It’s more than my competitive nature at hand here. It has nothing to do with my past games or experiments, though the feeling of exhilaration is identical. It’s perplexing and I’m not a man who’s easily confused.
I tear my focus away long enough to make it to an empty seat at the far end of the bar. Then my gaze returns to her. My constant staring will likely be attributed to a thirsty customer trying to signal the wait staff, but frankly I don’t care what Alayna thinks of me just as long as she thinks of me at all. I yearn for her attention with such a deep ache. Yearn for the instant that she looks at me, connects with me. I’ll turn down any service that isn’t from her. I need to know if I have any of the effect on her that she has on me.
As I watch her, one of the other bartenders—a man that I imagine is David Lindt, the manager of the bar—gathers the staff around him. Soon he’s distributed shots and all are partaking.
If I were really here to spy on my staff, this would be the episode that might grab my attention. Drinking behind the bar is not an acceptable way to run a club. However, though I can’t hear exactly what’s being said from my side of the counter, the cheers and hoots seem to indicate a special occasion.
From the way everyone’s focused on Alayna, I gather it’s about her.
“Woo hoo!” she screams, as if to confirm my thoughts. “Goddamn, that’s nice!”
She’s fun, I realize. Besides being smart and responsible, she knows how to enjoy herself. It’s so different from me, so foreign that it should be a complete turn-off. Instead, it intrigues me more. As if that were possible.
Once the shots are consumed, the staff disperses. Alayna stays behind the bar. I’m more relieved than I want to admit. My relief is replaced with envy as she moves to embrace a customer. Who is this man? I’ve had Jordan tailing Alayna for the better part of two weeks. His findings have shown she has a limited social life, her outings relating only to work, school, and exercise—namely, running. There has been no evidence of a boyfriend or even a close friend. Has Jordan missed something important?
I strain to hear the conversation between the two. Quickly, I deduce that the man is simply a regular customer. My relief returns. Though I may have to step in if he continues to stare at Alayna’s breasts the way he is. I don’t blame him. They’re exceptional breasts. I can’t stop staring myself. But they should not be shared with the likes of drunk assholes who only want a quick fuck.
Thank God I’m neither a drunk nor someone who wants a quick fuck. Slow. That’s how it will go with Alayna. I’ll take my time when I fuck her and it won’t be just a one-time thing.
Jesus, where did that thought come from? I hadn’t planned to pursue Alayna sexually. It certainly wasn’t part of Celia’s scheme. But now that I’ve thought it, I can’t seem to get the idea out of my mind.
It’s her damn outfit. She looks like sex on legs.
I make a mental note to speak to Alayna about her wardrobe choices for work.
I manage to stop thinking about my cock by concentrating on the other information I’ve gleaned from my eavesdropping. Alayna has admitted she has no plans for her vacation. I don’t like that. She should be celebrating her accomplishments. Furthermore, the hint of disappointment in her posture leads me to believe she wishes she had plans.
But I can’t dwell on this. Because she’s sliding down the bar toward me. Finally, her attention is mine.
“Now what can I get…you…?” Her words trail as she meets my eyes. The intense grip of her gaze on mine nearly takes my breath away. It leaves her speechless as well, her jaw slack as she takes me in.
Then I know.
I know that no one has ever looked at me this way. I know that this connection is not just one-sided, that she feels it too. I know that I scare her and fascinate her as much as she scares and fascinates me. I know that sooner or later I will fuck her, that she will enjoy it. That I will enjoy it. And somehow, with certainty that exceeds every other fact that I’ve come to accept in this space of seconds, I know that my life will never be the same again.
Eventually, I remember I’m supposed to be placing my order. “Single-malt Scotch. Neat, please.”
She shakes her head as if snapping out of a haze. “I have a 12-year-old Macallan.”
“Fine.” A single word and I barely manage to rasp it out. She doesn’t look at me while she pours my drink and I already miss the warmth of her eyes. Then, as she hands me my glass, I purposefully let my fingers brush against hers. I had to. I needed to know how it felt to touch her.
I’m rewarded with far more than the softness of her skin and the zing of electricity that passes between us. I’m rewarded with her shiver. It’s visible. I do affect her. I’m more than pleased.
She’s wary of me though. She yanks her hand away and scurries to the other side of the bar.
I wonder at her thoughts as I sip from my glass. Because of her history, I might assume she reacts to many men the way she did to me. Yet, I’ve watched her all night and she’s seemed at ease with everyone except me. She is afraid of me, but I believe that fear has to do with herself. I’ve done nothing to frighten her, though I haven’t masked any of the lust she’s sparked inside me. Is that enough to throw her?
I’m seconds away from forming a theory. And then I force my thoughts in another direction. It is there that I finalize my intent with Alayna Withers. I will lead her through the stupid game of Celia’s. I will participate as I’ve agreed. Separately, I will seduce her, because after the brush of her hand, I can’t imagine not touching every inch of her with my fingers, my mouth, my tongue.
But Alayna will not be my subject. I will not experiment with her emotions. I will not let her break. If anything, this will be a study of myself. It will be an opportunity to see if anyone can break me.
As I solidify my plans, I nurse my drink and continue to watch her. Soon, she’s left to manage the bar herself. She cleans the counters with what seems to be nervous energy. Then she looks toward me. It’s a ray of sun escaping heavy cloud cover when her eyes find mine again.
She sweeps toward me and nods at my near empty glass. “Another?”
“No, I’m good.” I don’t need any more. I’m intoxicated by her presence. I reach in my breast pocket and pull a hundred from my billfold. I don’t intend to accept the change.
She rings up my order at the register and I realize our encounter is nearing an end. I feel compelled to talk to her, to soak up as much of her as I can in the last few moments of anonymity that I will share with her.
I debate for a moment an appropriate conversation starter that will neither give anything away about me nor appear creepy. I remember the toast that was shared among the staff and choose to remark on that. “Special occasion?”
Her brow creases. “Uh, yeah. My graduation. I walk tomorrow for my MBA.”
I already know this, but as I’m genuinely impressed by her, it’s not hard to display admiration. “Congratulations. Here’s to your every success.” I lift my glass to her and then shoot back the last of it.
“Thank you.” Her eyes are on my mouth and I can’t help myself—I lick my lips and delight as her pupils dilate in reaction.
She reaches out to give me my change.
I almost change my mind about accepting it. It would be another opportunity to touch her, and I burn for that. But I’m already stiff as it is. I don’t want to encourage my desire, not tonight. So I shake my head and say, “Keep it.”
“I can’t.”
“You can and you will.” It’s not the first time I’ve tipped so generously, but it’s the first time I’ve really cared that it be accepted. “Consider it a graduation gift.”
“Okay.” She concedes, but I sense that it’s difficult for her. “Thanks.”
Her surrender, simple as it is, arouses me further. She’s turned from me now, but I’m not ready to let her go. “Is this also a goodbye party?” She faces me again. “I don’t imagine you’ll be using your MBA to continue bartending.” G
od, those eyes. Those eyes find me, every time.
She hesitates. “Actually, I’d like to move up here. I love the nightclub scene.” She seems to prepare herself for my criticism.
Three weeks ago, I would have given it. Now, I say, “It makes you alive.”
“Exactly.” She breaks into a smile.
“It shows.” When I’d first learned she’d chosen to stay at The Sky Launch rather than use her degree in a more traditional way, I’d assumed that Alayna had an affinity with the club. Having witnessed her in this environment and comparing it to her presentation at Stern, I see it’s even more than that. This place is a life force for her. She’s struck me with her beauty both times I’ve seen her. Here, though, her beauty is transcendent.
“Laynie!” It’s the drunk kid down the bar. Alayna leaves me to attend to him. I eavesdrop, cringing as he gives her his number. I wonder how many times she gets hit on in an evening. It bothers me more than I want it to. Once more, I curse her outfit.
Thankfully, she doesn’t seem too interested in this guy. She throws his number away the minute he leaves, catching my eye as she does.
I could smile and nod and we wouldn’t have to discuss it. But I find myself wanting to know, so I ask, “Do you do that with every number you receive?”
Really, I just want her to talk to me some more. Yet another way to demand her attention.
She studies me. “Are you trying to figure out if I’d throw away your number?”
I can’t help myself—I laugh. “Maybe.”
She smiles, illuminating the space around her. It’s the kind of smile that some men would do anything to see as often as possible. I wonder what it would feel like to be that kind of man.
Then she leans on the counter toward me, and my gaze is pulled to the gorgeous curve of her tits. “I wouldn’t throw yours away. I wouldn’t take yours at all.”
I manage to lift my eyes to hers. “Not your type?”
“Not necessarily.”
I’m enjoying this conversation much more than I should. “Why then?”
“Because you’re looking for something temporary. Something fun to play with.” She leans closer and it takes all my strength not to look back down at her breasts, not to notice if her nipples are puckered against the thin fabric of her blouse, not to reach forward and brush them with my fingertips.
“And I get attached.” She straightens. “Now doesn’t that just scare you shitless?”
Scare me shitless? It turns me the fuck on. Everything she does and says is more fuel for a fire of desire that is slowly overtaking me. I’m beginning to think I’d do anything to be near her. Oh, that’s right—I’ve already done anything.
And she assumes she’s the dark one of the two of us. It’s amusing.
“You, Alayna Withers, do anything but scare me.” I stand and button my coat. I’m tempted to stay longer, but I’ve just dropped that I know her name. I shouldn’t be here when she realizes. “Congratulations again. Quite an accomplishment.”
Long after I’ve left, I feel her eyes on me. The warmth and life contained in her gaze clings to my body even after I’m home. Consumes me. I think about her while I’m in the shower as I stroke myself. I come fast and hard and still her presence cleaves to me like a second skin.
Needing to see her again soon, I decide to gift her a week at my spa in the mountains near Poughkeepsie. I’ll have it delivered anonymously and then I’ll join her there. I can meet her on equal ground. I can get to know her, spend time with her, seduce her. It would likely put Celia’s scheme in jeopardy which is just an added bonus.
The idea thrills me and delights me as I think about it.
And then I let it go.
I know from experience that Celia is a worthy foe. Any violation of her plan on my part will result in retaliation. Though I don’t fear what she can do to me, I am attached in this odd way to Alayna Withers. I care about what Celia can and will do to her. My protection can only be effective if I stay the course.
Though I’m a fairly humorless person, I laugh at my own attempt to fool myself. I’m not invested in this for Alayna’s benefit. It’s all for my own. I want to be close to the woman. I want to study the effect she has on me. I want to see her survive, but it’s for my own selfish satisfaction.
Still, I decide to give her the spa trip. I’m not sure what motivates me to do so. I don’t leave my name on the gift note so it’s not about endearing her to me. I truly want her to go because I think she’d enjoy it. Because I want her to have a moment of pleasure in a life that has been less than easy. Perhaps I am capable of unselfish actions after all.
Or maybe I just know Alayna will have a better chance in Celia’s game if she enters it pampered and well-rested. That’s a more likely reason for my actions. I’m capable of manipulating the thoughts of many, but I can’t convince myself that I’m a better person than I am, no matter how hard I try.
Chapter Seven
I’m a composed man. Always in control. I’ve run meetings of disgruntled board members without forming a bead of sweat. I’ve bid on high stock investments without altering my pulse. I’ve played convincible mind games without batting an eye.
Tonight, in the presence of a woman I hardly know, I’m in over my head.
Perhaps I’m losing my touch. Or maybe I’ve just finally met my match.
Alayna enters the bubble room before me. Just yesterday, on her first shift after her vacation at my spa, I was introduced to her as the new owner of the club. We haven’t yet had a chance to establish a working relationship. This is by design. I don’t want her to see me as her boss or a business associate. I need her to see me as a man. As a potential lover.
So here we are in as close to a non-work environment as I can establish within the club. She’s accompanying me while I eat dinner. The setup should feel to her like a date. However, it also feels like a date for me and that is why I’m a bit daunted.
At least we’ll be daunted together.
Alayna flips the switch to indicate our bubble room is occupied. Then she hands me a menu. It’s slightly amusing. She’s not on-the-clock, and yet she’s still on duty.
I gesture for her to take a seat. “After you.”
She sits, and I watch her closely. Her knuckles are nearly white from gripping the table edge. Her heel is bouncing against the carpeted floor. She’s nervous to be here—alone—with me. Frankly, I am too. But it’s up to me to calm her nerves. And mine.
Jesus, I’m fucked.
I remove my jacket and take my time hanging it up on the hook behind me. This is when I get my shit together. I’ve only got one shot at pulling this off and if I don’t do it right, the whole scheme is over before it’s begun. And I’ll look like an idiot.
One deep breath in and I’m ready to face her. Game on.
I sit across from her and throw down the menu she gave me. “I don’t need this. Do you?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Pierce.”
“Hudson,” I correct.
“No, thank you, Hudson.” The sound of my name on her lips and I’m already straining in my pants. “I’ve already eaten.”
“A drink then? Though, I know you work at eleven.” This is all a ruse. I’ve already ordered for us both. And I’m the one who needs the drink.
Alayna’s tongue flicks across her lower lip. “Maybe an iced tea.”
Now I’m thinking of her tongue flicking across my cock. “Good.”
I press the button in the middle of the table that summons the waitress and my fingers crash into hers. Her touch, the stunning warmth in this brief contact—I must have more. She moves to pull away, but I don’t let her and take her hand in mine.
She inhales sharply as I stroke my thumb along the back of her hand.
I lock my eyes on hers, noticing her pupils widen. I make an excuse about why I’m still touching her. She accepts it. From the look on her expression, she’ll accept anything I say at the moment.
She’s into me. This is good.
I’d worried that my harsh meeting with her the day before had ended her attraction. Admittedly, I’d been…not very friendly is one way to put it. It was necessary though. She’d been dressed provocatively—again—and I’d made a scene about it. I had to establish my authority in front of David. I had to show from the beginning that Alayna would not be my favorite as far as work was concerned—though she very much already was.
And I had to put an end to her wearing outfits that invited men to harass her. Maybe she could handle their advances. I could not.
Necessary as it was, the flare of anger that had sparked in her eyes afterward had concerned me. Now, as I caress her skin, and she practically melts in my hand, I realize my anxiety was in vain.
Also, I realize how nice it feels to touch her like this. Extremely nice.
My phone rings, interrupting our contact.
“Excuse me.” I remove my phone from my pants pocket and silence it. I know from the ringtone who it is—Celia. She’s likely checking in on my progress.
Fuck her. She’s too eager and it pisses me off. I’ll get back to her when I’m good and ready, if at all.
“You can take it if you need to,” Alayna says.
“There can’t be anything important enough to interrupt this conversation.” It’s a line and not a line all at once. Is it possible to play the game and be sincere at the same time? My script is very loose. I know where I’m supposed to end before I walk out of this room, but everything that takes place before then is improvised. In my past schemes, I’d study the subject and make educated guesses as to what he or she wanted to hear in order to get them to the finish. I artfully manipulated.
This is not like that.
Though everything I have said and done so far has set me up perfectly for my task, a great deal of it has come organically. It’s genuine.
Hudson Page 7
