I didn’t do jealous; I never bothered to before. Not even with my wife. I’d been too focused on my career. It was screwed up, but I couldn’t pretend that my marriage hadn’t been fucked-up from the beginning. I’d been an asshole then, so focused on getting rich, on getting ahead, ruled by ego and excess, that I hadn’t even cared.

If Blair were mine, I would fucking care.

She laughed at something he said, and my chest got tight.

She looked happy. It was obvious that they were friends; I’d seen them joking around with each other plenty of times before and after class. They were both preppy, and it was impossible to miss the air of entitlement that surrounded him. He seemed like a douche, but what did I know?

After she’d told me about her broken engagement, I’d gone online, unable to resist the urge to see the guy she’d been engaged to. The fact that he bore an uncanny resemblance to Crossword Boy did not make me feel better. Nor did the way he kept leaning down into her fucking ear to talk to her.

It wasn’t that loud in here. It was totally a move.

Blair laughed again at something he said, and then her eyes drifted across the room until our gazes locked. I caught her mid-laugh, her eyes dancing, lips parted. I watched as the laugh slid off of her face, and the heat I demanded replaced the amusement he gave her.

Blair held my gaze while he continued talking to her, and I knew she wasn’t even listening, that all of her attention was focused on me.

A flush spread across her cheeks that had my dick throbbing, watching as arousal warred with composure in her beautiful brown eyes. She mumbled something to Crossword Boy, and then she fled, heading toward one of the double doors at the gym’s entrance.

His gaze met mine across the crowded gym, a frown on his preppy face.

A better man would have looked away. Would have tried to look innocent. But the darkest part of me hated that he’d been close to her. That he wanted what was mine. So I held his gaze, and my eyes said everything I could never say out loud.

And then I went after her.

Chapter Twelve

Rumors are flying amid reports that Blair Reynolds has been seen in the company of a mysterious stranger. He’s reportedly tall, dark, and handsome . . .

Has Princess Blair found her new prince?

—Capital Confessions blog

Blair

I needed air, a cold shower, and a side of sanity.

I didn’t know what it was, but for some totally insane reason, the mere sight of Gray did things to my lady parts. Lots of things.

I headed for one of the hallways off of the gym, needing the privacy of the dark, deserted space. Needing a moment from the prying eyes that I worried would see too much.

He hadn’t liked Adam touching me.

And by hadn’t liked, I meant, looked like he wanted to rip Adam’s head off.

And the fact that it turned me on was just too effed-up for words.

I leaned my back against the wall, the lockers hiding me. I closed my eyes, struggling to get my body under control. To get the part of me that craved his touch in check.

And then I heard the footsteps, and I knew. Maybe I’d known before I even left the gym. Lied to myself when I said I was coming here for peace.

Maybe I’d come here for trouble.

And it had just found me.

I didn’t open my eyes, needed the protection of the dark. Tried to hide the need that blasted through me.

My body recognized his scent first. Then the tension that throbbed between us, the sexual desire that pierced me like a knife’s point. My nipples tightened, heat pooling between my legs.

I opened my eyes and Gray stared back at me, still wearing his white Phantom mask, his hands shoved in his pockets as if he was trying to keep them from touching me. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark, his mouth pressed in a hard line.

“He likes you.”

I blinked, surprised that he’d lead with Adam.

“Yeah.”

His gaze narrowed.

“He asked me out,” I added, not sure why I was giving him everything, but somehow unable to resist.

“What did you say?”

“I told him I wasn’t attracted to him that way.”

“I don’t think he got the message.”

I’d noticed how flirty Adam had been tonight. I figured he was the type of guy who wasn’t used to hearing “no” a lot.

“I wish I could call you mine. That everyone knew I was yours.”

Oh my god.

“I hate this.”

I closed my eyes, letting his words scrape over me until they left me raw.

“I can’t fucking sleep. I dream of you almost every night. Since the first day I walked into class and saw you.”

My lungs dragged in air as I drowned.

I’d wanted passion. He gave me more than I knew what to do with.

“I’m losing my goddamned mind, Blair. I’m trying so hard to be good, to stay away from you, and then you smile at me and I forget my fucking name.”

His words unraveled me inch by inch.

“I want you,” I whispered.

“Blair . . .” He groaned my name and I reached out, my hand tugging on his black sweater, my knuckles grazing the hard planes of his stomach through the fabric. I pulled him toward me, my back pressing into the cool lockers, until Gray hovered over me.

My hand lifted, my fingers just above the cool plastic that obscured the top half of his face. Gray stood perfectly still while I slipped under the mask, grazing his warm skin. His head jerked back as though he’d been burned, a rough exhalation escaping his mouth. My heartbeat sped up as I lifted it the rest of the way, until his beautiful face stared back at me.

I leaned forward on my tiptoes and put my mouth on his, his breath sliding between my lips before his tongue followed. Gray’s arm curled around my waist, holding me up against his body, his arousal brushing me. My arms came up, wrapping around his neck, my breasts grazing his hard pecs, the mask sliding from my fingers to hit the linoleum floor with a crack.

Gray’s mouth plundered mine, his arms holding me in place against his body as his hands squeezed my waist, his fingers molding my shape.

I sucked on his bottom lip. The taste of him swirled in my mouth, mingling with his cologne to create a heady flavor that enveloped me.

It was never enough. It was always too much.

My hands became desperate, the fever that had taken over my lips making my fingers bolder still. They slipped under the collar of his sweater, stroking the skin there, the bunched muscle that jumped at my touch. He groaned, the sound muffled by the force of our mouths, the flame of desire burning us from the inside out.

An ache began between my thighs, moisture pooling, a tingle spreading throughout my limbs. I was on fucking fire and I wanted him to bring me the release I craved.

I arched into his touch.

He rewarded my boldness with his hand on my thigh, just below the hem of my tutu. His palm against my leg warmed me through the thick tights. His mouth released mine, his gaze pinning me to the wall, my concentration focused on his touch, wanting, needing him to move his hand higher.

He didn’t.

He stayed perfectly still, his hand branding me, holding me in place, giving me the chance to say no, the chance to walk away. If the feeling inside me wasn’t clawing, scratching, desperate to get out, I would have laughed. He couldn’t have pushed me away if he tried.

His eyes darkened as I met his gaze, giving him my answer.

And then he moved.

His hand trailed up the inside of my thigh, sucking the air out from the room, commanding me to spread my legs without a word.

All it took was his touch and my body responded instantly.

I cursed the thick tights I’d put under my costume, railed against the stupid cold weather that had me placing function over fashion. Over easy access. Over this.