I Hate That I Want You, Lena Sawyer

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Lena’s POV

He notices me. Of course he does. His gaze catches mine, sharp as a blade, lingering. A spark ignites in my chest. Someone tries to stop me as I get closer, his friend perhaps, but he tells the person to let me go.

“I couldn’t help but notice you from a distance. I think you’re really hot. Have a name?” I ask, surprised myself at how brazen I am, considering the fact that I’ve never done this.

His brow creases as he watches me with interest, and I wonder what is going on in his head.

“If you’re not going to tell me, I think I might just find you a moniker. Hot body? Gojo?” I ask, leaning in.

“Sebastian. How old are you?”

His question almost throws me off guard, but I school my features with a smile. “Old enough to know that I want to play with fire, as long as it’s yours. Mr. Embers?” I say, twirling a loose strand of my hair.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice is deep and smooth, and it makes my insides flutter.

I offer a smile, and leaning even closer, I tug at his shirt. “I know exactly what I’m talking about. And more importantly, I know a man who wants me when I see one.” I bite down on my lower lip, my gaze sultry as I trace a finger down his hairy chest, which has some of the buttons out.

But he catches my hand before it can linger even a second longer. “I’ll warn you again, young lady, run while you still can. I’m sure your friend is eagerly waiting to receive you.” His fingers twirl around his glass, and he just toys with it, the content dancing in the glass, and he tears his gaze away from me, his eyes darting around as if looking for someone more interesting.

I quickly grab his attention again by taking his glass from him, and as I gulp down the rest of its contents, his gaze darkens.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Drinking. Your drink tastes better than what I had. I think I want another glass,” I say, checking the now empty glass and beckoning the bartender to give me a glass, but he doesn’t answer. He looks at the man instead.

“No. You’re not getting any other one. You’re drunk, and I think you should go home,” he says.

“And what if I don’t? What are you going to do about it? Take me home with you?” I say with a broken laugh, and in one swift move, he wraps a hand around my waist, pulling me closer.

His gaze darkens, and I see raw desire in his eyes. Good! I’m getting somewhere. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, woman, and if you don’t want to get burned, you’ll leave now,” he says, his breath soft against my skin.

“I’m not scared of danger, especially when it comes in the form of a man as f*****g hot as the one in front of me.”

As if I just removed his last string of restraint, he clamps his mouth around mine, and I straddle him, my hands wrapping around his neck. He kisses me like he means it, and I kiss him back, tasting the wine on his lips. I press closer against his body, and our tongues intertwine and dance. He groans on my lips, and in the next minute, he’s holding me up against the wall in the VIP section. His hand rests on my ass, and I wrap my legs around his waist. I splay my fingers on his chest and arch my neck as he kisses me there, earning a moan from me. I can feel his bulge pressing against my belly, hard and ready.

He kisses my earlobes, and when his hands squeeze my breasts, a moan rips from my throat. I hug him closer to me, but he pins my hands above my head with one hand, while the other explores my body.

I feel dizzy, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. He trails kisses down my body, and in the next minute, he grabs my jaw to give me another searing kiss. My head is spinning, the effect of the wine threatening to overpower the desire in me, but I don’t want him to stop. I moan into his mouth, and he squeezes my ass.

This man is like sin itself. I can’t breathe. Then, my hands are free, and I reach for the buckle of his belt, my hand slightly brushing against his erection as I do so.

“No. I’m not going to f**k you here,” he says.

Huh?

My eyes are cloudy, and he leads me out of the club, and the rest of the events pass in a blur.

*

When I wake, sunlight stabs through floor-to-ceiling windows. My head throbs like a drumline. I groan, pulling the sheets around me, realizing the bed is huge. Expensive. Too pristine to be mine.

And empty. Sebastian isn't here.

The room is luxury, far beyond anything I could afford. My pulse quickens. “s**t,” I whisper. “What the hell happened?”

I grab my phone and dial Avery.

“You’re alive,” she says dryly.

“Barely,” I croak. “What the hell did I do last night?”

“You passed out,” she replies. “Mr. Embers carried you out. You don’t remember? Girl! You were really freaky last night. Just how much did you drink?”

I flop back against the pillows, wondering how far we went. I don’t even know if we had s*x. All I remember was trying to unbuckle his belt back at the club.

Then my phone pings. A new email. I tell Avery I’ll call her again.

I squint, scrolling through—and my stomach drops. It’s from one of the companies I applied to. It’s a follow-up email concerning an interview that is supposed to happen…today?

What? How did I miss the first e-mail?

“Oh God.” My heart races as I check for when it was sent. Almost a week ago.

Desperation fuels my fingers as I type back an apology, explaining I can come at any time. The reply is swift.

“Be here in one hour.”

I barely have time to throw on clean clothes and fix my makeup before I’m standing in the towering glass lobby of Lancaster Industries. My palms sweat as the receptionist ushers me toward a conference room.

“The CEO, Mr. Lancaster, just got back in town,” she says. “He’ll be present today.”

My stomach knots, and I give a nod, unsure of what to expect.

The door opens, and my blood turns to ice as I snap my head up to the sound of a familiar voice from across the center of the conference room table.

It’s him.

Seb Embers, except that he was introduced as Sebastian Lancaster. The man from last night. The man I kissed like I was starving.

Our eyes meet. His widen, then narrow. Mine nearly pop out of my skull.

Holy. f*****g. s**t.

I force myself into a chair, fumbling through my folder, presenting my certifications, and summarizing my idea in a shaky rush. My voice is steady enough, but my mind is screaming, "This is a nightmare." He knows. He knows.

The meeting ends too soon. Too awkward. I step outside, sucking in a lungful of air, and immediately call Avery.

“You would not believe who I just met at the interview.”

“Who?” she asks, distracted.

“Sebastian f*****g Embers or Lancaster, the man I f****d yesterday!”