Chapter 2 Dejavu

• Sierra’s Pov
• I rolled my eyes.
• Everyone drank alcohol like it was water here and the air reeked of perfume, sweat and delusion. The bass sounded against my pulse as bodies swayed.
• I’d hesitated when my cousin, Juan, recommended the club over the phone.
• The moment he heard what had happened, he insisted, “You need a distraction, Mi amor, and you won’t find it wailing at home.”
• So I’d dismissed Violet and the chauffeur and ordered a cab instead. Whether it was smart or stupid, I didn't care.
• All I knew was that this bar? It was better than going home.
• I couldn't go there…not like this and certainly not after I’d failed Dad.
• I’d pick being in a coma over seeing the disappointed look on Rose’s face.
• “She’s not a fit for the Carr name.”
• Brandon’s voice sounded in my head, and goose bumps rose on my arms.
• They were the exact words he’d said in front of everyone, right before he’d discarded me like damaged goods.
• I laughed, almost choking. Not a fit? More like I was a dress that wasn't his size anymore.
• And Vanessa?
• God. We’d been what? Best friends since the fifth grade. Was the engagement ring for Vanessa? Had Brandon ever intended to propose to me at all?
• I nodded. No, I couldn't process all that had happened just yet.
• Not the betrayal or the humiliation. I ran a hand through the ruffles in my dress, like it would somehow iron out the mess inside of me.
• I downed a shot of tequila as I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill.
• It burned, but it was just the thing I needed.
• That's when I saw him.
• A tall broad shouldered man in a black suit. His shirt was undone and he looked slightly older than my twenty-one years. I looked at his watch, a classic leather piece and sighed.
• “Is this seat taken?” he asked, his voice low and rich. I blinked at him, at a loss for words.
• Good thing the tequila made me numb. Maybe it was the dull ache in my chest that had followed me from the ballroom.
• Damn it, I didn't know. But this man was fucking hot.
• So hot that I could feel warmth creep into my cheeks.
• Embarrassed that I was ogling him, I closed my eyes and peeked again, this time, very subtly. But he was still there.
• Only now, he didn't ask again. He sat beside me like it was nothing, with a calmness that felt dangerous and powerful.
• He slid a glass he’d just ordered my way.
• Something red and really shiny.I shifted in my seat as I stared at him, confused.
• Then he leaned in and I shivered slightly, but it was not from the cold.
• “It's not tequila,” he whispered as his fingers grazed the table and without thinking, I reached for it.
• My fingers brushed his slightly and I felt tingling in my chest. I paid it no mind and gulped it down in one clean move.
• “Rough night?”
• His voice was overly low and hot.
• I burst out laughing. But he didn't interrupt me.
• “You don't know the half of it, trust me. You see, I was supposed to be engaged tonight. Instead, I got dumped in front of my perfect step mother, a jazz band and loads of people that felt like the whole damn city.”
• He shook his head slightly, and I wondered if he’d heard a word I’d said.
• “I do hope you let the jerk go? You deserve better.” He returned and I blinked.
• Perhaps he was right? Or not.
• He hadn't even offered a “Sorry.”
• He chuckled.
• “Yup he doesn't deserve you,” He said, and raised his drink to his lips.
• Taken aback, I smiled. My first, in ten hours. Just who was this man? He looked devilishly handsome and dangerous and I found myself leaning in closer.
• His eyes scanned mine, so I lowered my head.
• “Are you married?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
• “You first.” He said as he raised his glass.
• “Nah.”
• “Why not?”
• “Because I won't come searching for you in weeks to come if I end up regretting this.”
• “I’m not married. But I don't understand.” He said, his face a mask of confusion. “Regret what exactly?”
• Maybe it was the shot. Or the fact that someone else looked at me like I meant something. Either way, it didn't matter.
• “This.”
• I leaned in and kissed him, just slightly.
• He froze at first, then responded, parting his lips ever so slowly, I could taste chocolate and grapes on his soft lips.
• Then he pulled away, like he’d just been burned by fire.
• Without a word, he took off his jacket and placed it on my shoulders. Then slowly helped me up before calling for the bartender.
• “The lady needs a room, she’s drunk.”
• “Your suite is ready, sir. Should I take her?”
• “No, I've got her. Thanks, Matt.”
• I crossed my arms.
• Looking every bit the child who’d been denied candy.
• “I know you think I’m drunk, I'm not. Maybe a little tipsy, yes. But I assure you, I'm in the right frame of mind,” I tried my best to assure him.
• “Right, the exact thing a drunk would say,” he muttered and I rolled my eyes.
• Suddenly the idea of his suite seemed appealing. If anything, I dreaded going home tonight.
• So I chuckled.
• “Fine, lead the way to this suite of yours, kind sir!”
• I followed him quietly, without complaint.
• ***
• The suite was spacious and elegant. Like something out of a dream. Where money had no need to show off. Again, who the hell was this man?
• I collapsed on the bed, the world was slightly shaky, but it felt safer here than anywhere else. My phone and Rose could wait.
• As for my shame? I’d pick it up tomorrow.
• “There’s a clean t-shirt on the bed, I will leave you to change,” he said, as he stepped back. “If you need me, I'll be in the opposite suite.”
• But then, he was so close and that kiss had me heated up… Images of the kiss resurfaced, his warm but soft lips and his pinewood cologne enveloped my reasoning.
• Suddenly I realized I didn't want the distance.I wondered what my mother would say if she could see me now.
• I nodded.
• She was dead. So it didn't matter.
• Not anymore. I reached for his wrist, and drew him closer.
• “Please… let’s have sex,” I whispered, surprising even myself.
• He drew back, visibly startled by my bold words. His ashen eyes narrowed.
• “You do not know what it is you’re saying. You’re drunk and can't…”
• Was he saying that to himself or me?
• “This isn't the drunk me talking, I promise,” I cut in, quickly. “ I just want this. To feel free, with you.”
• And as I said the words I wondered if I knew what it was I was doing because I cannot seem to stop.
• He took a step back like he was trying to hold back something, his voice low.
• “Freedom can burn if you aren't careful,” he whispered and I rolled my eyes at him.
• “I know what I’m doing.”
• “Do you? I don't think you know what it is you’re asking for,” he repeated, his voice husky now and his gaze daring.
• “And what if I do?” I leaned in even closer and traced my fingers over his wrist as he drew in a sharp breath.
• He took a step closer, closing the distance between us as his eyes grew darker.
• “Then I’d say…” he whispered. His eyes held mine like he was warning me, glowing with something dangerous.
• “Be careful what you wish for.”
• His voice was low and sinfully hot.
• He said it like he knew exactly what happened to girls who got too close to fire.