Daniel Garrett: They Took Her From Me

Chapter 9: Daniel

Her big blue eyes locked onto mine as I moved us across the dance floor, guiding her with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before. And I had—because my mother had raised me right. I grew up watching my parents dance in the living room, twirling around in their little bubble of laughter and love, lost in each other in a way that made the rest of the world disappear. They had been the most in love people on the planet, and because of them, I knew exactly how to lead, how to move, how to make a dance feel effortless.

Kathleen Denver followed my every step, her body aligning with mine in perfect rhythm. It was seamless—so natural it almost felt predestined. Normally, Lydia would have been right. I never danced at weddings; it sent the wrong message. It invited questions, expectations, attention I didn’t care for. But she had unknowingly chosen the one woman I would never say no to.

“Daniel, huh?” she mused, her voice just as soft, just as intoxicating as I remembered. That voice—low, smooth, with a hint of teasing—had haunted me for over a year. And f**k, I loved the way she said my name. “I never thought of you as a Daniel.”

“You thought of me?” I asked, unable to stop the satisfaction that spread through me at the thought.

Had it not just been me?

Had she been just as obsessed as I was? Had she spent nights thinking about that single moment we shared, just like I had? Had she struggled to move on? Had she wanted to find me, just as badly as I wanted to find her?

Perhaps she was fighting the same war I was. Perhaps she was resisting the same overwhelming pull. Perhaps she was just barely holding herself back from mauling me in the middle of this dance floor.

Her lips curled slightly, her blue eyes gleaming with something wicked. “You haven’t thought of me?” she challenged, c*****g a brow at me.

“Every day. Every hour. Every minute,” I answered, unapologetic.

I didn’t care if she thought it was too much. I didn’t care if it made me sound desperate or insane.

Because it was the truth.

Her breath caught, and I saw it—the way her throat worked as she swallowed, the way her eyes widened slightly in surprise. But even as she absorbed my words, her movements never faltered. She let me twirl her effortlessly, her body flowing with the motion, her dress swirling around her before she came back to me, her hands finding their place once again.

“Then why didn’t you seek me out?” she asked, her voice quieter now. Her gaze searched mine, moving from one eye to the other, as if she were trying to read me, to pull the answer straight from my mind.

“You told me not to,” I said simply. Because that was the truth.

That night, she had been very clear.

One time only.

No expectations.

No attachments.

I had burned those words into my brain, memorized them, let them dig into my skin like scars. “You said it was just for one night,” I continued, my voice even. “I figured showing up on your doorstep would be a violation of that.”

She looked away, down at the space between us, and for the first time since I met her, I saw something almost vulnerable flicker across her face. Regret? Frustration? Whatever it was, it tightened something in my chest.

Did she not want to hear that?

Did she expect me to ignore her words? To chase her anyway?

For the first time in my life, I wished I wasn’t the kind of man who respected boundaries. I wished I was selfish. That I had taken what I wanted without caring about what she wanted. Because if I had—if I had followed my gut instead of her words—maybe I wouldn’t have spent the last year losing my goddamn mind.

“But I’ve been to that club so many times,” I murmured, leaning in close, letting my breath ghost over her ear. “So many times, Kathleen—that I know the names of every single employee. And their work schedules.”

She shivered. I felt it.

And f**k, if that wasn’t the most satisfying reaction I had ever pulled from someone.

She leaned back slightly, her gaze snapping up to mine again. But before she could respond, I spun her around once more, letting the moment stretch between us, watching the way her body moved as she followed my lead.

“I haven’t been back there,” she admitted, almost shyly. Almost ashamedly.

And that—that—made my chest ache.

“Then that explains why I haven’t seen you there,” I muttered, and God, I hated the realization that I had wasted every single Friday and Saturday night for the past year, waiting for someone who never intended to return.

She was quiet for a moment, then her brows furrowed slightly.

“So, you knew my address,” she pointed out. “I literally gave it to you. But because I told you not to come to my home, you decided to just wait for me at a club you hated—because you might run into me again?”

I clenched my jaw.

“And I feel like a monumental i***t for doing that,” I admitted, the words sharp with self-directed frustration.

The song changed. A slower rhythm hummed through the speakers, vibrating through the floor, through my chest.

I should have let her go.

Should have stepped away.

But I didn’t.

I kept my hands on her, kept her close, kept dancing with her.

Her lips parted slightly, and she shook her head, her expression softer now. “Not an i***t,” she murmured. “Definitely not an idiot.”

Her blue eyes searched mine, shining with something real—something that made my stomach tighten and my fingers curl slightly against her lower back.

I moved us across the floor, my hand firm on her waist, my other holding hers in a grasp I never wanted to release.

She felt perfect against me.

The silk of her dress was smooth beneath my palm, but the heat of her body was so much better. And f**k, after spending so long imagining her, it almost didn’t feel real to finally touch her again.

But my body knew.

It knew she was real. Knew I was holding the most delicate, infuriating, intoxicating woman in my arms.

And it knew—with absolute certainty—that I wasn’t letting go.

“Then what would you describe me as?” I asked, my voice rougher now, lower, as I fought the urge to bury myself in her scent. That flowery perfume—soft, familiar, driving me insane.

Her lips curled, slow and knowing.

“Determined,” she answered immediately.

I let out a low chuckle. “I am that.”

I twirled her again, watching the way those stray tendrils of hair moved around her face, the way her dress flared slightly, the way her feet came together in perfect synchronicity.

She was effortless.

“And you know what else you are?” she asked, those mesmerizing blue eyes locking onto mine, making my throat tighten as I swallowed.

I shook my head lightly, feeling my pulse hammer against my ribs.

“You’re about to f**k me in the bathroom,” she said, her tone so casual, so matter-of-fact, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to say to a man in the middle of a wedding.

My breath hitched.

“I am?” I asked, c*****g a brow at her, watching as a slow, seductive smile crept onto her lips.

Her expression was intoxicating, her eyes dark with hunger.

“Are you telling me you don’t want to?” she asked, her voice dropping into something raspier, something more dangerous. She looked at me like she was about to devour me whole.

Fuck yes.

I wanted to be devoured by her. I wanted her to wreck me completely, to tear me apart and put me back together in her own image. If I died in the process of being eaten alive by Kathleen Denver, I would die a happy man.

“I’m telling you that I’ve wanted to bend you over and f**k you since you walked through those doors,” I answered, my voice just as low, just as dark.

Her pupils dilated, her lips parting slightly as she took in my words. A flicker of something primal flashed across her face before she quickly looked over her shoulder.

My gaze followed hers.

Lydia stood across the room, completely absorbed in conversation, laughing, oblivious to the fact that her bridesmaid was about to disappear into the shadows with a man she had no idea was a part of her past.

Then Kathleen moved.

Her hand tightened around mine, fingers lacing together as she led me through the hall. Normally, I was the one people followed. Normally, I was the one in control. But I knew—I knew—that I would follow her to the ends of the earth and beyond if she only asked.

She guided me out of the reception hall, her steps confident, precise, never hesitating. I followed close behind, my entire body thrumming with anticipation, with the undeniable heat coursing through my veins.

As we entered the grand lobby of the Plaza Hotel, my gaze flicked to the people we passed.

They stared at her.

Men, women—everyone. Their eyes lingered on her, drinking her in, admiring her.

I glared at them, sharp and unrelenting. They had no right to look at her. They had no right to admire what belonged to me.

Kathleen didn’t waver. She moved forward with determination, her back straight, her chin tilted slightly upward. She knew exactly where she was going, exactly what she wanted.

And f**k, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing I had ever seen.

She led me straight to the bathrooms, pushing open the door to the handicap stall—the only one without multiple stalls, the only one that gave us privacy.

The moment she stepped inside, she turned around. I followed, stepping in after her and shutting the door behind me with a quiet click. The air felt thicker in here. More charged.

The space between us crackled with something raw, something electric.

I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, feel my breathing coming in short, shallow gasps. I could feel my c**k swelling, pressing against the fabric of my pants, already desperate for her touch. My body knew exactly what was about to happen.

And f**k—f**k—if I couldn’t wait for it.

“Lock the door,” she instructed, her voice smooth, unwavering.

I smirked, watching her for a moment before reaching back and flipping the lock into place.

“Of course, my queen,” I murmured, my voice rough with need, with barely contained hunger.

A shiver ran down her spine, so slight, so barely noticeable, but I saw it.

I felt it.

And I f*****g loved it.

She squared her shoulders, trying to compose herself, trying to act unaffected.

“We have to hurry,” she said, as if she needed to convince herself more than me. “Lydia will notice I’m gone. And it’s almost time for the cake.”

Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed her. They burned.

I took a step closer, crowding her against the counter, letting her feel just how little I cared about the damn cake. My hand came up to cup her cheek, fingers pressing gently into her skin. She was so soft. Like the finest silk, the most delicate thing I had ever touched.

“I haven’t tasted you in over a year,” I told her, my voice deep, steady. “Three hundred and ninety-eight days, Kathleen.”

Her cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink, and I smirked at the sight of it.

“If I want to taste the best p***y I’ve ever had, then I’ll f*****g taste it.”

She exhaled sharply, her lashes fluttering before she whispered, “No one calls me Kathleen.” She swallowed, her fingers flexing against the counter. “Everyone calls me Kat.”

I tilted my head, studying her, drinking in every inch of her face.

“How many call you queen?” I asked.

I leaned down, my lips hovering just over hers, so close, so f*****g close—

But she turned her head. My lips brushed against her cheek instead. I froze for the briefest second before adjusting, before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her skin.

I would respect her boundaries. I would take whatever she was willing to give me. So I moved lower, my lips trailing along the curve of her jaw, down to the side of her neck, where her pulse thrummed wildly beneath her skin.

She inhaled sharply.

“Only you,” she whispered.

My breath left me in a slow, shaky exhale.

Only me.

She might not have let me kiss her lips, but she had given me this. And f**k if that wasn’t enough to make my chest swell with something primal, something possessive. I groaned against her skin.

“And f**k, how I’ve been dying to worship you again,” I murmured.

My hands slid down, grabbing a firm hold of her ass before lifting her with ease, feeling the delicious warmth of her body press against mine as I set her down on the counter.

I let my hands roam, tracing the shape of her thighs, sliding higher, feeling the bare skin hidden beneath the fabric of her dress.

Her breath hitched.

Her fingers curled into the back of my neck, holding me there, keeping me close as my lips explored her throat.

She tasted like f*****g sunshine.

“Get on your knees,” she whispered.

Her voice was rough now, raw with need.

A slow grin spread across my lips.

Fuck, I loved how she bossed me around.

I lifted my head, meeting her gaze—watching the fire, the command burning behind those blue eyes.

“As you wish, my queen,” I murmured.

I let my teeth graze over her skin, nipping at her pulse point before sinking to my knees before her, ready to worship.