Out of Control (Untamed #2) (3 page)

“How about you dance with me instead?” he asked, grabbing my hand. The feel of him holding onto my wrist made my heart hammer against my chest. The touch was too familiar. “We could have that good time together. Just you and me. Together.”

I wrenched my hand free and slipped off the barstool.

It was okay.
I
was okay.

“No, thank you.” I stepped away from him, suddenly needing to get away. As far away as I could. “I’m getting my happy on with
that
guy.” I looked around. Wait. Where the hell had he gone? I blinked, then shook my head. Didn’t matter. There were plenty of others. I glanced back at Lucien and pointed over to the brunette. “Go talk to her. She’s waiting for you. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

He stared at me for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“I’m a grownup, Lucien.” A screwed up, twenty-two-year-old kind of grownup. But at least I could find my way home without too much trouble. Or, better yet, into some random guy’s bed.

Lucien shrugged. “
Si vous voulez.
”
If that’s what you want
.

It was. Sort of.

Because what I really wanted—the only thing in the world I wanted—was Dare.

A foot-aching number of songs later, I left behind my nameless, faceless dance partners to take a breather at the bar by myself. I could still feel Lucien watching me from where he sat with the brunette. His eyes had been burning into my skin all night long. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t lose him in the crowd. And now, to top it all off, his companion kept throwing nasty looks at me. I had no idea why as I’d made it clear I wanted nothing AT ALL to do with him, and was glad he was on the other side of the bar with
her
. She should have been sending me flowers. And chocolate. And drinks.

I looked down at my empty glass, then waved at the bartender.

More drinks. I needed more drinks.

More
everything
. I reached for the bottle of pills in my purse, but instead my fingers wrapped around a worn piece of paper. I knew what it was before I even pulled it out. It was the one thing that kept me sane—and broke my heart—every time I looked at it.

The phoenix Dare had drawn. The one he’d painted on me.

Four words written in his hand—
Two Parts. One Whole
.

Our
words.

“
Ça va?
” Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

The room swam when I turned my head toward him, and it took me a moment to bring him into focus. Tall, dark, and gorgeous. And not Dare. Of course it wasn’t him. But this guy? He would do fine as the temporary distraction I so desperately sought.

As if reading my mind, the man held out a hand and nodded at the dance floor. “
Voulez-vous danser?
” he said, his voice low and lustful.
Do you want to dance?

Sure. Why the hell not? Maybe he’d be the one to finally erase Dare from my mind.

God willing,
somebody
had to.

I’d been doing fine all night—GREAT actually—dancing with anyone and everyone, letting their hands roam places Sober Reagan would never have allowed, losing myself in the sensation of all the strangers, in the music, in the high. But now that I was thinking about him again…

Shit. I was on my way down.

And fast.

I shook my head, drained my drink, and stuffed the sketch back into my purse. Taking the guy’s hand, I let him pull me out to the dance floor, glancing at Lucien as I went by. His eyes narrowed just slightly as we walked past, but then the brunette pressed her tits against him and said something in his ear that focused his attention back on her.

Good. Leave me the fuck alone. I wasn’t his business. It gave me the creeps to have him watching me so intently.

The guy—Michon—pulled me close and started swaying to the music, his hands wandering all over my body. My back, my hips, my ass…I flinched when his fingers grazed my lips.

“
Si belle,
” he said, gently sliding his hands into my hair.
So beautiful.

I was drunk, yes, but the feel of him against me, of his foreign hands exploring me, the smell of his sweat—all combined to make me feel smothered, like I was suffocating. Suddenly the music was too loud, Michon too close, the club too hot.

God, I wasn’t just coming down—I was plummeting.

I pushed against him, tried to step back, but he just pulled me close again.

“
C’est bon. Dansons,
” he murmured in my ear.
It’s okay. Let’s dance.

“No,” I said and shoved him harder this time. He crashed into another couple and started cursing at me. But I didn’t care. I needed out. I needed air.

I pushed my way through the crowd, looking back over my shoulder to make sure Michon wasn’t coming. Thankfully, he was nowhere to be seen.

But then I saw Dare. He was here! Right across the room, his back to me. It was him—my vision might’ve been blurry, but it was him. I almost cried in relief as I squeezed through the crowd until I was directly behind him.

Taking a deep breath, I put my hand on his arm. “Dare?”

His head snapped up, and he turned to face me. Light blue eyes took me in, slowly, from head to toe and back up again. And then he smiled. “
Oui, chérie?
”

He wasn’t Dare. Of course he wasn’t Dare. God, what the hell was wrong with me?

My smile fell and I took a step back, bumping into someone else. Now that I looked at the guy in front of me, he didn’t look anything like Dare. He was way too short and much too stocky.

My eyes blurred and the room swayed. I turned and pushed my way back to the exit, then out into the quiet dark of night. The crisp air felt good in my lungs as I started running toward the river. I just wanted to get back to the apartment so I could fall into the oblivion of sleep. If I couldn’t achieve unconsciousness on my own, I’d dig right back into my little pharm bag for help.

“Reagan,
attendez!
”
Wait!
Lucien was hurrying out the door, pushing past a group of people on their way in. They yelled something at him but he didn’t seem to notice.

I’d turned when he called out, and watched him rush over as the world swayed with me. His smile made me shiver as his gaze traveled slowly up the length of me to settle on my face. He studied my eyes and his grin got wider at whatever he saw there. Pain? Loneliness? Numbness from the drugs? Slipping his arm around my waist, he pulled me tight against his body.

“Our flat,” he said in a disturbingly husky voice, “is this way,
ma petite.
”
My little love
. “Come. I take you home.”

My skin crawled at the feel of his arm around my waist. I couldn’t breathe. A loud, wild scream built up inside of me, starting at the base of my soul, threatening to burst forth from my lips. Panic raced through my veins, growing in strength, rising in intensity.

Darkness crowded my vision, and flashes of a familiar face flew through my mind.

I could feel his hands on me again, all over. Wine bottles out of reach. Everyone out of earshot. No one but the two of us.

I thrashed wildly, spinning away from him, trying to claw my way out of the dark.

“Reagan!
Merde!
What is the matter with you?” Lucien’s voice oozed through the fog in my mind as I fought to get away.

Wait. Lucien? I thought it was—

He let go and suddenly the street wavered in front of me as I pitched off balance. I grabbed for the side of the building, but missed, landing on my hands and knees. The sting on my palms blurred my sight with tears.

Lucien let out a string of curses, then shook his head and stalked away in a huff.

Finally, I could breathe again.

I was okay. I was in Paris. Outside. On my own.

I sat down on the sidewalk, the cold of the concrete seeping through the silky material of my dress, sending goosebumps shivering over my skin. Chills ran through me at what had just happened.

What
had
just happened? I breathed in, shaky, my mind trying to make sense of it all. I leaned back to rest against the wall of the building, but miscalculated the distance. Shit. The back of my head hit the sidewalk with a crack that reverberated through my entire body.

At impact, all the air left my lungs, and the shock of it—the insult added to injury—threw me over the edge. My head throbbed with every heartbeat as I lay there sobbing on the sidewalk, crumbling under the immense pressure of my past, present, and future.

Dare wanted nothing to do with me. There was no way I could go back to that apartment with Lucien. It was bad enough I had to work with him at La Période Bleue, but at least my job ensured that I’d be out on the streets most days scouting artists without him. But now I had nowhere to live. Just when I thought I’d succeeded at jumping over the first hurdle by leaving my parents behind, countless others presented themselves.

I didn’t want to spend money on a hotel for the night, since for the first time in my life I had limited funds. And I couldn’t—I WOULDN’T—ask my parents for help. Besides, I knew they would never help me anyway. Not without an ultimatum.

It felt like everything I was working for was already threatened, already teetering on the edge. If my plans to make a life for myself and escape the one my parents had mapped out for me failed, I would have nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It didn’t help that I was lying on the sidewalk crying like some pathetic little girl.

God. I was stronger than this, wasn’t I? I fucking had to be.

Okay, yeah, this night sucked, but I was NOT going to admit defeat at the first little roadblock. I had to kick it down and dive back in headfirst. Go
all
in. I wanted a new life.
My
life. For that to happen, I needed to take my future into my own hands.

Right fucking now.

If I could just get up off the sidewalk, that is.

The cold from the concrete leached into my bones, and I started shivering. Warmth dripped down one of my shins. Great. I was bleeding. And my first thought was
no more skirts for me
.

I almost laughed. Almost. When I was six, I’d fallen off the jungle gym at the playground my nanny had snuck me onto, and scraped both knees. My mother hadn’t even asked if I was hurt—all she cared about was that I would have Band-Aids sticking out from underneath my sundress. I’d had to wear long pants until the skin had completely healed. In July. In New York City.

Because
What in the world will people think, Reagan?
Everybody knew that McKinleys didn’t bleed. They didn’t cry. Nor ever got hurt. They were all just so fucking perfect.

Except, it turned out, one of us wasn’t. She’d just pretended.

Footsteps rang out down the block as someone came toward me. Fuck, I had to get up. As soon as I lifted my head, the throbbing intensified and I squeezed my eyes shut with a groan.

Ugh. Even
that
hurt.

Thank god no one I knew was here to see me like th—

“Reagan?”

My breath hitched as I opened my eyes to Dare.

And this time, given the look on his face, I was fairly certain he wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

four

G
od, he looked so amazing standing over me, running his hands through his dark hair.

His hands. How I missed the feel of those hands. If I could just reach out and—

He was talking to me, I realized. Blinking my eyes, I tried to focus on what he was saying.

“—doing here?” He looked around the deserted street. “Are you alone? Jesus, you’re bleeding.” Emotions warred across his face, and he looked like he was not quite sure of his next move. I watched him, mesmerized by his nearness, half wondering if I was hallucinating. But he smelled real—like leather, turpentine, and oil—and he felt very real as he scooped me up into his arms. “Come on,” he said, his mouth warm against my ear. “We need to get you off the street.”

I wrapped my arms around him and nestled my head into the crook of his neck. Running my hands over his back, I breathed a sigh of relief. Everything about him felt familiar and right. Like I was finally exactly where I was meant to be.