Alpha Knight Page 8

  It’s way too intimate, and I know that fucking drives her crazy.

  I like torturing her.

  I also like the way she feels in my arms. Her scent all up in my nostrils, her soft skin under my hands.

  I normally don’t have a thing for humans, but I could honestly say a girl like this one would be worth making an exception for.

  Too bad I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her.

  And she hates me.

  And she destroyed my family.

  Chapter 7

  Sloane

  I told Bo we’re not going to Homecoming.

  Not that I believe it will do any good.

  When that guy decides something, he doesn’t bend. He left after lunch saying he had a football game but he’d be back to pick me up for the dance.

  I told him not to come.

  He told me to look sharp.

  So here I am, using a curling iron on my hair and wearing last year’s Homecoming dress—a little strappy black number, while my cousin looks on.

  “So who is your date?” she asks for the fifth time.

  “Just a guy from school,” I say.

  “I know, but what’s his name?”

  Even that question is tricky. I have too many lies going now. I didn’t tell my aunt and cousin I had a made up boyfriend, so they don’t know about the fictitious Tyler. But if I tell her his name is Bo, and then Teri and Samantha hear it… sigh.

  This is all getting ridiculous.

  And is a total distraction from what I need to be focused on—survival.

  Still, Rikki’s enthusiasm for me is slightly infectious. And one tiny part of me is slightly excited to be taken to a dance by my very drool-worthy date.

  If nothing else, he’s a great fake boyfriend. Big. Muscley, and pretend-attentive. I know he’s mocking me the whole time, but sometimes my mind slips to wondering if that’s how he’d really be with a girlfriend.

  I doubt it—and I wouldn’t want that doting boyfriend thing. But I do want to know what he’d really be like.

  Is real boyfriend Bo like the guy in my room last night—the one who asked if I was okay after pushing me too far?

  What would he be like with a real girlfriend? Would he be sweet when he took her V-card?

  Ugh! Why am I thinking about that?

  Even if I do have sex with him, I’m not going to let him know I’m a virgin.

  “His name is Bo.” I go for the truth. I’ve veered too far from it lately, and it only comes back to bite me.

  “Do you like him?”

  I apply a second coat of mascara. “Um… sometimes. Not really. Yeah.”

  She gives a quizzical look. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  I laugh. “He’s super hot, but he knows it. And he can be a jerk.”

  “But he asked you to Homecoming? Or you asked him?”

  “Well...I guess he asked me.” Does forcing me count as asking?

  Sophie barks, and Rikki runs to the window in my room. "Oh wow. Does he drive a fancy car?"

  "No." I gulp, thinking it must be the mafia guys, but then I see the car she's referring to. It's a beautifully restored old convertible Mustang in shiny red. "Oh wait—yeah, that must be him." The guy works at a body shop. He’d probably have access to a car like that.

  The doorbell rings, and Rikki tears down the stairs to answer. Sophie’s barking stops and turns to a whine of submissive glee when the door opens.

  It’s weird the power he has over that dog.

  Downright bizarre.

  My heart's pumping fast, but it's probably just from the mafia scare. Not because I'm excited or nervous about being picked up for a dance. That's stupid.

  Downstairs, I hear Aunt Jen and Rikki talking and the deep rumble of Bo's voice in reply.

  Damn. Maybe I am excited because it does something flippy to my stomach.

  I slip on a pair of stilettos and hurriedly throw my essentials in an evening purse.

  When I come down the stairs, Bo stops speaking mid-sentence. His eyes glint silver to match his grey tie. If I thought the jock from Wolf Ridge couldn't clean up or would look awkward in dress clothes, I was sorely mistaken. If I’m totally honest, I’ll admit I half expected him to show up in a greasy t-shirt and jeans just to embarrass me at the dance.

  But no. He looks like a million bucks. And is totally at ease in a crisp white button down with a jacket and tie. Like a GQ model. Or a celebrity.

  Very fuckable.

  And I’ve never had that thought about a guy before in my life.

  “Oh, sugar. You’re showing your legs.” He sounds almost pained, but the appreciation is obvious in his expression.

  Maybe I did pick this dress for him, at least subconsciously. It’s a straight sheath that hits mid-thigh without looking skanky. On a shorter girl it might make her legs look short or chunky, but I have long legs, so I can pull it off.

  Aunt Jen stiffens at his remark. I don’t think she’s prepared to deal with sexual innuendos, especially in front of Rikki.

  Charmer that he is, though, Bo catches himself. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  Ma’am? Seriously? Are we in the South? Once more, I didn’t know he had it in him, but Bo Fenton is full of surprises.

  “I promise to be completely respectful with Sloane. What time do you want her home?”

  My aunt is duly charmed. And a little flustered because I don’t have a curfew, and that isn’t something she’s had to deal with for Rikki yet. “Oh, ah, what time is the dance over?”

  “We’ll be back by eleven,” I say at the same time she warbles “Midnight is fine.”

  “Midnight it is.” Bo winks.

  Seriously—who winks? This guy with his pirate smile.

  He reaches his hand out for mine. I want to ignore the gesture, but Rikki and Aunt Jen are looking on, smiling, so I put my palm in his.

  His calloused hand is large and rough. I hate the way it makes butterfly wings flap in my belly. I really don’t need this kind of distraction in my life right now.

  Especially not from a guy set on wrecking my heart.

  His smile mocks me as we walk out, but he gives my hand a squeeze before he lets me shake off his grip. He opens the door for me, like a gentleman.

  Again, I’m surprised that he has manners.

  “Nice wheels.”

  “They’re Winslow’s. So we’ll probably get pulled over since the manhunt is still on. You might want to hold back on the drinking.”

  I shoot him a disgusted look. “I’m not going to be drinking!”

  He shrugs. “You could. I’m driving. And I’m sure Tyler would take good care of his girlfriend if she got drunk.”

  The mention of Tyler makes my stomach tighten.

  He gives me a searching look as he slides in the driver’s seat. “There is no Tyler, is there?”

  The stone in my stomach drops out completely with a whoosh. I’m left breathless.

  For some reason, his guess shakes my foundation. It was a stupid lie, it hardly matters, but if he guessed this truth, what else will he deduce?

  “I checked your phone contacts,” he admits, probably noting how stunned I am.

  I still can’t speak. Can’t answer. I tuck my hands between my legs because for some reason, they are trembling. I don’t know why I suddenly feel so exposed, but I do.

  Maybe I was counting on Tyler to keep the distance between me and this beautiful, dangerous, vengeful guy.

  Bo starts the car, but he doesn’t take his focus off me. “Why did you make him up?”

  I swallow around the band tightening my vocal cords. “To keep the guys off me,” I admit. My voice comes out scratchy.

  “Why?”

  I shake my head. I’m still trembly. “I didn’t want the attention. Or the distraction.” Or anyone to get killed.

  His blue gaze bores into the side of my head for a moment longer, and then he finally looks through the windshield and puts the Mustang in gear. “I’m glad,” he says witho
ut looking my way.

  I almost don’t want to ask what he’s glad about, but I do. “Why?”

  “I was pretty much going to kill the fucker if he ever showed up here for real.”

  A flood of heat washes through me, and my lady parts tingle. “That’s ridiculous.” I hate how shaky my voice sounds.

  He shrugs, still not looking. Like he’s not sure he should’ve admitted it.

  “I’m just saying. Tyler’s lucky he doesn’t exist.”

  A puff of laughter escapes my lips. “You are one crazy son of a bitch, Bo.”

  “That is true,” he says, like he’s proud of it.

  We ride in silence for a moment, and then I remember to ask, “How was your game?”

  “We won.”

  “And they let you play? I thought you have to be at school on the day of a meet or game in order to participate.”

  “Coach busted my balls pretty hard, but he let me play. He knows what went down with Winslow.” He slides a glance over my way, and guilt makes my stomach tighten again.

  “I’m sorry.”

  It’s the first time I’ve said it. Or if I said it before, this is the first time I mean it. I never liked Winslow—he scared the crap out of me, and I don’t actually think he was that nice of a guy. But I am starting to feel something for Bo. And he seemed to know from the beginning this wouldn’t end well for his brother. He tried to get me to stay away.

  I ignored him.

  And while I can’t believe his getting caught is actually my fault—I mean, Winslow is an adult and made his own decisions—I do feel bad that Bo lost his brother over this.

  Just another casualty in my shit show.

  Another reason for me to shake Bo out of my hair for good before he gets hurt even more.

  “Did Cave Hills play their Homecoming game today? Oh hey—am I taking the Homecoming Queen?”

  “No, the game was last night, and they won’t announce it until the dance.”

  “And you really weren’t going to go?”

  I grip the door handle, thinking about why things like Homecoming royalty don’t mean anything to me. “No.”

  Bo shoots another one of those searching glances my way. “Because you’re in some kind of trouble.”

  It’s a statement, not a question. And once again, I feel exposed.

  “Maybe this shit just doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Maybe.” His tone suggests how unlikely that answer is.

  We get to the dance, and I pay for us to get in, mainly because I doubt Bo has much money, and I still have a little bit I saved from the sale of the Porsche.

  Bo walks in like he owns the place, which works, because that’s the way I usually carry myself, too. I’m not used to sharing the limelight with my date, though. He greets Teri and Sam like they’re long-lost friends, shakes hands with their dates—both nice but slightly gangly guys from the cross-country team.

  He threads his fingers through mine and leads me through the crowd. Everyone turns to watch us. We’re both tall and good-looking and carry ourselves like we’re the shit.

  Aw, screw it. I decide to go with the ruse. It’s the best way not to let Bo get under my skin. I pull him straight out to the dance floor and lambada my body right up against his.

  He lets out an animalistic growl and bands an arm around my waist.

  Oh God. I love it—way too much. His body is solid muscle, and he knows how to move. He insinuates his thigh between mine, pulling me against him, so I grind down on it.

  Dang. We’ve been here five minutes, and I’m already primed for sex.

  How freaking cliche would it be if I lost my virginity on prom night? I mean Homecoming, but same difference—a school dance.

  * * *

  Bo

  I’m high on the scent of Sloane’s arousal.

  She’s sending all the signals, but I’m pretty sure it’s a ruse. Beating me at my own game.

  I rock my hips to the music, holding her body close to mine, trying to figure out if her panties are damp where she’s grinding on my leg.

  I want to fuck her senseless.

  That part isn’t new.

  The part I’m really fighting right now is the desire to kiss her. I’m trying to figure out what she would do. Whether I play it off as more torture, meant to embarrass her in front of her school, to punish her for her lies, or whether I kiss her for real.

  The way I want to.

  Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, my debate is interrupted by the call for homecoming royalty to take the stage.

  When they call Sloane’s name, I cup the back of her head and pull her mouth up to mine. “Make me proud, princess.”

  It’s punishment, and it doesn’t taste nearly as sweet as the claiming I was imagining.

  In fact, it tastes a little bitter, especially the way she shoves away from me and doesn’t look back. She sashays to the stage and stands up there with the other senior class nominees. The superior way she holds herself on stage tells me she can’t wait to get off it.

  They announce and crown the royalty from lower classmen up, saving the seniors for last. I’m not a bit surprised when her name is called as queen. I put my fingers in my mouth and give a loud whistle that makes everyone look my way. I do mock adoration and clap with the rest of them while Sloane accepts the crown with a fake smile and a shouted thank you.

  I feel like a complete jackass when she leaves the stage and beelines it away from me, toward the bathrooms.

  * * *

  Sloane

  I duck into the bathroom stall and lean my back against the door with an exhale.

  It’s all just so empty. When I got to Cave Hills High, I held my head high, tossed my hair and played the part I knew so well. I didn’t want anyone to know about my past, so I became their queen.

  But now I’m a little queasy after being on stage. I don’t want this damn crown. Sure, I loved getting crowned Homecoming royalty every year of high school in Grosse Pointe, but that feels like a million and a half years ago.

  I was a different person then. The wealthy but ignored princess of a stock broker. Crowns and popularity help fill the void left by an empty homelife.

  Now, I know it’s all bullshit. I knew what to say and how to act to win their esteem. I’m a little standoffish, a lot better-than-thou, and I have all the right clothes and accessories, minus the car. And of course, I’m pretty. I guess that’s enough to win me homecoming queen.

  No one out there is a real friend. No one has any idea of who the real Sloane McCormick is. The girl who pretty much always suffered from imposter syndrome. Never felt like she deserved the space she takes up. They’d turn on me in a heartbeat if they knew who my father was. What he did. What I’ve done to try to save my ass.

  And having Bo out there witnessing it all somehow makes me feel like all the cracks in my armor show. Before, no one looked too closely.

  But he does. He sees way too much, that guy. And I know he’s mocking me every step of the way.

  And yet, the crazy part is how addictive his attention is, too. I’m running from it, but part of me can’t wait to go out there and dance with him again. Look into that handsome face and keep flipping him the bird.

  So I exit the stall, put on fresh lipgloss and head back out. I find Bo sitting with my friends at one of the tables, drinking punch and ice waters and laughing. I pull out a chair, but Bo tugs me onto his lap, his strong arm curling around my waist.

  This is pretend. He’s trying to make me uncomfortable, so like on the dance floor, my best solution is to go with it. I loop an arm around his strong shoulders, lean in and bite his ear. Kinda hard.

  His arm tightens around my waist. “Careful,” he murmurs. “Or I’ll be punishing you later.” His hand trails up my leg. He shifts his legs—and mine on top of his—so they’re under the table, hidden by the tablecloth. Then he slides his calloused palm right up my inner thigh.

  I squeeze my legs together to stop its ascent before he hits the a
pex.

  “Mmm,” he rumbles and nips my shoulder. “I think Tyler would definitely be at third base, don’t you?” His wicked voice is a murmur against my skin. Too quiet for my friends to hear. Enough to set my panties on fire.

  I shift slightly on his lap, and he groans, letting me know his dick is hard against my ass.

  “Come on, Legs. Open those sweet thighs just a little more.”

  I don’t want to. Well, that’s not true—I desperately want to. That’s the problem. I shouldn’t, though. Bo is here to taunt me, and this torture just may be my undoing.

  And I can’t help myself.

  My thighs ease apart, just a little more, and his fingers slide higher, brushing the gusset of my panties.

  I wore a sexy thong—G-string, actually. Obviously some part of me knew I’d be letting this baller under my skirt tonight.

  He takes his time, teasing me with the lightest feather touch on the silk of my panties. It has the effect of sensitizing every part of my body. Causing me to lean into the sensation, turn every receptor on.

  Then he slides his finger underneath.

  I close my lips around my gasp. My pelvic floor lifts and squeezes at the same time my thighs fall open wide for him.

  “That’s it, sugar. Open for me.”

  My nipples burn against my dress, core heats. And I’m wet. Embarrassingly wet. He initiates a slow exploration of my swollen lady parts, and I have to work to keep from panting. To keep from moaning. Every part of it feels wonderful.

  He kisses my neck and probes my entrance with his finger. When I tighten, he moves away, exploring my clit, instead, until my breath gets labored, and I’m writhing on his lap. Then he gives it a tap, like a little spank, and pulls his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth to lick.

  I grab his wrist and try to pull it down, horrified someone might see and guess what he’s been doing, but he’s really freaking strong. I don’t even budge him. He smiles around his fingers at me, eyes looking silver in the dim light.