Untamed (Untamed #1) (2 page)

Archer winced. “
Ouch
.”

“Oh. My. God. He’s literally wagging his tongue!” Mika laughed. “What a little bitch. Clearly a rich bitch, but a bitch nonetheless.”

“He looks like a nice guy,” I said with a shrug. Nice and tame. Which was the furthest thing from what I wanted. “Just…not my type.” No one in this club was my type. Too many black cards, designer suits, expensive haircuts, and rich douchebags.

“You want something higher-end?” Mika asked. “I have the
PERFECT guy for you!” She jumped off the seat to scan the crowd. “You know Richard Emerson, right?” Her manicured fingers flew across her phone screen.

“Who?” I asked.

“He goes to Columbia, too,” she said. “I think he’s in one of the frats. Two years older and super hot. Not to mention, mommy and daddy are loaded beyond belief. He has a booth near the stage. I texted him to come over. You’ll
love
him.”

Shit
.
I already knew I wouldn’t. “I don’t—”

“RICHAAAARD! Over here!” Mika called.

Double shit. I groaned inwardly when I saw a familiar head of light brown curls glide through the crowd. “No, Mika!
Not him
.”

She waved her arms above her head. “Hey, come here for a second!”

No, no, no.

“
My friend Reagan is here all by herself and needs a little entertaining,” Mika said when the guy came to a stop in front of us. His hazel eyes widened when he saw me.

Fuck. Of course he recognized me.

From. Last. Week.

“Reagan McKinley!” he grunted my name. Fucking Neanderthal. “Hey, babe!” He slid onto the couch and wrapped his meaty arms around me. “Back for more Dick-meister so soon?”

Archer stiffened. I could’ve sworn I heard his jaw snap.

“My buddies and I have a penthouse suite in the hotel a block over,” Richard said, leaning way too close. “Wanna get out of here? I’ll pick us up a bottle or two of Dom from the bar, and we can—”

“I’ll pass,” I said.

“But…what about last week?”

Jesus Christ. What about it?

It had been bad. Awkwardly bad. Richard had been much too eager and way too full of himself. My mind had checked out almost as soon as he’d started and my body followed closely behind. They’d reluctantly returned only when enough time had passed to believably fake it—though I didn’t even bother calling out his name.

I never called out anyone’s name.

All I’d done when Richard FINALLY sputtered to the finish line was gather my clothes and hightail it out of whosever mansion-sized bathroom we’d ended up in. It was my parents’ fault. If I hadn’t been forced to spend the summer at their Hamptons estate then I wouldn’t have been at that fundraiser with them, wanting to blow my brains out, but instead ending up fucking my brains out with a random...well,
Dick
.

“Excuse me.” I wiggled my shoulders, trying to get out of his embrace, but he must have thought I was rubbing up against him so he tightened his grasp.

“Oh, yeah. I remember this sexy little bod.”

Oh, god.

“Richard…let…go.” I couldn’t breathe. My skin crawled and my pulse quickened while a scream built up in my chest.

“Get the fuck off of her!” Archer pried Richard’s hands off and shoved him onto the floor.

Oxygen flooded my lungs as I stood up.

“I need…air,” I said, my breaths coming in gasps.

“Reagan!” Archer reached for me, but it was too late.

I fled.

two

I
didn’t stop running until I was safely through the doors of the women’s restroom. I bent over the sink, grasping the marble counter tightly as I tried to regain control of my breathing. Why did this always happen?

McKinleys are ALWAYS in control, Reagan.

I could hear my father’s voice. Loud and clear. And disapproving.

The way he always sounded.

I fought the urge to grab the hand cream bottles on the counter and smash them against the mirror in front of me. Instead, I took a deep, shaky breath and splashed some water on my face. Control. Yes, always.

Gazing at my reflection, I counted to ten, blinking away the fogginess in my dark blue eyes. My mascara and eyeliner weren’t smudged—I hated the feel of heavy make-up, so I never wore much—but I ran my fingers under my eyes anyway, swiping away the imaginary streaks. Smoothing out my hair, I ensured every single strand was back in place.

McKinleys NEVER lose their composure, Reagan.

A toilet flushed and two giggling girls stumbled out of a shared stall and sidled up next to me. They wiped the white power from their nostrils and touched up their make-up as they gossiped about
No Man’s Land
.

Brunette: “Can I just say that I’m head-over-heels in love with Dash?”

Blonde: “Oh, my god. His deep, raspy voice totes speaks to my heart.”

Brunette: “Your heart?
Please
. His voice speaks to my girly bits.”

Blonde: “Well, see, it’s his abs that do that fo—”

The brunette cut her off as she gave me the once-over in the mirror. “
Looove
your dress,” she said, as she applied red lipstick to her already vibrant lips. “What is it? Versace? Valentino?”

“Uh-huh,” I said absentmindedly.

Her friend leaned over and took my skirt between her fingers. “Ohh, next season’s Valentino! Nice!”

I nodded. Sure. Whatever. I’d had to wear it. I would have preferred my own clothes.

“Are you here for Fashion Week?” she asked.

“No. School.”

I got that question a lot around this time of year. People assumed. Mistakenly. I suppose it had to do with being five-eight and having a naturally lean frame.

“You could totally lie and tell people you’re in one of the shows,” the brunette said. “I’m with an agency downtown and there are
way
less-fortunate looking girls on our roster.”

“That’s very sweet, but I’m good.” The last thing I needed was some agent telling me how to dress, where to go, and what to eat. I already had my mother for that. I scrunched up the paper towel I’d used to dry off my face and chucked it in the garbage on my way out.

Threading through sweaty, gyrating bodies, I ended up at the back of the club, far from the stage and VIP section. Leaning against a smooth marble wall, I shut my eyes and inhaled. The air was stuffy, humid. My lungs protested, my head spun. I didn’t want to go back to Archer, Mika, and Dick, but I really didn’t want to end up alone.

My fingers slipped into my clutch and wrapped around a familiar cylinder. Just feeling the bottle of pills soothed my nerves.

I stood there for I don’t know how long, debating between swallowing something, taking another shot, or doing both, ensuring my mind chilled the fuck out. How can a person have so much noise inside their head and at the same time feel like they’re drowning in silence?

But what I really wanted was someone who could ground me. Sex still counted as mind-numbing, right?

I opened my eyes and scanned the men in my vicinity. Not like it really mattered where tonight’s dart landed. None of them could ever truly give me what I needed. But one of them should be good enough for a temporary release.

I didn’t need Mr. Right.

I just needed Mr. Right Now.

As I turned toward the bar, my eyes connected with a pair of dark ones, and all of the air left my lungs in a rush. My heart stopped. Yes. Actually stopped and skipped a beat. The guy’s intense gaze slammed into me. From halfway across the room, the color of his irises was impossible to see, but I was sure of one thing. They were dark. Dark and wild and powerful. He stared at me with bold, unabashed interest that made my entire body buzz and my head spin.

The temperature inside the room spiked to an all-time high. The beat of the music became a dull throb only to be replaced by the sound of my hammering pulse. And my vision? The rest of the world blurred until there was only him.

Just him.

Chiseled face, broad shoulders, short, messy hair as dark as sin. And those eyes. Those goddamn eyes. Smoldering, liquid darkness. I was spellbound, losing myself in their depths.

I searched his stare for the hungry submission I’d grown to expect from men, but it wasn’t there. His look was unlike any other. The way he studied me was carnal, though different in a way I was unable to fully comprehend. It was as if he was searching for something more. Like I was a piece of artwork he was appraising. Dizzy with desire, I silently hoped that he’d decide he needed to own me, so badly he’d be willing to bid anything.

His gaze glided over my face so slowly it reminded me of a paintbrush sliding across a canvas. When it moved down my body, I felt myself grow hot. Unbearably hot. I didn’t even know him, but I already ached for him. My skin tingled, pleading to be touched. Not just by his eyes, but more. His hands. His mouth.

My body wanted him. My mind needed him.

Hello, Mr. Right Now.

three

D
ressed in a black leather jacket and dark jeans, he was so unlike the designer-suit-and-dress-shirt-wearing men polluting this place. How did he even manage to get past the velvet rope and the douchey front-door staff? Then again, the club’s strict dress code must’ve been trumped by his extremely sexy body and striking features. The women here tonight probably happily surrendered their panties to him as he walked by.

Hell, I was hoping he’d want mine.

My skin ignited under his gaze and I shot him my most dazzling smile as I willed my feet to move. Every part of me yearned to annihilate the distance, until there was nothing between us. Until we were breathing the same air, sharing a single breath.

But in that brief moment, something changed. His eyes left my face, slid over my short dress, and dropped to my spiked, black Louboutin pumps. The intensity in them faded. It was replaced with disinterest. Or maybe distaste. Whatever it was, he turned away.

Well, that was different. Usually men couldn’t keep their eyes off of me.

But now that I’d found the one I wanted, I was not going to be put off so easily. I made my way to the bar and pulled myself up onto an empty stool beside him.

“Seat’s taken.” His voice was deep, low. There was a rough edge to it that dug into me, vibrating through my body, spreading excited shivers over my skin. Holy shit.

“Girlfriend?” I said. First things first. Taken guys were so not my kink. Ever.

“Brother,” he replied curtly, without glancing up from the napkin he was scribbling on.

What the hell? How could anyone look at someone the way he’d just looked at me and then do…
this
. As in, do abso-
fucking
-lutely nothing.

But McKinleys weren’t quitters. We were conquerors. And I liked a challenge. So, I stayed put.

From this close up, I had a much better view of his profile. A dangerously good view, actually.
Painfully
gorgeous
. There was no other way to describe him. He was like a mixture of sculpture and painting—all carved and cut, with a rugged manliness that should’ve been preserved in marble, while at the same time wielding an untouchable beauty that could’ve only been dreamt up by an artist. And I was just wasted enough to imagine displaying him in a museum or hanging him up on a wall of a gallery. Preferably in the nude.

Fuck, yeah. I wanted to nail him to the wall. Over and over and over again.

“Let me buy you a drink,” I said. “I’ll surrender my seat when your brother comes.”

His eyes narrowed.
Chocolate.
They were the color of deep, rich chocolate. And just like chocolate, they were wickedly delicious.

“You’re gonna buy me a drink?” The laugher in his voice warmed my insides. Progress!

“That’s right.” I gave him my most dazzling grin. “My treat. Just tell me what you want.”

His gaze fell to my mouth and lingered there. I could actually feel it physically sliding along my lips, so rough and ravenous, it tortured my skin.

Clenching his jaw, he turned his head and lifted his half-filled glass of whiskey. “Nothing, thanks. I’m all set. I gotta ride home soon.”