Chapter 2

2

Lola

Iam two seconds from hurling this batter-covered whisk at the judges’ table, where it hopefully clocks Aiden “the Brooklyn Brawler” Tulane right between his amused gray eyes. That’s right. I know who he is. Many a viral video featuring Aiden and his famous fists have made their way to my iPhone screen. He’s known as a hothead. A goon.

Why won’t he stop staring at me?

Why are my nipples throbbing?

I do my best to ignore him and focus on my cake layers. At best, this red velvet cake is going to be a complete monstrosity and I’m just trying to get through it with my pride intact. A smug smile is cemented on my face, my spine is straight and I’m laughing at whatever dumb jokes the host directs at me. I’m fine. I’m fine.

Never let them see you cry.

By “them” I mean the cluster of mean girls in the audience behind me. I knew there would be some hazing when I became the youngest member of the dance company. I suspected the hazing would be pretty terrible when the director made me a featured dancer, with a singing part and everything. So why did I trust them? When my fellow dancers said they were bringing me to New York for a shopping trip to celebrate my success, I decided to trust them. Just because I was raised to be a skeptic didn’t mean people were all bad, right?

Wrong. Now I’m sweating it out in front of a camera and that man—that devil—won’t stop stripping me with his eyes.

Does he have to be so big?

On television, he’s a large man. In person, he’s a tank. His suit does not make him look like a gentleman whatsoever. That black eye, his scruffy face and thick…everything screams that he’s a down and dirty bad boy. I’ve never been attracted to bad boys. In fact, I’ve pretty much steered clear of the entire male population my whole life. But on the odd times I let myself imagine who I could stand dating, it was a clean-cut, no drama type. Not Aiden Tulane.

Not this man who seems to be picturing me on a platter surrounded by baby carrots and a sprinkling of parsley. In other words, his next meal.

“Three minutes!” yells the host.

Three minutes?

What a bunch of boloney. Now I know the truth. They don’t just give bakers on reality shows difficult tasks, they condense the time down until the jobs are impossible. I’m not even that bad of a bad baker! The mean girls must have lied a little when they nominated me. Bottom line, though? No one can pull off a cake this size in two hours.

Hell if I’m not going to try, though.

I shake my first red velvet layer out onto the cooling rack and immediately start slathering it in buttercream. The sponge breaks apart, steam curling out of the crevices, but I merely brighten my smile, raise my chin and keep piling it on. When the going gets tough, dazzle the hell out of them, right? They can’t feel bad for me if I’m smiling.

A prickle on the back of my neck makes me lift my attention and I lock eyes with Aiden. He’s not grinning at me any longer. No, he looks like he’s…giving me a locker room pep talk.

“Come on, Lola,” he mouths. “Stop shaking and kick their asses.”

Shaking?Ooh, how dare he notice the tremble in my hands!

I make sure the camera isn’t trained on me, then I send him a scowl. “Drop dead.”

His masculine mouth spreads back into a smile, a gold tooth winking at me from where his incisor must have gotten knocked out on the ice. God, that shouldn’t be attractive. Why am I finding his black eye and the proof of his fighter status so…hot?

There’s no time to lament my bad judgment now. I have thirty seconds to finish this cake—and somehow I manage to cover it with frosting and place it on the presentation pedestal. The buzzer peals overhead and I slump forward against the counter. When I hear laughter over my shoulder, I turn and smile broadly at the mean girls, letting them know I’m having the time of my life. It visibly ruins their fun and they roll their eyes, going back to their phones.

That’ll teach you to try and rattle me.

Nothing rattles me.

Except, apparently, the swaggering giant of a hockey player that steps forward to taste my cake five minutes later. They’ve already tasted the other two cakes, though Aiden hasn’t taken his eyes off me the whole time.

The first contestant, a pretty blonde New Yorker type, totally bombed. Her cake kind of…oozes out onto the pedestal, drawing cackles from the audience. I feel pretty bad on her behalf and try to send her some non-verbal support, but she’s too busy making moon eyes at Sebastian, the British celebrity baker. The other contestant, a jolly, bearded fireman, holds his own with a halfway decent cake. Instead of worrying about the judge’s comments, however, he seems very interested in the way the female judge’s mouth moves when she chews.

Interesting.

When my turn for a taste test rolls around, Aiden makes no pretense of checking me out, scrubbing a hand along that bristly jaw that I am not imagining him rubbing all over my belly.

I’m not.

“Lola,” he greets me in a husky, male rasp. “Last but certainly not least.”

I shake my hair out and cock a hip at the camera. “We can agree on that.”

That gold tooth winks at me, but it’s more of a snarl than a smile. Aiden doesn’t like me flirting with the camera. That much is obvious. Well he’s going to have a heck of a time with me being a Las Vegas showgirl.

Wait. No. He’s not going to have a heck of a time with any part of my life.

This is the first and last time I’ll be seeing him.

Even if I was interested—and I’m not—I can’t be with anyone.

It’s way too dangerous, even for a man like Aiden who looks like he wouldn’t just take on a challenge, he would welcome it. Some problems can’t be solved with fists, though.

I clear my throat and hand out three forks to the judges. “Taste away.”

“Believe me, I’d love to,” Aiden says roughly, for my ears alone.

A hot shiver travels along my inner thighs and I squeeze them together, behind the table where no one can see. This close to the hockey enforcer, I have to tilt my head back to look at him, he’s so tall. And broad. And thick. Did I mention thick? Thick enough to bite and he probably wouldn’t even feel it. When did you become such a pervert?

Aiden makes a sensual act out of digging his fork into my cake and sliding the bite into his mouth. I can hear my own pulse as he chews, watching the cords of his throat flex. During the show, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt, allowing a few black hairs to curl out of the V, and for some reason, that has me dripping into my underwear. I bet his entire chest is meaty, muscular and covered in proof of his maleness. I’d like to tangle my fingers in that hair and yank until he just attacks me…

And these thoughts must be playing out on my face, because Aiden stops chewing and his chest starts to heave, ever so slightly, as if he’s trying to control it.

“She gets my vote,” he says hoarsely.

Unfortunately, I don’t get the other two votes.

The director yells cut, the cameras go dark and I feel my cheeks flame. I’ve lost. So much for saving face with the mean girls, huh? No big deal. I just need a few minutes to myself, so I can recoup my flirty, nothing-bothers-me attitude. Never let them see you cry.

Waving goodbye to the other two contestants, I leave my workstation and almost trip over a camera wire in my haste to get backstage. I keep my smile intact as I walk past Aiden and out of sight. I can feel him following me and I pick up my pace, turning into a green room area. It’s probably meant for the judges but I dip inside anyway, only intending to take five minutes to gather myself. Before I can close the door, however, Aiden’s fist keeps it from shutting and he pushes his way inside.

“What’s up with you?” he barks.

“You can’t j-just talk to me like…like you know me,” I sputter. “You don’t.”

He comes closer, backing me slowly toward the far wall. “Don’t I, though?” His jaw pops as he looks me over, head to toe. “Let me see. You’re brave as hell, baby. Faking it until you make it. But you’re scared of something. What is it?”

I scoff. “Oh, you don’t already know? I thought you had me all figured out.”

“I’ve got your flavor. I’m trying to figure out the rest.” My back presses to the wall and I expect him to pin me there, but he stops just short of doing so, his expression thoughtful. “Why were you shaking out there? What are you scared of?”

“Nothing.”

“Lola.”

Something catches in my throat. “I don’t like being laughed at, okay? I don’t like letting people know they’ve gotten to me, even if they have. I’m supposed to be stronger than that.”

His brows snap together. “You are stronger than that.” He waves a hand at me like he’s doing a magic trick. “Now pull it together.”

To my utter shock, a laugh trickles out of my mouth. “Why are you talking to me like one of your teammates?”

Oh my God. He blushes.

This big, bad hockey brawler is embarrassed.

It creates an uncomfortably ticklish feeling in my stomach. Certainly not…butterflies?

“I, uh…” He scrubs at the back of his neck. “I’m starting to think I’m supposed to speak to women differently than I speak to men. That other judge, Quinn, she might have implied that, too. That I’m harsh.”

“Oh. Well.” My butterflies hit the deck. “Do you speak harshly to all the women who interest you?”

“What?” He’s staring at me like I’ve just spoken Greek. “Quinn doesn’t interest me. She looked like she was going to puke, so I told her to suck it up.”

“You’re speaking to me the same way.”

“Yeah, but I am actually interested in you.” His plants his hands on the wall on either side of my head, his tongue raking along his bottom lip. “Really fucking interested.”

Warmth pools in my middle. “How am I supposed to know the difference?”

“Because I’m telling you,” he growls.

I shrug and study my nails. What is going on with me? Why am I not running for the exit? This man is the absolute last person I should be making time with. I get the feeling he isn’t going to take it well when I tell him I’m not interested in associations with men, yet I can’t seem to make my feet move. Instead, I’m baiting him into proving he’s interested in me. Am I crazy? Did I suck some kind of toxic fumes out of the oven while baking?

When the silence grows, Aiden pushes off the wall with a curse and paces away. He stops in the middle of the room, his massive arms folded, regarding me like a puzzle. “All right.” He clears his throat hard. “Look, uh…I understand what you’re saying. I don’t like to be laughed at, either. I’ve got five older brothers. You show a weakness with five dudes around, you better believe it’s going to haunt you forever. They’re still ragging on me about shit I did when I was nine. I get the need to be tough, Lola.” His blush returns slightly. “I only told you to pull it together because I wanted you to smile again.”

One moment I was in this room with a near-stranger and the next, it’s like I know him. His gray eyes are sincere and bottomless, trained on me, pulling me closer. Making me feel safe. What I know about men, I learned from my father. And now my boss, back in Vegas. They don’t like to be criticized—like at all. But this guy took my criticism and used it to unlock something inside of himself. For me.

I have the weird urge to do the same for him.

“I thought they actually wanted to be my friends,” I say, my lips feeling numb. “I should have known better, but even if they were pretending…it felt nice. Until this morning.”

“Why don’t they want to be your real friends?” he snaps, sounding pissed.

Is he on my side? Yeah, it seems like he is. I’m enjoying having him there way more than I should. Way more than is allowed. “I got a work promotion. So to speak. And they didn’t.”

He’s already shaking his head at me. “I deal with that useless envy all the time. Guys who’d love to take my spot, but they can’t, because they aren’t half as good. They’d rather flip me off behind my back than work harder.”

My lips jump at one end. “Gosh, don’t be modest or anything.”

“You aren’t modest, either, are you?” He swaggers his way over to me, planting those hands back up on the wall, leaning down so we’re eye to eye. “You might have been a little thrown off out there, but you know you’re a badass. Don’t you? You can say it to me.”

“I’m a badass,” I whisper, my lungs expanding.

“Uh-huh.” He gives me a slow wink. “And baby, you didn’t crack once out there. They threw you into battle, but you won the damn war.”

I kiss him.

Hard.

Oh boy, now I’ve done it.

I’ve never even kissed anyone, but I can’t stop myself from lifting onto my tiptoes and pressing my lips to Aiden’s. He grunts, seemingly shocked, but wow, he isn’t thrown off for long. A split second after our mouths meet, he’s got my ass in those giant hockey player hands and he’s lifting me up. My legs sling around his hips and he groans, charging forward to flatten me against the wall. And I thought we were kissing before, but now is when it actually begins. He’s such an aggressive bruiser of a human being that I expect him to demolish me, but instead he kisses me with a sense of wonder, like he’s never experienced a woman’s mouth, the same way I’ve never experienced a man’s.

His lips move over mine, experimenting with suction and tugging on my bottom lip with his own, the tip of his tongue coming out for a slow taste. When our tongues brush, his hands flex on my butt cheeks and his erection jerks where he’s planted it between my legs.

Aiden pulls back, breathing hard. “Everything hurts.”

“What?”

He buries his face in my hair, inhaling roughly. “My cock, my chest, all of me. You’re making me ache everywhere. Christ. What the fuck do I do about it?”

I’m in the same condition, my inner walls squeezing rhythmically, my heart flip-flopping like a flapjack. How can I answer his question when I’ve never been here before? This is new to me, too. “I-I don’t know—”

Our mouths lock together in a wild tangling of tongues and moans, his hips punching upward and driving me up the wall, over and over and over. He might as well be inside me for the pleasure my body seems to be giving him. An animalistic growl rips from his throat every time our sexes grind together and that male sound, along with the hard friction against my soft flesh, is making me wet. Drenched. And my nipples are so erect, they burn.

As if my body sent him a signal, his mouth rakes down my throat to the low bodice of my dress, his teeth yanking down on my neckline, the lace of my bra. My pale breasts are loose for only a moment before his mouth finds them, his lips opening wide over the nipples and tonguing them feverishly, suckling on them like they might provide sustenance.

“Aiden…” I moan, burying my fingers in his hair.

“Never had my cock in a woman before. It’s been so easy passing on pussy until you, baby. It never mattered.” He grinds into me hard and buries his teeth in the crook of my neck. “You. You’ve owned my dick all along, haven’t you? The goddamn thing has been throbbing since I saw you and if I don’t smell and lick and fuck this little redhead cunt tonight, I’m going to break. I’m going to fucking break, do you understand?”

“I…I…” This is a bad idea. A very bad idea, but my thoughts are so fogged in lust, I can’t remember why. “Aiden…”

“Yes, baby.” He slurps my left nipple into his mouth, his hips slamming me in a quick tempo against the wall. “I’m going to come on these nipples, in your cunt, on your beautiful face. I’m going to come all over you, Lola. I’m going to fucking marry you.”

Marry me?

Those two words are like a sword slashing down the middle of a pillow. Where my focus a moment ago was solely focused on Aiden—and his filthy/magical mouth—my thoughts scatter now like feathers in ninety directions.

Is this man crazy? Marry me? We just met!

I can’t be in a relationship.

It’s possible he’s not going to take that well.

Why don’t I want him to stop touching me?

“I have to go.” I drop my legs from around his waist. “Aiden, I…we shouldn’t have kissed. I think I gave you the wrong impression. I mean, I’m going back to Vegas tomorrow—”

“The hell you are.”

His muscular arms are still caging me in, but I duck under one to escape and back across the room on the balls of my feet, my heart still going a thousand miles an hour. “Thanks for the encouragement.” I realize my boobs are still showing and quickly yank up my bra and dress bodice. “You know, you’re actually kind of sweet underneath—”

“Lola,” Aiden says in a warning tone, following me toward the door, his erection tenting the fly of his pants. “You’re not going anywhere. Not without me. Ever again.”

“I am. I have to go meet the other dancers.” I check my imaginary watch. “Actually, they’re probably looking for me.”

He ignores that. “Why shouldn’t we have kissed?”

“Because I can see you want more.” Saying the word more out loud makes my pulse skip, but I staunchly ignore it. “I can’t give more.”

“Why not?” he shouts.

“It’s complicated.” I yell back.

Intensity whips in his eyes. “You married already?”

For a split second, I consider lying, but I think Aiden might actually go berserk if he thinks I’m legally bound to another man. “No, I’m not married. I’ve never even had a boyfriend. But…”

He steps into my space and captures my arms, rubbing his thumbs up and down my biceps. “But what, baby?”

I lower my voice to a whisper. Just in case someone is listening. “My boss is dangerous. Very dangerous. If a girl works for him, she belongs to him. Not as a girlfriend or anything romantic. But she is his property.” I swallow. “And right now, I’m the most valuable property he has. Please understand, I’m not free to be with you. Or anyone. I’ve…signed my life over.”

For a heavy beat, he merely stares at me, processing that information.

Then he does something I’m not expecting.

Aiden laughs, a deep, booming sound. “Fuck that noise.”

Before I can voice my confusion, he stoops down and throws me over his shoulder, striding out into the busy backstage area. A moment later we’re walking out onto the active New York City sidewalk. From my upside-down perspective, I see a mob of fans calling Aiden’s name—including my fellow dancers—waiting behind barricades. But I have no choice but to dangle helplessly over Aiden’s hard back and in short order, I’m being deposited into the back of a black limousine.

Aiden climbs in beside me and barks a location, before pulling me onto his lap and tucking my head beneath his stubbled chin. “I’ll take care of everything now, baby,” he murmurs.

With that, the limo lurches into traffic.

Hold on. Did I just get kidnapped?

If so, why do I want to snuggle into this man and never let go?

You can’t.

You’re putting him in danger just by spending time with him.

As much as I want to ignore reason, I can’t. Wherever he’s taking me…

I have to find a way to escape.