” I stutter, apprehensively reaching out to touch his arm to ensure he’s actually here.

  “I had to come. I couldn’t stay away. Abi told me everything,” he says, his jaw clenching as he continues. “She told me what Quinn did. You should have told me.” He sighs, taking off his mask, his long bangs flicking up with the movement.

  “I…I…” but I can’t construct a coherent sentence because I still can’t believe he’s here.

  “I’m sorry for lying to you,” he guiltily apologizes while pulling at his bottom lip, which causes the hoop in the center of his lips to disappear into his mouth.

  But I remain immobile, the only thing moving are my eyes, which are doing an appraisal of the man in front of me.

  I’ve forgotten how much he resembles Quinn, but while Quinn is sharp planes and rugged angles, Tristan is softer and easier to read. However, now that Quinn’s hair is shorter, they do bear more of a likeness to one another than they did before. But the differences between them are what make them unique in their own personal way.

  Tristan’s strong jaw is clean shaven, and a silver hoop replaces his usual labret piercing, but the piercing still highlights the pinkness of his full lips. His fitted black suit underline
s his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and it looks as if he’s added some muscle mass, as I don’t remember him looking this big.

  “Mia?” Tristan asks softly, as I remain frozen.

  “You’re really here?” I stupidly ask, just above a whisper.

  “I’m really here,” he affirms, nodding, his brown hair catching in the breeze.

  “Oh god, you’re really here,” I reiterate, my hand falling to the center of his chest, over his beating heart.

  The memory from when I saw him last plagues my mind, and my eyes fill with tears. I slowly trace my fingers down his side, stopping where his stab wound was gushing out bright red blood. I squeeze lightly, staring at the spot and remembering the pain I felt when I saw his life source rapidly bleeding out of him.

  “I’m okay, Mia,” Tristan coos, placing a warm hand over mine, interlacing our fingers, and with the other, he gently removes my mask.

  My eyes focus on our union and tears spill down my cheeks because his hands took part in saving my life, and in saving me. These hands belong to a selfless man, who has already risked so much for me, but yet here he is, consoling me and telling me that everything is okay.

  A sob tears from my throat and I unexpectedly throw myself into his arms. Thankfully, he catches me, crushing me to his chest. Pressing my nose into his neck, I inhale his unique fragrance and weep, because the memories of who I was when I first met him, to who I am now, haunt me, and I know I’m free from who I was, thanks to him.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, my arms encircling his neck, never wanting to let him go.

  “It’s okay, everything will be okay,” he replies softly, rubbing my back. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I confess, sobbing into his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

  “Me either…I can’t stay away from you.” But he quickly corrects himself. “I mean, I couldn’t stay away from you, knowing what’s going on.”