by Penny Wylder
The bouncer laughs, a deep hearty laugh. “Even if that were true, which I doubt that it is, people are allowed to change their minds. Come with me.”
It’s almost comical when he tries to flail out of the bouncer’s grasp, and even funnier when another one steps in to help and they practically carry him away from us, presumably to the office where they’re going to take his information so he never sets foot in the club again.
I turn to her with a smile after they disappear with him. "That was better than I even expected."
"That was pretty great," she says, and her smile is both relieved and brilliant. It shines genuine compared to the fake smile she was using when we were dancing and being chased. "I'm Diamond, by the way."
I hold back in a laugh. "Diamond? Is that your real name?"
"Maybe," she says. "Buy me a drink and there's a chance you'll find out."
Up close to her like I am now, I was mistaken when I thought that she was hot. She's fucking stunning. Piercing green eyes and full lips and a body that looks like it belongs in the centerfold of a swimsuit catalog. And even though I was trying to get her away from Mr. Creep, I'm human, and I felt those curves all up against me. I'd be an absolute fucking moron not to say yes. So I gesture to the bar across the room, "After you."
2
Diamond
My heart is still pounding in my chest as I push my way through the crowd to the main bar. I've had some bad experiences in clubs before, but that one was easily the worst. The first part of it, at least. That guy was going to try something; I felt it in my gut, and the guy who's about to buy a drink noticed and stepped in. That's the first time that I've ever had someone stand up for me like that.
And he looks like a knight in shining armor, too. Taller than me—which is great because I'm already tall—and built like he clocks time in the gym daily. He looks like he should be in some glamorous city like New York or L.A. or London. Not...Nashville. But maybe I haven't spent enough time in cities like Nashville to know what guys look like here. For the night, I'll pretend that I'm just as glamorous and that I belong in a place like this. Like I'm not a small-town girl just pretending. He doesn't have to know. I'll probably never see him again after tonight, but based on what I've already seen, I wouldn't mind seeing a little more of him this evening.
I reach the bar and turn to watch him walking over to me, and I get the chance to stare just a little. God, he's gorgeous. My gaze keeps getting caught on his jaw, and the way his shirt is open just a little too far.
It's not a great angle from here, but as he turns to the side to slip between two people, I can see that he's got an ass on him too. If I'd run into him before that guy decided that I would be a good target, this would be a perfect night. Who knows? He's buying me a drink so there's still a chance that this can turn into a pretty great night.
He settles against the bar beside me, and he doesn't hide the fact that he's taking me in. But unlike the way the other guy looked at me—with anger, entitlement, and a plan—this gaze is all heated appreciation. The kind of heat that settles in my gut and makes me wonder how many drinks I can get him to buy me and maybe more.
"What's your name?" I ask.
His eyes snap to mine, dark and deep. I think they might be brown, but under the neon lights of the club, they're blue and green, reflecting back the colors around us. "What?"
I smile. "I gave you my name, but I never got yours." He's right. Diamond isn't my real name, but he's not going to find out what it is. It's boring. Normal. Diamond makes me feel shiny and special. I don't even care that people assume it's fake or that it means I'm in a particular career. It makes me happy, and that's all that matters.
"Glenn," he says, holding out a hand. I take it and we shake. It's slow, and I like feeling the warmth of his hand, but it also seems weird to shake after we've danced and been pressed up against each other. It was hard to ignore the firmness of his body on mine, even while he was helping me escape.
“Nice to meet you, Glenn. And thank you.”
His smile it the kind you see in commercials. “My pleasure. What can I get you?”
I look him up and down, wondering what kind of drink he’ll order, and if he’ll be surprised by the kind of drink I like. “I’ll have what you’re having,” I say.
Glenn’s mouth tips up at the corner, like I’ve just issued him a challenge, and I have. He can order what he thinks I’ll like, in order to appear considerate, or he can order something he genuinely likes to see if I can keep up. Or even the third option, something neither of us sees coming. “What the hell,” he says, catching the bartender’s eye.
He leans over the bar and speaks quietly with the bartender, and he says something that makes the bartender laugh and nod before disappearing. “I’m celebrating my birthday, so I got us something special.”
“Happy birthday,” I say. “Is it tacky to ask which birthday?”
Glenn shakes his head with a smile. “No. I turned thirty a couple of days ago.”
“Big one,” I say. “Do you feel like you’re dying of old age yet?”
He laughs, “No. Do I look like I’m dying?”
“No, but I don’t know that I’ve looked close enough to tell.” As soon as the words slip from my mouth, I freeze. I’m not usually that forward, but I’m feeling a little brazen tonight.
Glenn raises an eyebrow, but he’s smiling. “I’m open for inspection.”
I ease closer, so there’s barely an inch of air between us as I pretend to examine him for signs of age. “Hmm…definitely not dying, at least on the surface. But I think I’ll need some proof that you’re still healthy, you know.”
“What do I have to be healthy for?” His words are soft against my ear, making me shiver.
I pull back just far enough so that I can look up and meet his eyes. “Dancing, of course,” I lie, because right now, this close to him, I’m thinking about so, so much more. “We need a real dance, one that’s not just an escape maneuver.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “My best moves come out when I’m protecting damsels in distress.”
“Just pretend you’re saving me from every other guy in this club, and I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”
He leans down, and for a second I think he might kiss me. And despite the fact that I just met him, I’m going to let him. But there’s a sharp sound next to us, and I turn to see the bartender setting down a large bottle and two glasses.
“What is that?”
“This is Johnnie Walker Blue. It’s twelve-year-old scotch.”
I’ve heard of that. The shit is expensive, and I’ve heard it’s smooth as hell. But I’ve never been able to try it. I don’t have the kind of budget that would let me take shots that cost a hundred dollars a pop.
The bartender pops the seal on the bottle and the deep brown liquid gathers in the bottom of the glasses. “Going all out for that birthday, huh?”
He hands me a glass, and grins. “Nah, this would be a normal night. If you want us to go all out, we could do that.”
I stare at him. “You can afford this kind of scotch on a normal night?”
All he does is smile a small, coy smile, like the goddamn Mona Lisa. “Tell me if you like it.”
I take a sip. Do I like it? Oh my God, the stories were right. It’s smooth like butter but sharp with rich after-notes that linger on my tongue. It’s like drinking warmth and sunshine, and I can practically feel it pour through me. “Wow.”
“Good?”
“Amazing,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”
He pours himself another shot—the bartender is nowhere to be seen—and throws it back. “Whiskey girl?”
“You bet.” I slide my glass across the bar for more. The second shot is just as good as the first. “We’re allowed to just keep drinking this?”
“I bought the bottle.”
I try to keep my jaw off the floor while Glenn grins and waves to the bartender. Then he takes my hand and pulls me toward the dance floor. �
��Now that I’ve had a couple shots, maybe I’ll be a better dancer.”
“Somehow I don’t think you’re going to have a problem,” I say, as we blend into the crowd.
I’m right. Even without the drinks hitting our systems, it’s clear that Glenn is an amazing dancer. He pulls me to him and we’re moving with the rhythm effortlessly. This feels so much different than our first dance which was a little awkward and not sexy at all. Not really.
Now I’m focused on him, and oh my God, it’s a little overwhelming. Glenn’s hands are on my hips, guiding me and exploring. Up across my ribs and down my arms where our fingers tangle together and back to my sides where I like the feeling of his fingers holding a little tighter while we spin.
His arm slips around my waist, and I lose my breath at even that little feeling of skin on skin. My ass is pressed against him, and I can’t ignore the fact that he’s aroused. He’s not hiding it, and I don’t mind, because I’m aroused too. All that warmth from his skin and the whiskey is pooling together in my gut making me crave more. More touch, more scotch, more of this feeling.
I’m definitely getting a little drunk, but not so drunk that I don’t know what I want. I came all the way to Nashville, and while I’m here I’m going to have a good time, and I don’t want to stop. Who better to have a good time with than the guy that helped me out? I already know that he’s a good guy. That’s more than I can say for some strangers.
Glenn’s thumb hooks into the waistband of my jeans, and it’s that little, intimate touch that makes me gasp. I didn’t know a finger could make me feel like that. I turn so that we’re face to face, locking my arms around his neck. That finger is still there, sliding around just under the waistband of my jeans until his hand sits on the small of my back, pressing us together.
“I think you’re probably a good dancer without the shots,” I say.
“Maybe,” he says, grinning down at me. “Maybe not. Guess you might have to dance with me again when I’m sober to find out.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, there’s another way that I could find out.”
“What’s that?”
“You know what they say about dancing and sex.”
Glenn’s hands pull me tighter against him, and I can feel his erection raging hot between us. I press my chest into his so he can feel all of me. We’re barely dancing anymore, standing in the middle of a crowd of moving people. “Enlighten me,” he says.
“They say that people who are good dancers are pretty good at sex. But they also say that people who are great in bed are fantastic dancers, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter whether or not you’re sober.”
His smile is slow and sultry, and I suddenly feel like the room is ten degrees hotter. He leans down so I can hear him more clearly, lips at my ear. “So you’re saying that if I fuck you, you’ll be able to tell how well I dance?”
My breath goes short in my chest and I can hear my pulse in my ears. My whole body is pulsing with desire. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
He chuckles, and pleasant shivers run down my spine. “You really want to know how well I dance that badly?”
The heat running through me forms a blush, but the words I want to say come tumbling out of my mouth anyway. “Maybe,” I say, following our theme of the night, “or maybe I just want you to fuck me.”
Glenn’s eyes go dark, and all pretense of dancing is lost as he leans down to kiss me. It’s not a soft kiss, it’s heat and fire and promise. I moan into his mouth, and he drags me closer to him hauling me off my feet and against his body so he can kiss me harder. “I’m in town for the night,” he says, breathing hard between devouring my lips. “I have a hotel.”
“Perfect,” I say. I don’t want to go to mine, the inexpensive Airbnb that’s a room in someone’s apartment. Somehow I don’t think that bringing back someone to fuck would go over well.
We don’t move right away, we’re still kissing. I let my hands roam across his body, feeling him through his clothes. God, I want to feel him without his clothes. I’m wet beneath my jeans, and I need more than this. If we don’t leave, I’m going to drag him somewhere in the club, and I don’t care how many people watch.
That’s probably the alcohol talking. But who cares. “Let’s go,” I say.
His hands don’t leave my skin as he guides me back to the bar and pays the bill, and grabs the bottle of the whiskey from the bartender. I take a swig of it when he offers it to me, savoring the burn in my throat.
We’re on the curb now, and the September air is perfect. The heat of the day is gone and it’s cool enough to be comfortable, with a breeze blowing across my skin. Glenn’s arms come around me from behind and I sink into them, loving the feel of his lips on my neck. God, this is so good. So, so good.
A car pulls up, and Glenn opens the door for me. I slide inside, and we’re kissing before the door even closes behind us.
When Glenn said that he had a hotel, I was thinking a normal hotel. You know, with a room and a bed and maybe a little sitting room. Nope. This is a fucking luxury hotel. And we’re in a suite. I think it might be the penthouse, but I didn’t really pay attention in the elevator—Glenn’s hands were distracting me.
There’s a wall of windows overlooking downtown Nashville, the whole city looks like a sparkling maze of lights. There’s a giant TV and a fireplace and what looks like a full office set up. Holy shit.
I mean, I really should have expected it. This guy dropped who knows how much money on some of the most expensive whiskey around. The entire fucking bottle, which is now sitting on the counter in the full kitchen. This kitchen is nicer than the one in my house.
Glenn chuckles, and I realize that I’ve just been standing in the middle of the suite staring. My head is still spinning delightfully with the alcohol, and I know that my filter is gone. But it’s the good kind of gone. I feel comfortable and free. “So you’re like, really rich,” I say.
There’s that half-smile again. “I do all right.”
“I think that’s a lie,” I say, a laugh bubbling out of my chest, “but I won’t push you on that right now.”
“Why not?” He’s grinning.
I wipe the smile off my face. “Because I came here for a reason, and you’re not touching me.”
Glenn goes still, that powerful hunger crossing his face again. He’s in front of me in moments, pinning me against his body again. “How’s that?”
I shudder. “That’s good.”
“I want you to be sure,” he says. “I don’t want this to be because you want to thank me for getting that creep off you or because you drank too much. I want to know that you’re here with me because you want to be here and no other reason.”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
I reach up and drape my arms over his shoulders. “I’m here because I want you. I’m not saying that you stepping in has nothing to do with it, but I wouldn’t be here just to say thank you. I want your cock inside of me, Mr. Rich Glenn.”
“That’s good enough for me,” he laughs.
And then he’s kissing me again, walking us to the back of the room to a door I assume leads to the bedroom. A suite like this has got to have a fucking fantastic bedroom, and I’m not disappointed. The bed looks like it goes on for miles, freshly made with crisp white bedding, and that’s all I have a chance to take in before we tumble onto it together, Glenn rolling so that his body is covering mine. Pinning me possessively with his weight and I can feel the cock I just asked for straining in between us.
I like that feeling, all pressed up against each other, bodies lining up perfectly. It’s the perfect prelude to everything, the friction warming me up and making me a little desperate. It would only be better if we were naked, and I intend for that to be the next step. When I reach for the hem of Glenn’s shirt, he stops me, hands on my wrists, pinning them the to bed. “We’ll get there,” he says. “Let me go first, and I promise you’ll have a chance to explore me. But
I want to see what it takes to make you scream.”
“Tell me how.”
“I’m going to memorize your body with my mouth. Until you’re squirming and screaming I decide that you’ve had enough.
I shiver again, surrendering to the way he kisses the bare skin of my shoulder. The way fire from his lips licks across my skin is delicious. I'm glad I wore this top, because not much separates me from him. It's a tight bandeaux, and I'm not wearing a bra underneath it. It laces up the back like a corset, so it's the only way that I can get away with wearing it. He's not going to know that though. "You'll have to undo the laces," I say.
He looks up at me for a second, mouth tipping up into a half smile. "We'll get there."
And he doesn't rush, just continues the slow perusal of my body with his lips. I want him to move faster, and yet I don't. Teeth scrape my skin above my breast, and I arch off the bed with a moan. This isn't what I expected, this slow and sexy appraisal. I expected hot and hard and fast and yes. But the way he's touching me, hands tracing down my waist and mouth grazing my skin, is kindling a fire in my gut that's soon going to be raging out of control.
This top is tight—almost too tight because my breasts have swollen under his attention—and the fact that my nipples are as hard as the rock I use as my namesake is incredibly clear. Glenn notices. He slips the tip of one nipple between his teeth, and my heart skips a beat. The sharp sensation through the fabric is enough to cause streaks of cascading pleasure down my skin and lower. His tongue wets the fabric, making it damp. It clings to my skin when he bites down on me. That little extra bit of friction makes me moan. My pussy is wet again, and there's a chance that I'm going to soak through my jeans.
But I don't care. I want him to make me soak them.
"You have fantastic breasts, and I haven't even seen them yet," he says, catching my other nipple between his teeth, making me gasp and curse. He licks through the fabric before sucking that nipple into his mouth. Tonguing me, lavishing me. "I could spend hours here."
