“He’ll fire your ass in an instant if he catches you dallying with the customers.” Eric’s voice of reason rang through my head.
I blew out a ragged breath. Crap. I needed to get a grip on reality. The rules forbade me from satisfying my itch, and damn it all if I didn’t want this mystery man to scratch me all over with the stubble on his chin. With a deep sigh, I forced the yummy thought from my head. There would be no thumping against the headboard tonight, but nothing could stop me from enjoying a healthy dose of flirty banter.
“See anything you want?” I asked with a knowing smile as I slid a drink menu in front of him.
He ignored the menu, never allowing his gaze to stray from mine so there was no mistaking the meaning of his words. “Most definitely. Grey Goose martini. Dirty.”
His voice was as smooth and rich as aged brandy. It rippled over my body, sending delectable shivers across my skin. So he liked it dirty?
My lips twitched and I gave him a once-over. “That’s the best way.”
The darkening of his eyes at my thinly veiled invitation sucked me in further under his trance. How did he define dirty? Goose bumps erupted along my arms. Perhaps a little spanking? God, I hoped so. He had strong hands. Big, too. They’d leave a sharp sting in their wake. My breathing quickened as I imagined the burn of his slap followed closely by the rub of his palm against my aching flesh.
Reaching underneath the counter, I grabbed the necessary utensils and then collected everything I would need to rock his drink. I had to stop these sick thoughts…all this because he’d used the word “dirty”. What was the matter with me?
Dirty martinis were my favorite, though. That wasn’t a lie. Especially in a place like this where the Grey Goose flowed. I went to work on pitting four Mediterranean olives, thankful for a reason to pull my gaze away from his.
“You’re new,” he said.
It wasn’t a question, but a firm statement. Like he knew every person in the place except for me and that fact irked him. My head snapped up. His gaze raked across every inch of my upper body, leaving a warm trail in its wake. When his eyes finally returned to mine, he lifted one eyebrow.
“Yes, sir,” I said, ignoring his implied question. He wanted to know my name. Let him want. Names were not part of the deal. If I was going to fuck him—and I hadn’t unequivocally ruled that out yet—then there would be no exchanging names. It was a hard and fast rule I lived by. No names guaranteed an evening of unadulterated pleasure.
“And young.” He added after a moment, leaning one forearm casually against the bar. His gaze lingered on my face. “Too young to know what you’re doing behind a bar. I’m surprised they hired you.”
I accepted his comment at face value—a calculated move on his part to get a reaction out of me. Controlling and arrogant. Arrogance and confidence often went hand in hand. As long as it translated well in the bedroom, I wouldn’t complain. But what I could not abide was pettiness. Was he lashing out at me for refusing to play the flirting game by his rules? It was time to find out. “Why don’t you reserve your judgment until after you’ve tasted my martini, old man?”
Tilting his head slightly, he regarded me closely and then chuckled. The gesture softened the edges of his mouth, making him even more attractive, if such a thing was possible. Okay. He was not petty.
“How old are you?” he asked.
Taking up a muddler, I began to gnash olives in the bottom of a mixing jar. “At least twenty-one,” I replied with a cheeky grin.
A slight tightening of his square jaw was the only indication that he disapproved of my evasive answer. He was accustomed to receiving prompt and direct responses to his questions. That much was clear.
After pouring the gin, vermouth, and olive brine over plenty of ice, I stirred the contents in the jar thoroughly before fine straining the mixture into a martini glass. Three Mediterranean olives as garnish and his drink was served. “Taste that!”
Folding my arms, I stood back to assess his reaction. He lifted the glass to his full lips and sipped, letting the liquid fill his mouth and wash over his tongue. I could almost feel it gliding down my throat and taste the saltiness. The way he savored the drink and then licked his lips, showed his appreciation.
“That’s not bad,” he said, flicking his gaze to the martini. “But mine is better. Perhaps I can interest you in a drink?” A sudden sparkle gleamed in his eyes and I steeled myself against the words I knew were coming. “What time do you get off tonight? I’d like to take you to my place and show you how a pro makes it.”
I threw back my head and laughed, basking in the warmth of the moment. The man had some serious balls, and I wanted nothing more than to accept his offer so I could feel the weight of them against my tongue. The rule said no sleeping with the patrons. I had no intention of sleeping. Perhaps I could stay at his place for an hour. Maybe two.
I waited six months to score an interview here.
Why wouldn’t my conscience take a fucking break for the night? A riot of emotions exploded inside me. I was ridiculous for even considering his offer; for a man who had only spoken a handful of words to me. A man with a gaze that pierced my soul, and spoke to my body in ways that made it hum with life.
“Thank you, I’m flattered.” I leaned over the bar, sharing a healthy view of cleavage spilling over the top of my black satin bra. “But it’s against the house rules. No sleeping with the establishment’s patrons.”
“Who said anything about sleeping?”
I lifted an eyebrow. My thoughts exactly. He wasn’t going to relent so I needed to be bolder. “I was attempting to be polite. Let me rephrase that for you in no uncertain terms. Fucking our patrons is not allowed. I’ll lose my job.”
His eyes widened ever so slightly as he raised his hand to rub his jaw. My frank words shocked him. Threw him off guard. I took the moment to offer a final round of drinks to the guests still lingering at my bar. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning and the nightclub would be closing soon.
His steady gaze never left me as I prepared a Seven and Seven in front of him. He was rethinking his options. Devising a new plan to change my mind. Bastard. I’d already made it clear I wouldn’t accept his tempting offer. A small part of me delighted in shocking this splendid man, but a big part of me worried he still might succeed in luring me to his bed. I needed to make him think we would never suit.
“Even if it wasn’t against the rules,” I said, casually meeting his gaze. “I’m afraid I’d have to decline your offer. You see, I know your type. We’re like oil and water.”
A lazy smile spread across his lips and he leaned back in his stool, undaunted by my bold claim. “My instincts say you’re kindling and I’m fire.” The heat in his gaze lent some credence to his words. And as if to prove that the heat between us burned too hot and parched his throat, he paused to sip his drink. The way his lips caressed the rim of the glass sent hot flashes down to my core.
“Enlighten me,” he continued. “I’m curious. What is it you think you know about me?”
“Let’s start with the fact that you’re a player. You enjoy the chase, but never indulge in the pleasure of a lady’s company beyond one evening.” I bit my lower lip and then leaned in to whisper, “You’re a heartbreaker. I’d be a fool to get sucked into your web. And I’m no fool.”
“Really?” He sipped his drink. “I’d bet good money you’ve broken your fair share of hearts. You undressed me earlier with your eyes from across a crowded room. That tells me you enjoy an evening of pleasure, too. I’m in good company.”
I snorted and folded my arms. “You’re unchivalrous.”
“But honest,” he said with a wink. A sudden smile lit up his face and I felt utterly charmed. “I never promise more than I plan to deliver. I can’t break your heart if we agree to one night upfront.”
This wouldn’t do. My plan was backfiring. He was quick-witted and funny. And though I would never admit it to him, I found his blunt and honest approach attr
active. I had a feeling I would always know where I stood with him, so I was a little sad to put an end to our flirtation. But it was time.
“It’s difficult to argue with that,” I said, pursing my lips. “But if I’m only promised one night, I want to know it’s going to be worth my time. And I can tell by your clothes that we’re not a match.”
“Excuse me?” he said with an arched eyebrow.
“Your suit cost more than the car I drive. Let me guess.” I assessed it with a practiced eye—fingered the velvety softness of the fabric—and inspected the stitching closely. “It set you back around forty-five grand. If you held a gun to my head, I’d put my bet on Brioni. Hand-crafted with white gold stitching?”
His lips parted and hung adrift as he regarded me. It was the most sensual thing I’d ever seen—the plump lower lip, and his tongue just barely visible. The magnetic pull was there, dragging me closer to making the worst decision of my life, I wanted desperately to resist, to hold on to this job. Just a few more seconds and I’d put an end to this crazy attraction.
With of tip of his head, he finally acknowledged me. “You know your designers, but what does that have to do with anything?”
I leaned in close, because my words were meant for his ears only. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about men who wear expensive suits it’s that they suck in bed. You’re probably no different than every other self-absorbed millionaire of my acquaintance.”
His eyes narrowed on me, and he couldn’t quite control his growing irritation as his nostrils flared for an instant. “Billionaire.” He corrected with the tiniest inflection on the “B”.
Oh shit. He was an honored guest and I had overstepped the boundaries. But despite his anger, the sparks between us were flying, and my resolve was growing weak. So, I did the one thing that would kill all hope of a rendezvous at his place after hours.
I asked his name. “Pardon the offence, Mr.?”
“Baxter,” he said with triumph glowing in his eyes. “Damon Baxter.”
CHAPTER 3
Bending the Rules
A warm flush stained my cheeks, and I closed my eyes for a moment to take a deep breath. Exhale. Had I really called my boss a self-absorbed millionaire? I opened my eyes and stared at his stony features, taking in the not-so-subtle change to his eyes. Where once there had been molten desire, there was now only cold steel.
What was left to do but push through the awkward moment with a brilliant smile? I was already royally fucked, so I might as well end my last night at Midnight Blue on a high note—with my legs wrapped around Damon Baxter’s head. He frowned at my reaction. Did he expect me to cower and apologize profusely? That was not happening.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Baxter,” I said, extending my hand. And I meant it. Maybe not under these exact circumstances. But still, the rumors were true. The man was magnificent, and I wanted to feel the powerful thrusts of his cock in my wet pussy. All was not lost yet. “I’m Samantha Rayne.”
His lips formed a grim line and for one breathless moment, I thought he might reject my peace offering. He expected an apology. But I refused to give it, because I wasn’t sorry for calling him a self-absorbed millionaire. Damon hadn’t corrected the “self-absorbed” part of my declaration earlier. We both knew it to be true.
His dark mood boiled down to one thing and one thing only. He wanted one night of pleasure between my thighs and saw the opportunity slipping through his fingers. Just as I moved to retract my offer, he grasped my hand firmly and shook. He probably wasn’t prepared for the gentle stroke of my thumb along the back of his hand, or the way I searched his eyes for some small sign that he still wanted me. Everyone told me my eyes were expressive, and right now I was telling him I’d sell my soul to the devil for one night in his arms.
I slipped my tongue out to wet my lips. His gaze darkened and I had my answer.
He stood abruptly and shoved one hand into his pant pocket. “When you’re done cleaning up for the night, meet me through that door,” he said, pointing me in the general direction. “I want a word with you.”
Then he strode away without a backward glance, or waiting to hear my reply. It took all my focus not to rush through the close process. I was a professional and always left my bar clean and ready for the next bartender. By three-thirty I had all the liquor bottles in their rightful place, the ice melted with hot water down the drain, counters wiped down and the full list of remaining tasks completed.
I made my way to the door through which Damon had disappeared earlier with sure strides, like I had every right to go there, but my bravado was lost on my coworkers. No one paid any attention to me, driven by their desire to punch out and rest their weary feet. Except for the platinum door handle, I wouldn’t have known the door was there. The rich wallpaper adorning the entire nightclub lined the door as well, effectively masking its existence. I slid it open a crack and squeezed through, using my bottom to close the door behind me.
A slow whistle escaped my lips as I scanned the opulent room and my feet sank into plush carpet. Deep plum walls provided warmth and a surprisingly cozy feel. It was swanky and private. Damon lounged on a cream leather couch closest to the fire; the one that afforded a direct view of the entrance. He took a sip of his drink and stared at me. It was then I noticed the decadent bar in the far corner of the room. Whatever he was sipping must have taken the edge off his earlier mood because he appeared calm and relaxed.
“Special privileges?” I asked, pushing off the door to stroll around the room, taking in all of the details.
“Something like that,” came his husky reply. He probably hadn’t intended for it to sound that way, but his voice was so naturally deep, I imagined he could say “flatulence” and it would still come out sounding as warm and delicious as maple syrup.
Who was this man and what inspired him? I wanted to know. A part of me wanted to sink next to him on the cream leather furniture—thick and plush—but I wasn’t sure I was welcome there yet, so I turned to the fire glowing in the marble hearth and listened to the soft music piped through a surround sound system that blended into the décor.
Was it coincidence that Rhianna crooned the words to “Stay” as I drew near to him? Something told me Damon never left anything to chance. With one sweet melody, he was closing the chasm I’d created. It captured the meaning of the moment better than I wanted to admit. An unwelcome yearning filled the space around my heart, stealing my breath.
I trailed my finger along the mantel, and glanced over my shoulder. There was more than enough room on the couch for me. He could have sat in one of the chairs, but he didn’t. Interesting that he’d chosen to meet in here “to have a word” with me. This wasn’t an office, but a room designed for entertaining.
“Do you rent this room out by the night or by the hour?” The saucy words were out of my mouth before I even registered my intent. I turned and faced him with a raised brow.
He bit the inside of his cheek, and I wondered if he did it to bite back a harsh retort, or to prevent a smile. In the end, he did neither but said, “You have a smart mouth.”
“Yes, I do.” I strolled toward him with my hands laced behind my back. His eyes drifted to where the buttons on my shirt strained against my full chest. Oh, yes. He wanted to explore the goodies beneath my blouse. My belly tingled in anticipation. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Because you secretly adore my mouth, and want more. I bet no one else dares to speak to you this way.” Bending over, I rested one of my hands on his shoulder and then rubbed my free palm against the crotch of his pants, delighting in the rock hard evidence of his desire. Moisture built up against my panties as my eyes met his. “Like I said. You like it very much.” Leaning in, I whispered in his ear. “You’ll like it even more when it’s wrapped around your cock.”
He sucked in a breath and twined his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck, holding me captive with one look. His covetous gaze riveted me to the spot, and I knew in that moment
he didn’t plan to fuck me. He would consume me body and soul.
“All in good time, Samantha.” He rasped, running the pad of his thumb along my bottom lip. His intense gaze shifted there and he licked his lips. “First, I want to taste that vulgar mouth of yours. You spew venom, but I’ll bet you’re sweet.”
The last notes of “Stay” faded and a hot, funky beat vibrated through my core, bringing a genuine smile to his face along with it.
“Are you a ‘Rude Boy’?” I asked with a questioning eyebrow.
“Why don’t you come here and find out?”
My knees grew weak as he hauled me onto his lap to straddle his thighs. He hiked up my skirt and pulled me down to rest fully against his lap. His swollen shaft pressed roughly against my crotch, and I rolled my hips, increasing the pressure and allowing a soft moan to escape my lips. If it felt this fucking good with clothes on, I was going to shatter when he finally plunged inside me.
I explored the contours of his chest through his dress shirt and reached for the top button, anxious to feast on the masterpiece I knew lay beneath. He stayed my roaming hands with one of his own and a devilish smile lit his face. “Who’s the captain here?”
I giggled and grasped his shoulders. “You are.”
“You’re a beautiful and responsive woman,” he whispered, as his fingers blazed a path down the exposed skin of my neck to the top button of my blouse. He rested in the swell of my breasts and, like an electrical current, his touch sent a tremor of lust rippling through my body. “So effortlessly sexy. I want you. From the second I laid eyes on you, I knew I had to have you.”
He tugged my head toward him until my mouth was within a hair’s breadth of his own and stopped. Hovering and waiting. Showing me who was in control. Nothing got me off harder in the bedroom than a dominant man, and I wanted nothing more than to let him please me. I closed my eyes and surrendered completely to his will.
Breaking His Rules Page 2
