Taking His Victory: (The Men of River City book 4)

by Nola Marie

  Little does he know that I’m not easily caught and when I’m cornered, I fight.

  “Mr. Valen,” the maître d’ this restaurant welcomes when we walk in the foyer of the place, “we have your table waiting, sir.”

  This guy doesn’t even bat an eyelash at the girl with all the tattoos. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. He bats an eyelash, but not in disdain. He is checking me out without being too obvious.

  “His eyes bugged out of his head when he saw you,” Zane whispers in my ear. It’s a fight to control the shudder that wants to come out of me.

  “I’m not trying to sound vain or conceited, but I’m used to guys’ reactions to me,” I say casually like it’s no big deal. It really isn’t either. I turn heads. Long, straight nearly white-blond hair, brown eyes, and tan attracts attention. My body isn’t bad either. It’s an athlete’s body. Not super curvy, but tight and tone in all the right places.

  “It doesn’t sound conceited at all. You’re just self-aware. I get it.”

  Of course, he does. I am constantly surrounded by hot as hell men since I’m always around Maddox and Ryder. Angel and Jake before him as well. My brother is attractive too, but ew.

  But Zane Valen is another level entirely. I’ve never in my life seen another man look like him. In a lot of ways, aesthetically, we fit perfectly. Both blond, tall, with dark eyes, and toned bodies. I’ve never seen Zane’s body in real life. At least, not without the clothes. Just in pictures. But holy hell how is it possible to have so many muscles? And not the type where his arms are the size of his head, but lean tight muscles meant to keep him fast.

  I take in the ambiance of the place. It’s beautiful and elaborate, but in an elegant sort of way. A lot like the New Year’s Eve party. The one where things kind of went sideways for Zane and me.

  Beautiful white linen tablecloths cover each table with beautiful centerpieces of roses sitting in the middle surrounding a single long stem candle. Dangerous, but beautiful looking crystals hang from the ceiling over the bar where the bartenders are dressed in tuxedos and make me think of the old movies I loved to watch as a kid. That I still watch on occasion.

  We are led to a table with a breathtaking view overlooking the city. A few people glance Zane’s way, clearly recognizing who he is, but not many people seem to care. A place like this probably has its fair share of celebrities of every variety.

  It suddenly occurs to me why they frequent places like this. It’s not because they’re trying to flash wealth or play a part. It’s because in places like this they can be inconspicuous. They’re just another person with money or fame surrounded by others who are the same. Others who see so many people with much more fame than Zane, that he probably doesn’t even register in their minds.

  At least, I can see that’s why Zane likes this place. While he may like the attention he gets, he still values his privacy. Who wants to eat their meal while staving off fans?

  We take our seats and within seconds a waiter appears. “I am James, your server this evening. Might I interest you in a cocktail or appetizer while you review our menu?”

  Zane gesture to me for whatever I want. “Just a glass of water please.”

  “IPA,” Zane says. “No appetizers. Just the dinner menu.”

  “Would you like a wine list, sir?”

  “Yes,” he says while I sit there shaking my head remembering him buying an entire bottle just for me last time, he took me to dinner.

  He hands us the menu then turns to give us time to make our decision.

  “You are not buying another bottle of wine just for me,” I tell him with a little hiss to my tone.

  “I never said I was,” he says while looking over the menus. “Know what you want to order?”

  I scowl, not liking his casually ambivalent tone. I have a feeling another expensive bottle of wine is in the works but turn back to the menu.

  “Have we made a decision?” the waiter says startling me.

  Zane looks at me with eyebrows raised in question. I give a nod. “I’ll have a sixteen-ounce ribeye, grilled broccoli, and wild rice,” he says.

  “I’ll have the Cajun snapper, please,” I say.

  Zane’s lips twitch slightly, and I wonder what was funny.

  “And wine, sir?” Zane motions for the waiter to come down to his level and whispers something in his ear making my gut clench. I know he’s ordering a stupidly expensive bottle of something.

  When the waiter leaves, Zane turns to me with a full grin. “Darlin’, you know that snapper isn’t really Cajun don’t ya?”

  I blink. Then blink again. That’s what’s funny to him? Not the ridiculously expensive bottle of wine he just ordered because I know he ordered it.

  “Zane, do you think you can buy me?” I hiss at him.

  His eyes narrow. His grin falls. His jaw clenches. He leans across the table.

  But I cross my arms across my chest and sit up straight in my chair. I’m not backing down. I cannot be bought.

  “What the fuck makes you think I would ever try to buy anyone?” he growls. “I don’t need to flash money or anything else to get someone’s attention, and if I did then they wouldn’t be anywhere near me. You think I don’t know what the fuck a gold digger looks like? I’ve been chased by them for years, sweetheart.”

  Damn. I insulted him. Like really, really insulted him. It wasn’t intentional but I remember the bottle of wine last time he took me out and the amazing dress he bought for me at New Year’s. I didn’t really think he was trying to buy me, per se, but it did cross my mind that he was using money to impress me.

  But even as I say and think all of that, I know it's bullshit. Especially after the realization I'd come to only moments ago. It's just another excuse I'm looking for to keep distance between us. Another bridge to cross and wall to tear down. I'm looking for flaws that aren't there. I'm looking for anything to keep from getting drawn into him.

  “Zane, I’m so -.”

  “You have a fucking habit of doing that, you know?” he cuts me off. “You assume because I have money that I’m using it to buy my way with people. Darlin’, I’ve never had to buy my way with anyone. I spend money I have because I want to. Plain and simple.”

  “You ordered another bottle of wine and I just thought -.”

  “Stop insulting me by assuming I need to pay for pussy and stop insulting yourself by thinking someone would feel like they need to buy you. I ordered a fucking bottle of champagne because I remembered you like it. It’s expensive because I can afford it.”

  “I just -.”

  “Tori, you might want to stop while you’re ahead. You’re making yourself look bad not me.”

  I jerk my head back in shock and clamp my mouth shut. I want to be angry, but how can I be? He’s absolutely right. I am saying these things to him to stay on the offense with the intentions of offending. Because if he's offended then maybe he will move on to another girl. I'm making assumptions that I know deep down I don't mean or believe to keep him at arm's length. He’s being nice and generous while I cheapen his actions and make myself seem like I’m not worth it. I’m stereotyping him. I hate that I am doing it because that’s not me.

  The waiter brings over the champagne in a bucket of ice, opening it for us then pouring my glass while handing Zane his beer. I close my eyes and take a sip when he walks away. I can’t stop myself from groaning at the crisp explosion of flavor on my tongue and the bubbles tickle my nose. It’s like an orgasmic experience for my mouth.

  I open my eyes to see Zane leaning back in his chair so damn casually it’s a bit annoying with a big grin on his face. It’s a knowing grin. One that says he knew this would be my reaction to the champagne.

  “You like it?” he asks as he turns up his beer.

  “It’s okay,” I shrug like my tastebuds didn’t just orgasm.

  He laughs loudly, not caring in the slightest that this isn’t the kind of place that you should be loud in. “Darlin’ if that was just okay, I’m
going to fucking love hearing you moan when you think something is amazing.”

  I keep my face stony and ambivalent, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of my admission that he read me spot on. Or acknowledge the innuendo there.

  Staying on the offense.

  I look out the window overlooking the city. I love New York, but once in a while I just want to be somewhere not so busy or hustling. I want to slow down and enjoy the day without the noise and the smog. But views like this make me appreciate where I live. Nowhere else in the world can you find art and fashion and music like you can here. The skyline itself is a work of art. Just one not seen from my third-floor apartment.

  In this moment, I realize just how busy I’ve been with the shop since Dane left. I had no idea he was going to leave me in charge of everything, and I didn’t realize everything he did to make sure the shop ran smoothly. I definitely never thought it was so much freaking paperwork.

  “Where’d you go, Darlin’?” he drawls across from me.

  “Hmm?” I turn to him to see his mesmerizing dark eyes studying me intently.

  “Just now? Where did your head go?”

  “Kind of nowhere and everywhere all at once,” I admit with a sigh. “I’ve been pretty busy with Dane gone, and I miss Mads.”

  “Hear they’re doing pretty good out on the road,” Zane nods but I catch a slight shadow cross his eyes.

  “What? What was that look?”

  He shakes his head with a laugh. “It’s nothing, Darlin’. Just hope Maddox is keeping his nose clean is all.”

  I bristle at his statement. “What is your problem with him? He’s a good guy, and he tried to take care of Zoey.”

  “He’s in love with Zoey, Tori. And I don’t have a problem with him. We’re straight now, but we have history.”

  I cringe a little at my reaction. I wonder if Zane realizes what I'm doing? I wonder if it's working at all?

  “It’s not, you know?” he says with a smirk. “Working I mean.”

  “Wh – what?”

  “You trying to piss me off or brush me off. It’s not working. I’m not easily deterred, Tori.”

  “I – I’m not -.”

  He leans forward with a twitch to the corner of his lips. “You are. Look, I know I was an ass after what happen with Zoey. And an even bigger ass in Vegas. I am sorry for all of that. I’m sorry I held you to an impossible and unfair standard and I’m sorry I lost my shit about you and Maddox.”

  “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about what happen at the party,” I tell him sincerely. “I really am. I didn’t know what I should do because Zoey was so panicked. After what you and Mads told me, I didn’t want to do anything that would cause her to run away again, and I wanted her to be able to confide in me. But a few days after I got home, with a little help, I realized I needed to tell you. I was going to call you, but Jax beat me to it. I’d literally just decided I was going to tell you that evening when I walked into the shop to find Jax and his brother waiting for me.”

  “He was desperate. Fuck, I was too. I didn’t know he was coming here. He was gone and back before I even knew. Rory came with him to make sure he kept his cool.”

  I tilt my head a little in question. “Kept his cool?”

  “Jax has absolutely no restraint when it comes to Zoey. I have seen him break a guy's nose for calling her hot. Fuck, Maddox had to leave River City altogether after what happen with him and Zoey. Jax would've killed him if he stayed. He wanted to when he came back. Zoey is the only reason he didn't. After that party, he thought he was losing her again. He was fucking losing her again.” His eyes grow infinitely darker and tight. This is hard for him to talk about, and I understand why.

  In a moment of sympathy, forgetting that I’m trying to keep my distance from him, I reach across the table for his hand. Instantly, my skin heats at the contact. I want to yank my hand back, but I internally groan and grit through the stupid attraction and focus on the comfort I’m trying to project.

  I don’t have to pull back, though. Zane shocks me when he pulls back instead. He isn’t comfortable with his emotions and vulnerability. Not over this anyway. Which, honestly, is also a shock considering he is so laid-back and comfortable in his own skin and about nearly everything else.

  He clears his throat as he looks out the window. The waiter appears with our food, and we eat in silence. After a few minutes, his shoulders have relaxed, and his smirk has reappeared. “Enjoying your Cajun snapper?” he quips sarcastically.

  “Maybe you should try it before you judge,” I offer.

  “Lay it on me, baby.”

  I feel myself heat and flush at the innocent and meaningless term. I keep trying to remind myself that this can’t go anywhere. It’s completely pointless.

  My head has gotten the memo. My heart and body not so much.

  I don’t let myself linger on my body’s reaction, though. Instead, I cut a piece of my fish and bring it to his lips. With that smirk that never stops he wraps his lips around the fork.

  And. Oh. My. God.

  How is it possible that lips around a fork from a guy could be so damn hot?

  I’m starting to think it has been way too long since I’ve had sex.

  But it is not happening with Zane. Nope. Not. Happening.

  He takes a few seconds to really taste it then shakes his head. “It’s not bad, but, Darlin’, when I get you to River City, I’m taking you to Maw maw’s.”

  The champagne I’m sipping goes up my nose as a very unladylike snort escapes me. I begin to cough as I choke on the champagne.

  Zane begins laughing a full belly laugh again. It feels like every eye in the restaurant is on us. But soon I join him because it’s kind of infectious. It’s really nice that he doesn’t worry about the surroundings and is unapologetically himself. And he really doesn’t go out of his way to make me feel comfortable or less embarrassed about what happened. But somehow, he does anyway.

  And if that’s not confusing, I don’t know what is.

  The rest of our meal is relaxed and enjoyable. He takes me to a club to dance afterwards. Around one in the morning, he’s walking me back up to my apartment. “Thank you, Zane,” I tell him when we get to the door. “I had a good time.”

  “Even though you tried hard not to,” he says giving me a knowing look.

  “Which obviously didn’t work,” I admit. He shakes his head with a chuckle.

  “Go out with me tomorrow night.” It’s not a demand, but it’s not a question either. It's just his way.

  “Zane,” my tone dips showing my discomfort. “I -.”

  His lips are on mine before I can form a complete thought. Before I can argue any further, he has me pressed against the door. He winds his hands into my hair as his tongue invades my mouth. I try to fight, but it’s hopeless. This pull I feel toward him is too much to resist when his mouth is on mine.

  My hands that I put against his chest to push him away are gripping him trying to pull him closer. I want to bury myself inside of him. I want him buried inside of me. It’s evident by the heat flooding my core and the throbbing I feel.

  I am just about to drag him into my apartment, straight to my bed, when he pulls away leaving me flushed and wanting.

  “Tomorrow, Tori,” he tells me as he walks away leaving me standing there with a gaping mouth and unfulfilled needs.

  Zane

  Laughter fills the conference room as we sit and wait on everyone else to make an appearance. “This makes the third time you’ve been up there, and you still haven’t fucked her?” Jax chortles.

  I just got back from New York this morning after another extended trip. I lean back in the plush chair around the massive, glass conference table with my fingers laced behind my head. A slow grin spreads my face. “Nope,” I pop, “and every time I walk away, she’s panting harder than the last time.”

  “You’ve got a lot more self-control than I ever thought you did. Don’t understand why you want to make her beg t
hough.”

  “I don’t want her to beg,” I say because it’s true. I don’t want Tori to beg me for anything. I want her to know it’s already hers if she will just fucking take it. “I just want her to admit that she wants me instead of fighting it. To admit there is something there and take a fucking chance. I don’t know what the hell she’s scared of.”

  Jax laughs again as he tries to stretch his long ass legs under the table. He joins me looking at the ceiling as we both consider what I’ve told him. “Maybe the idea of commitment just freaks her the fuck out,” he suggests.

  Bastian and Rory stroll into the conference room. Rory looks strangely calm. No. He looks warm and friendly. I’m still having a hard damn time getting use to his face looking anything but stony and icelike. Bastian, on the other hand, looks bored and like his head is somewhere else. If I had to guess, it’s back at his loft across the river with a certain curly haired blonde that has turned him inside out.

  “Ask him,” Jax says jerking his head toward Bastian.

  “Ask who what?” Rory says as he takes a seat beside Jax.

  “Ask Bastian what fear of commitment looks like,” Jax says with cocky grin.

  Bastian growls beside me, and I have to work not to laugh. “I don’t have a fear of commitment,” he grumbles. “I’ve been committed to you three assholes for a while now. Among other things.”

  “What else have you committed to?” Rory asks incredulously as he begins to roll up the sleeves of his shirt.

  “Business,” Bastian says with a look daring anyone to disagree.

  “Bastian,” Jax chuckles, “that’s not exactly a hard commitment for you. We’re talking about committing to a woman.”

  Another growl slips his throat. Bastian is already in a bit of a struggle right now because of Verity. She stumbled in and knocked the asshole for a loop. He can fight it all he wants but what he feels for Verity is written all over his face. “What about him?” he finally counters with a jerk of his head in my direction.