Page 58 of Born Reckless
“Good for you,” Elena says coolly. “Glad to see you doing so well.”
She grabs Warren and directs the two of them toward the bar. Warren looks stricken. Roman is Warren’s boss and there’s obviously no love lost between Roman and Elena.
“Stepping out to play with the monsters, sweetheart?” Roman asks. And it sets me on cold fire when his eyes drop down the length of me. Slowly. And just as slowly, they rise back up.
“Screw off, Roman,” Mason growls. He takes my arm once again and leads me into the crowd. As we walk away, I hear Roman give a low laugh. So, I raise my free hand, and give him a middle finger salute.
“Has he always been such an ass?” I ask as we wander out in the middle of the floor.
“Yep,” Mason says as he pushes past people. “He came to Chicago about twenty years ago. He’s the one who figured out the barrier and that Warren’s blood could be used to track others, once he and Sigrid reunited. So, the rose tattoos were his idea. He started organizing security routes and keeping residents in check. But he’s always been an angry prick. Never bothered to find the kindness to ask why.”
It hits me then, the reality of being a vampire. Roman only looks like he’s about thirty years old, and he definitely didn’t do all of that when he was ten. Just how long has Roman De Luca looked thirty years old?
“Dance with me?” Mason asks as he rounds in front of me, sliding his hands around my hips.
And so I push it away. I shove Roman out of my brain, and I smile as I place my hand on Mason’s chest and fall into the rhythm of the music. Sure, I’m getting death stares from a dozen women right now. They’d take me out now if it increased their chance to land Mason.
But for now, he’s mine, and I’m happily his. And this night is a night for fun, after a couple of long, wild weeks.
I dance with Elena. We sing along to the songs at the top of our lungs. The more alcohol Warren gets in him, the more he lets loose. He’s a bad dancer, truly terrible, but he’s having the time of his life, and I can’t help but feel myself getting a little soft spot for him. His eyes close and he whips his hair back and forth, flinging his curls all over.
The beat slows for a bit, and I pull Mason in. He wraps his arms around me, firm but gentle. As I lay my head against his shoulder, I’ve never felt so content or safe.
“You’re kind of perfect, you know,” I say softly. He rests his cheek against my head, holding me close.
“No one is perfect, Juliet,” he says softly as he rubs a circle into the small of my back.
“You are,” I say, confident in my declaration. “I’ve spent my life around degenerates and thugs. You’re richer than I can even comprehend, but it somehow doesn’t go to your head. You’re stupidly sexy, but you’ve never once made me feel pressured. So, like I said, you’re kind of perfect.”
“Well, you seem to have brought out the wicked side of me,” he says as he turns his face, and his lips find my neck. One brush. That’s all it takes, and my skin is on fire. His hands slide lower, and he pulls me closer, even though there isn’t any space left between our bodies. “So maybe I’m not so perfect.” I tilt my head, giving him further access to my skin. Gently, slowly, he kisses his way up the slope of my neck. And then his hand rests against my cheek, tilting my lips toward his.
My body becomes the most intense fireworks show ever. Mason sets me off like an entire truck full of sparklers. His lips brush over mine and then all at once, he kisses me, aggressive and hungry. His mouth is hot, his lips demanding.
And I all too willingly let him in. My hands rise up to tangle into his hair. And I exist in this moment, letting my body feel alive, letting myself be present.
Until someone behind us clears their throat. I know it’s Elena. I don’t have to look.
But Mason just pulls back and smiles at me. And neither of us says a word as we resume dancing, blending right into the beat of the next song, letting Elena and Warren step into our circle.
It’s an hour of nothing but fun. Of acting like the young, stupid twenty-something-year-olds we are.
When he’s completely out of breath, Warren wanders off to the bar, and Elena follows him, a protective look in her eyes. In his pocket, I feel Mason’s phone vibrate.
“You take that,” I say, speaking loudly to be heard over the music. “I have to run to the ladies room.”
Mason just gives me a nod, and I turn to go find the restroom.
“You don’t deserve him,” someone hisses as I walk by.
My brows furrow as I pass by the woman giving me a deep glare. “I don’t remember asking your opinion.” I don’t slow in my quest to find the toilets. I press further into the crowd.
“Outsider trash,” someone else mutters.
“Born and raised,” I say confidently, not even bothering to look for who said this insult.
They don’t stick. They don’t. But that niggling feeling in the back of my brain, the one that says what Mason and I are doing is wrong, gets a little more persistent.
Die, insecurities. Die.