by Nia Arthurs
Nervous hands scramble to join me. Shot glasses collide in the middle of the wooden table. Alcohol sloshes over pale hands and white cufflinks.
A rumble of ‘cheers’ answers the silence.
I pull my hand back. Drink to give my mouth something to do other than smile as if I want to be here.
As if I’m enjoying myself.
Who would?
I sit surrounded by Dad’s spies and brainless yes-men. Those who don’t fall into the two afore-mentioned camps resent the hell out of me.
Not that I blame them.
Almost everyone here is at least twenty years older. They’ve worked in this industry all their lives. Sweated blood. Tears. Time. Climbed the ladder, hoping, praying to get their break.
And then I rolled along with the last name Humes and the crown of nepotism sitting crookedly on my head.
Life isn’t fair.
I don’t give jack about who thinks I deserve my position or not.
It is what it is.
Today’s a celebration and I’m stuck playing the part until it’s deemed polite to leave.
Might as well make the best of it.
The tequila goes down burning. A streak of flames pours through my veins.
Liquid fire.
So good.
I squeeze my eyes closed. Savor the rush. Welcome the contentment that swoops in to unwind my tense muscles and relax my stomach.
It’s been a hectic few weeks working this acquisition. I freaking deserve this.
My gaze seeks out Franklin. One of Dad’s men. “Best bottle?”
“They kept it locked away in the back. You’ve got to know someone who knows someone.” He chuckles. A dark, self-satisfied sound that tells me he’d do anything to keep his lifestyle going, even ride on the coat tails of an enemy. “Your dad taught me that.”
Discomfort bursts around the table.
Dad.
The simple mention of his name sucks the air out of a room.
I look away.
A voice draws my attention back. “Speaking of, what’s the great Mr. Humes up to these days?”
That question’s from Sol. He’s sitting at the other end of the table.
Dark eyes bore into me.
I glare right back.
The guy plots my death in his spare time, but he hasn’t quit yet and he’s too damn good at his job for me to let go.
Terrence’s little toast was him being stupid, but Sol is quiet and shrewd. A silent hurricane.
He knows how to hit where it hurts.
The question shatters my little bubble of satisfaction.
I set my shot glass on the table. “Not sure.”
“You don’t keep up?”
“We’re both busy.”
Sol chuckles. “He’s busy, huh? Saving lions in Africa? Or was it saving polar bears in Antarctica? I can’t keep up with all the charities he’s funded since… well, you know.”
Guilt flashes.
A vein that sparks to life and then disappears.
Grabbed away by my internal flyswatter.
Stuffed back in the drawer where it belongs, where it stays out of the way.
“Yeah, Dad’s…” I force a chuckle, “he’s got a real interest in saving the world.”
His world.
His image.
His behind.
That’s all.
But I can’t say that.
I’m a Humes. My lines are straight and simple.
Don’t deviate. Don’t mess up the script.
Dad knows how to strike where it hurts. That’s why his shadow still looms so darkly over the company even though he stepped down a year ago.
I push away from the table. “I’ll order another bottle.”
“What?” Franklin looks heartbroken. “You don’t like this one?”
I don’t bother answering.
No one says a word as I scoot out of the booth, but they all lean in when I’m gone. I hear their voices shushing, whispering.
About me?
Duh.
About my father’s turbulent history?
Hell yes.
I did them a favor stepping away. They were probably busting at the gut to discuss it together, like one big happy family.
As I stroll to the bar, I let my gaze rove over the room. The décor is earnestly urban. Trying too hard to be cool. But it’s doing something right. The lounge is constantly crowded and open to revelry.
It would be a lie to say I don’t enjoy stopping by every now and then just to spy on the latest celebration and pretend, for one minute, that my life is anything other than what it is.
I’m whining.
I don’t mean to.
My life is... decent.
I’m running a multi-billion dollar company.
I’ve got a little sister who adores me.
My parents are… alive.
People are going through worse.
My eyes catch on a woman seated around one of five tables that are gathered together to contain a large group of chattering, swaying partiers.
Like her, for example.
She’s sitting amidst the laughter and chaos a miserable expression on her beautiful face.
It makes me smile, for some reason.
I wonder what she’s doing here. Who convinced her to come. Why she’s wearing her discomfort on her sleeve.
I like that.
That honesty.
My smiles are so brittle they’d crack in the wind. But I wear them. I let the comments sail over my shoulder. Roll down my back.
I never let them see me flinch.
But she’s putting it all out there.
I turn away. Lean against the counter. Give the bartender my order.
Music thrums through the room. Real music. Not the deafening EDM thing played in clubs these days. There’s an actual band on the podium playing actual music.
Yet another reason this place is my guilty pleasure.
While I wait for my drink, I bob my head to the beat and find my gaze snagging on the woman on the other end of the room.
The chairs surrounding her are empty now. Her friends are piled up on the dance floor.
Celebrating.
Having a good time.
She’s obviously not.
This time, I let my gaze linger on her. Long black hair falls down her back. Light brown skin. Eyes—almond shaped. I can’t see their color from here. What I can see are those lips. Beautiful. Full. Lush. Bright red. A come see me up close red.
Tempting.
My eyes fall down the line of her modest navy blouse with ruffled sleeves, past the drape of her black skirt that frames perfect thighs. Black heels are hooked in the rung of her chair. Slender fingers clutch her glass in a death grip, like she’s terrified someone will notice her sitting there alone and strike up conversation.
An insane urge to do just that boils within me.
Before I can, the bartender catches my attention and points to my drink. I thank him and turn around, seeking out the woman.
Only this time, when my gaze tangles with hers, brown eyes tangle right back.
She’s looking at me.
It’s just a second.
Just a flash.
It’s enough to steal my breath.
My balance.
My sanity.
Something about her gaze, about the way she’s holding herself, about her brazen appraisal, feels important. Like I’m stumbling on something profound.
Then the moment ends.
She cuts her eyes. Glances away as if she’s already sliced me, searched my soul and found that I’m not worth her time.
The dismissal snags my attention more than if she’d just smiled invitingly.
A sensation I can’t identify burns my chest.
I don’t make it a habit of approaching women in bars.
My family’s scandal bears to heavy.
Also, I can’t be bothered.
The Humes name and net-worth make
it crazy easy to keep my bed warm and my needs taken care of. Women look at me and see dollar signs.
It was fun in college.
Now, it’s gotten stale.
I find it best to keep my distance and focus on work.
But that’s a tall order tonight.
Focus on anything but her?
Impossible.
For once, I don’t care about what the guys from the company will think. What the tabloids will say if they ever find out. What’ll happen if I’m shot down which, with that thick cloak of don’t touch me around her, is a big possibility.
I need to meet this girl.
Before I can evaluate where this sudden urgency is coming from, I ease into a practiced smile—the one that opens doors and hearts and legs—and I head her way.
Chapter 3
Kayla
Crap. He’s coming over.
What do I do?
I lean forward. Grab the drinks menu. Try to hide my face in it.
It’s not working.
I can feel him drawing closer.
His presence commands every molecule in the room, every air particle.
He moves like a panther.
Strong.
Confident.
Powerful.
But he’s not a predator. And I’m not his prey.
I’m a woman.
He’s a man.
A man in a suit. A man owning that suit.
I’ve always been a sucker for the tuxedo effect, but more than the tailored jacket made me take a second look. The way he stood at the bar, one hand in his pocket, harsh lights playing off his chiseled jaw and thick black hair—oh yeah, I couldn’t help but notice.
A tingle climbs my spine.
He’s close. Right behind me.
I chew on my bottom lip.
My breath catches in my throat.
I’m nervous.
For what?
I’m not sure.
I know his type. See them all the time in my office. Men who think they own the world. Cocky. Big ego. Full of air.
When they come crawling for a match, I kick them out of my sight so fast their heads spin like the hands on their fancy, diamond-studded watches.
So what is it about this one that makes me feel like I’m about to have a heart attack?
Goosebumps pop on my skin when I sense him easing into the chair next to me.
Should I run?
It would look weird if I took off now.
Crap.
And then, it’s too late.
He’s settled.
His body a breath away.
A clean fragrance carries across. A soothing, woodsy scent. Smooth and warm. Expensive.
Just like him.
“You look as miserable as I feel,” he says.
Rumbles.
He definitely rumbles.
His voice is deep. Like thunder. Like the pounding of an old, animal skin drum.
I glance at him.
Mercy.
I should have kept my eyes to myself.
Stealing glimpses from afar was one thing. Seeing his face up close… I fight to keep my gaze steady and my jaw from hitting the floor.
He’s tall. Broad shoulders. Not body-builder massive but well built. Something I’d noticed from a distance. His dark hair is styled short on the sides and thicker on top. Polished. Classy. Square jaw. Dimple in his left cheek. Gorgeous silver eyes take me in. Pink lips curve up in a smile. Like what you see?
Yes.
The answer is yes.
My eyes linger on his mouth. A sudden, insane urge to test if it’s as soft as it looks barrels into me.
I blink rapidly to shake the thought off. Lift my chin. “That your best pick up line?”
“Just an observation.”
“You’ve been watching me.”
“So have you.”
I duck my head and curse myself once more for sneaking peeks at him.
“Brendon.” A big hand hovers between us.
I grasp it lightly. Rasp my fingers across his palm. In the flesh between his thumb and forefinger.
Electricity skitters up my spine.
I shudder. Avoid his eyes. Drag my hand back.
“Kayla.”
The memory of that innocent touch sears me again.
I press my thighs together.
“Mind if I sit?” he asks.
I nod to the chair he’s taken. “Isn’t it a little late for that? You’re already making yourself comfortable.”
“Just trying to be polite.”
“What a gentleman.”
“I’m glad I have you fooled.”
I hold my glass with both hands and stare into the mostly-filled cup to hide my grin. I’m already starting to feel at ease.
Which is a problem.
Something tells me I can’t let my guard down around him or I’ll be complete putty in his hands. Wrapped around his little finger. Caving to whatever he asks. Wherever he wants it.
My heart thuds.
It’s been too long. Venus’s insistence that I get laid by any means possible is messing with my head.
This guy is no one-night stand material. He’s a big bowl of heartbreak.
And my heart can’t take any more damage.
I clear my throat. “You’re wrong by the way.”
“About?”
“I’m having fun.” I take a sip of my drink, that’s no longer cold, to prove the point.
“Mm-hm?”
“Tons.”
“I guess I was mistaken.”
“We all have our moments.”
The way his lips quirk in amusement, he’s not buying it. “Can I get you another drink?” He nods to the beer that’s gone tepid and now tastes like garbage.
“I’m fine.”
An eyebrow lifts. A playful smile teases his gorgeous mouth. “You are.”
The way he says it…
He’s talking about me. Not the drink.
Gosh, I’m so out of my comfort zone here it’s almost painful.
“Should I return the compliment?”
“No need.” He leans forward. “I know a kindred spirit when I see one.”
“You and me?”
“We both would rather be anywhere but here.”
I press my lips together. “Ah… I see.”
“See what?”
“Is this the part where you offer to take me to your place?” I roll my eyes. Keep talking before he can deny it. “You know, not every woman is interested in leaving bars with total strangers. I came to celebrate with my friends…” I stop short at that because I, honestly, have no personal connection to the bride.
He catches on quickly. “More like you were dragged here?” He scrunches his nose at my beer. “Designated driver?”
“Whatever I am, it’s none of your business.” I lift my chin. “I’m kind of tired of guys expecting women sitting alone at a bar to be desperate.”
“Now when did I say that?” His voice is mischievous.
I try to keep mine from shaking. “It was implied.”
“When I offered a drink or when I called us both miserable?” He leans forward. Close enough that I can see the black flecks in his silver eyes. “I’d really like to know.”
“You’re the expert.”
“In what?”
“Flirting.”
He chuckles.
I’m so not good at this.
“Is that what we’re doing?”
“Why else would you come over?” I gesture to him. My heart thudding, I blurt, “I’m sure you’re used to girls tearing off their panties when you snap your fingers but I—”
“Tearing off?” Silver eyes glimmer with offense.
Or is that interest? His gaze dips to the short skirt, that I had to destroy my room to find, as if he’s thinking about what I would look like giving my own little demonstration.
Desire swirls in my insides.
He glances back up. Into my eyes. His are dark.
Like moonlight in the ocean. Spilling silver on rough waves.
I huff out a breath, sensing that I’m about to get red. My brown skin is light enough to show the color. “You’re wasting your time.”
He leans forward. His tongue flicks out to rest on the corner of his mouth while I sit there, trying not to drool. “What if I promised to make good use of your time?”
Attraction barrels into the air between us.
Throbbing. Rolling. Misbehaving.
Heat flares through my veins and down my spine.
I can’t pretend this gorgeous stranger isn’t lighting me up in places that have been dark for way too long.
No.
I can’t do this.
I can’t date.
But if it’s only one night…
I clear my throat. “What exactly are you offering?”
He chuckles. His demeanor shifts from steely seduction to lazy confidence. “I’d tell you, but I don’t want to assume.” He draws near. Whispers, “Not every woman sitting alone in a bar is desperate.”
He’s playing dumb.
Asking me to beg for it.
My body stiffens even as my heart races. Yet another reason why I can’t stand the cocky, melt my bones with a smirk type. Their arrogance knows no bounds. They can’t be satisfied just taking what they want, they have to be acknowledged for it.
“Forget it then.”
He grins. “You’re offended?”
“You blew your chance.”
“I thought I had no chance.”
“There was this much.” I hold my thumb and pointer finger a millimeter apart. “Now it’s gone.”
“Here I was, thinking I’d take a break from snapping my fingers and try being respectful for once.”
I laugh.
He angles his head to the side and captures my breath with his intense stare. His gaze sears me. Inside me. As if he’s burning through flesh and bone to the center of me.
The laughter dies in my throat. I can do nothing but stare back, held in suspension. Trapped in his eyes.
Brendon seems to make a determination because his gaze softens.
His demeanor shifts entirely.
I know exactly what he’s going to ask me.
And I know I’ll say yes.
My stomach flips in anticipation as I wait.
This is crazy.
Dangerous.
Bordering stupid.
But it’s been so long since I’ve taken a risk. Since I’ve felt a man’s touch. Since I’ve known the ecstasy of…
A phone chirps.
His.
