3
GEORGIA'S POV
I grabbed his wrists and wrenched his hands away from me, stumbling back as a wave of dizziness crashed over my head like a physical blow.
"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, my voice thick. I swayed dangerously, and he caught me again, his grip tightening.
"What am I doing?" he echoed, his voice dropping an octave. I tried to pry myself loose, but his fingers were like iron bands around my skin.
"You know exactly what you're doing! You acted like you were helping just to pull this? You're a snake! A traitor!" I accused, my words slurring together despite my anger.
"A traitor?"
"I thought we were on the same side!" I shouted, my balance failing me again. He caught me by the waist, pulling me flush against him.
"You're drunk," he said smoothly. "I'm just trying to get you to your room." As he spoke, he reached up under the guise of brushing a stray hair from my face, but his palm intentionally grazed my chest again.
I shoved him with everything I had. "I told you to stop!"
"I'm just helping you up the stairs."
"All men are the same," I spat, my eyelids growing heavy. "You probably have someone waiting at home while you pull this crap. You're all just… conniving liars."
He pulled me back into his space, and this time, the resistance in my limbs began to melt. A terrifying, sudden heat sparked in my gut. I became hyper-aware of the solid wall of his chest and the way my hands felt against the hard muscle of his arms.
Why was I feeling this? He smirked, and for a split second, a delirious urge to lean in and kiss him hit me like a freight train. My head was spinning—why was I suddenly ready to fall into bed with a stranger?
I tried to fight the sensation, but he held me firmer.
"Don't tell me you wouldn't rather just share a room with me," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. Panic flared, but it was tangled with a rising, artificial desire. I wanted to bury my hands in his hair; I wanted to forget everything. But the back of my mind screamed that this was wrong. I was supposed to be getting married in a few days.
Am I still getting married? The thought felt distant and cold. Even if the wedding was off, I wasn't the kind of person who did this.
"Let go of me," I said, trying to sound firm, but it came out as a breathy plea.
"Give it a few minutes," he murmured. "You won't want me to let go."
I gasped, a sickening realization cutting through the fog. "Did you… did you put something in my drink?"
His smile widened, confirming my fear even as his words denied it. "Why would I do that? I just gave you exactly what you were looking for."
"You bastard! You spiked my drink!" I screamed, hitting his chest, but he just let out a dark chuckle.
"I didn't do anything. Do I look like I need to trick women? You're the one who looks like she's craving it."
I reached out to scratch his face, desperate to escape, when the sudden, harsh scrape of a chair echoed through the bar. The bartender froze and let go of me instantly. I slumped against the wall, rubbing my bruised wrists, as a new figure emerged from the shadows.
He was massive—broad-shouldered and imposing. He looked like he could snap the bartender in two without breaking a sweat.
"What's going on here?" the man asked, his voice a deep, vibrating rumble. The bartender's face paled; he knew he'd been caught.
"I just came for a drink," I cried out, my voice cracking. "But this man… he tried to take advantage of me. He put something in my glass! He wouldn't stop touching me!"
"Wow! You're really going to lie like that?" the bartender shot back, pointing at me. "She was throwing herself at me!"
"You're despicable!" I shouted, my vision starting to split in two. I needed to hold onto something—the urge to be touched was becoming unbearable, and Jaime's face kept flashing in my mind, fueling my pain.
"She's wasted. She doesn't know what she's saying," the bartender insisted.
Suddenly, a powerful arm wrapped around my waist—not the bartender's, but the stranger's.
"Give me the keys," the deep voice commanded.
"Wait, I can take her to her room, I'll—"
"The keys. Now."
I heard the jingle of metal, and the next thing I knew, I was being swept up into the stranger's arms.
"He touched me," I rambled dramatically as he carried me toward the stairs. My emotions were swinging wildly. "He drugged me just so I'd sleep with him… and now I'm thinking about my fiancé again!" I started babbling about lawsuits and punishment, my voice rising and falling in a drunken blur.
The man didn't say a word. He just unlocked a door and carried me into the room. When he set my feet on the floor and turned to leave, I grabbed his arm.
"Isn't it just crazy? He just came out of nowhere and—"
"Ma'am," he interrupted gently. "Forget the bartender. You need to sleep. Did you leave anything downstairs?"
I didn't answer. My hands drifted to his chest, feeling the heat and the muscle beneath his shirt. He tried to move my hands away, and I looked up into his eyes.
"This is the worst day of my life. Why do I feel like this?" I whispered. He gripped my shoulders to keep me at a distance, but the drug in my system had completely eroded my judgment. I needed someone to take away the pain, and he was the one standing there.
He started to say something else, but I pressed a finger to his lips. With my other hand, I began to undo the buttons of my shirt. His eyes widened, and he moved to back away, but I lunged forward. I stood on my tiptoes, crashed my lips against his, and wrapped my legs around his waist, clinging to him exactly the way I'd feared I would with the bartender.
He tried to push me off, but I kissed him with a desperate, raw intensity. I poured all the betrayal, the loss, and the agony of seeing Jaime into that kiss.
He staggered back under my weight, trying to keep us both upright. When I pulled back to look at him, I saw the flicker of heat in his eyes. I had sparked something in him, even if he was fighting it. He knew this was wrong—sleeping with a woman he'd just met was madness.
"Did he really drug you?" he asked breathlessly. "We can go to the police. It's not too late to—"
I just smiled at him—a slow, hazy smile that silenced his protests. I kissed him again. At first, he went still, but then, slowly, his resolve broke, and he began to kiss me back.
If I was going to lose my mind tonight, I'd rather do it with this mystery man than the predator downstairs.
We stumbled toward the bed, clothes discarded in the heat of the moment. His kisses burned against my skin, and for the first time that night, the world went quiet. I didn't care who he was. I just wanted to disappear into the arms of a stranger.