by Sienna Blake
I run my tongue across my teeth. I look down at my phone that I am clutching in my hand, mentally urging it to buzz with either a call or a text. Nope.
I turn around and catch the eye of that same guy again. I glance away immediately. The last thing I want is to encourage the attention of some idiot whilst I’m alone. I turn back around to the bar as I mentally try to sort my way out of this. Perhaps I’m early enough to catch a bus. Maybe I can get a cab to drop me off as far as my limited cash will go and I can walk the rest of the way?
Some jerk takes up the space right next to me. He stands too close even though there’s plenty of space along the bar. His presence feels menacing and he’s at least a foot taller than me. I try not to cower away. Stay strong. Don’t be intimidated. I can feel his gaze burning into my profile as he stares at me, but I won’t look at him and give him the satisfaction of knowing I have noticed him.
The man leans in, his breath smelling sharp from some kind of liquor. “Excuse me, miss.” His voice is oddly soft. “My boss wants a word with you.”
His boss? Who the hell talks like that? I turn towards him so I can retort, but the words die on my lips when I see him. He’s huge with milk chocolate skin and a thick neck. He has a black patch over one eye and long dreadlocks that drape over his shoulders to his nipple line.
“Did you hear me, miss? My boss wants a word with you?”
I blink. He is definitely talking to me. I frown. “Your boss?”
Dreadlocks nods his head in the direction of one of the booths and I know before I confirm with a look that he’s nodding to the man whom I had caught staring at me.
“Look,” I say slowly. I don’t want to insult someone the size of a God damn tank. “Tell your boss thanks, but I’m not interested.”
Dreadlocks frowns at me. “But the boss wants to speak with you.”
“Well, it seems we are at an impasse because I don’t want to speak to him.”
“But…” now Dreadlocks seems a bit flustered, “he’s the boss.”
I fight the urge to laugh. Seriously? Who does this “boss” think he is?
“He might be your boss, but he isn’t mine.” I wave my hand to a group of three women nearby who are giggling and grinding on each other with their skirts up around their crotches with one eye open for the men who are watching them. “I’m sure one of those lovely young ladies would be happy to speak to your boss instead.”
Dreadlocks doesn’t answer. He walks away and I sigh as a rush of relief floods over me.
My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s a text from Trisha.
Gone w hot guy. I mean HOT. Can u find ur own way home? Thnx!
I blow out a lungful of air through my lips. I shouldn’t be surprised. Now what?
I feel his presence at my side again. I sigh. Great. Not only do I have to deal with finding a way home but this numbnut has to be persistent.
I don’t even bother looking at him when I speak, “Look, just tell your boss that I’m a raging lesbian if you don’t want to bruise his precious ego.”
He laughs and it’s deep and rich and thick enough to cut through the noise around us. That’s when I realize it’s not Dreadlocks by my side. Oh shit. I get an odd feeling. I slowly turn my head to look. Double shit. It’s the guy who was staring at me. The boss. He came back himself. I swallow hard.
He isn’t as tall or as wide as Dreadlocks, but he still looks like he’s strong and well-defined under his tailored suit and black shirt, unbuttoned at the neck to reveal the top of dark chest hair. Up close he’s handsome in a very exotic way, dark hair and even darker eyes framed by thick, stern eyebrows. He’s smacking his teeth with his tongue behind thick closed lips. His arrogance fills out his muscled shoulders and pushes out at his pecs, making him seem bigger than he is. I try to ignore the curl of interest tickling my insides.
“You wanted me to come get you myself. So here I am.” His voice is rolling and there is a slight accent in there that I can’t pick up.
“Excuse me?”
“Granted Garfield isn’t the most approachable-looking of people. But you should be glad I didn’t send Snake. Snake is most definitely not a people person. If I didn’t like you, I would have sent Snake.”
Snake? Who the fuck names their kid Snake?
I realize a second later that Garfield must be the man with the dreadlocks who approached me first. “I never told Garfield to have you come over yourself.”
“You didn’t have to say it for me to know what you want.”
I laugh. Is this guy for real? He doesn’t seem perturbed. He whistles at one of the bartenders and it makes me flinch. Who the hell whistles at the bar staff like they are dogs? The bartender ignores the next few people who are waiting in line and rushes over to the Bossman and me. I frown. Who the hell gets that much priority?
“A bottle of Krug Grande Cuvee and two glasses,” the Bossman says to the bartender, but he keeps his eyes on me as he says it. He has such beautiful dark eyes but his gaze is probing and uncomfortable and it makes me squirm inside. The bartender fusses about behind the bar.
“Please,” I say before I can think about it.
Bossman frowns at me. “Please what?”
“You didn’t say ‘please’.” His frown deepens. “When you ordered,” I clarify.
He breaks out into laughter and the sound matches him, loud and thick and confident. An open bottle of champagne stuck in an ice bucket – silver with a crest on it – and two flutes are deposited in front of us.
He pours two glasses and holds one out to me. I notice that he hasn’t paid the bartender nor has he said, “Thank you.” I fold my arms to my chest. “You haven’t even said ‘thank you’. I don’t make a habit of talking to people who have no manners.”
He stares at me for a moment then raises an eyebrow. I don’t give in. He sighs, puts the two glasses down on the bar and whistles at the bartender again.
“Can I help you, sir?” The same bartender is back. I can’t help but notice the beads of sweat on his forehead when he looks at Bossman.
Bossman clears his throat. He seems uncomfortable. “I just wanted to say thank you. For the champagne.”
The bartender blinks and it’s a war between them as to who is more uncomfortable. “Oh, er, that’s fine, sir.”
Bossman nods and snaps his attention back to me. His mesmerizing eyes have hardened again with confidence. He grabs the two glasses and holds one of them out to me. I take it only because I feel like I should reward his good behavior. He lifts up his glass in a toast and smiles. I can’t help but notice how good he looks when he smiles. “Cheers to you, princess. I can tell already that you are going to keep me on my toes.”
He clinks the glass to mine and knocks back the whole thing. I take the smallest of sips. I’m not in the habit of accepting alcohol from strange men. To be fair, I’m not really in the habit of accepting anything from any man. He begins to pour himself another glass. He frowns when he sees my glass is still full.
“You don’t like it?”
“I, um, no. It’s fine.”
He snorts. “‘It’s fine.’ Krug is one of the most expensive champagnes in the world and, ‘it’s fine,’ she says.”
I gawk. Who the hell buys a stranger a bottle of expensive champagne?
“Listen, buddy. Don’t make out like I owe you anything. I never asked you to buy me champagne. Jesus, I don’t even know who the hell you are.”
He purses his lips and I can’t help but glance at them when he does. They look thick and kissable and I wonder if he would be as forceful with his kiss as his current imposition on my time and space. For a moment I think he might yell at me. He doesn’t. The anger dissolves and is replaced with a soft smile that I’ll bet is the one he uses when he wants to disarm someone.
“You’re right, princess.” I start to protest his nickname for me but he silences me by taking the flute out of my right hand and replacing the flute with his fingers. He brings my hand up close to his mouth
. “I’m doing this all wrong. Forgive me, I’m out of practice. I don’t think I have ever met any woman who has made me work as hard as you, just to get you to have a drink with me.” His eyes remain on me as his lips devour my knuckles and I feel the small touch of his tongue through his parted lips as he tastes my skin for the first time. I fight the shiver that rushes down my spine.
“I am Jacob Tyrell.”
I try to take my hand from him, but he won’t let me go and he won’t stop licking the sensitive space between my knuckles. A flicker of heat sparks in my belly. He really does have beautiful eyes.
“Look, Jacob,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I can’t let this guy know that he unnerves me. “This is all very nice with the champagne and everything, but I’m not that kind of girl. I’m not saying this just to you, I’d say this to any man who approached me tonight.”
“Maybe I just want to talk to you.”
Now it is my turn to snort. I roll my eyes over his assured smirk and his open-hipped stance and his shiny designer shoes. “No offense, but you don’t look like the type of guy who just wants to talk.”
“Maybe I could be different with you. Let me try.”
I shake my head and turn my body away from him. This time he lets my hand go.
He leans in close. “What if I promised you that I won’t even try to kiss you tonight? Would you come and sit and talk with me?”
I turn my head and raise my eyebrow at him. “You just want to talk.”
He holds up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
I laugh a little. “You were never a scout.”
He pouts and pretends to look hurt. “How can you accuse me of lying to you?”
I pull at one of his fingers and unfold it so that he’s now holding up three. His hands are warm, and touching him creates a little buzz under my skin. “You need three fingers for scout’s honor.”
He grins. “Okay, fine, you got me. I was never a scout. But I promise you that if you give me a little of your time just to talk, I shall make sure you get home safe, unkissed and with your virtue intact.”
I pause. Did he just offer me a ride? As much as I don’t think it is smart to let this stranger know where I live, I don’t really have much of a choice at the moment. Besides, the university campus is huge. I can make him let me off at the campus gates and he would still not know which dorm building I live in.
“Okay,” I say slowly.
Jacob rewards me with a dazzling smile. “Please.” He holds out a hand. “Shall we sit in my private booth?”
Private booth. French champagne. Shiny designer shoes. This guy is way out of my league. I guess the quicker he realizes I’m a barely-making-ends-meet nursing student he’ll send me on my way.
He whistles again to get the attention of the bartender. “Have this sent to my booth.” He steals a glance at me then turns back to the bartender. “Um, please.”
I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips before I walk through the crowd to the booth that I had seen him sitting in earlier.
Standing on one side of the booth is Garfield. He nods to me in acknowledgment and I nod back. On the other side is another man, thinner and shorter than Garfield. He has shallow cheeks and pale skin and is good looking in a scary kind of way. He’s standing with his weight on one leg, hands fisted across his chest. This is Snake, I presume. When I catch his eyes I understand what Jacob meant when he said that Snake was “not a people person”. Snake’s eyes are black and soulless and I can’t help but shiver.
Jacob stands next to me and places his hand between my shoulder blades. I look at the women in the booth – three of them – who are staring at us. Correction, glaring at me and fluttering their ridiculous false eyelashes at Jacob. I get a sense that any one of these “ladies” would think nothing of stabbing me in the face when Jacob’s back was turned. Oh God. What am I getting myself into?
“Alright, ladies,” Jacob says, and I think he is about to introduce us. “Goodnight and get out of my booth.”
One of them gasps then pouts her gaudily-painted lips at Jacob.
“What the fuck?” the second one snarls.
The third one laughs and flips out her hands to pat playfully at Jacob’s arm. “Oh, you’re such a joker, Jakey. He’s joking, guys. Calm down.”
“Not joking, Mandy. Get the fuck out my booth.”
I feel the eyes of the second one roaming over my dress. Yes, it’s tighter and skimpier than anything I would ever usually wear, but it is practically a nun’s garb compared to the shreds of material that these girls are wearing. I’m wearing a strapless back pencil dress that drops to an inch above my knee with a black lace overlay up to my neck like a choker and fitted sleeves down to my wrists.
“Are you fucking serious?” she says. “You’re giving the three of us up for… this?”
I jump when Jacob slams a hand down on the table. So do the three girls. “You say one more thing about her and I will personally make sure you are never allowed to set foot in any club in this whole goddamn city. Now. Get. The fuck. Out.”
They pause for a moment before gathering their purses and yanking themselves out of the booth. Jacob grabs me and tucks me against his side when the loudmouth one shoulder charges me as she moves past us.
The one named Mandy hoists her chin up as she pulls herself out of the booth. “And it’s not Mandy, it’s Mindy, asshole.”
Jacob rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
I slap Jacob on his arm. “Hey. Don’t be so mean to her.”
Jacob turns his dark brooding eyes on me. “She was only after me for my money. What does that say about her?”
“You were spending your time with her. What does that say about you?”
He pauses then makes an exasperated noise. “Sorry, Mindy,” he calls after the girl. “Have a nice night.”
“Fuck you, asshole.” She yells back over her shoulder before she disappears through the crowd.
I slide into the booth. I notice that same crest is painted in gold, large across the wall of the booth. It’s an eagle behind a shield with a halo made of leaves above its head. It must be the club’s crest. I also notice it engraved on the napkins scattered among the mess on the table. There are two bottles of half-full Grey Goose vodka sitting in ice buckets and way too many glasses.
I expect that Jacob will take the other side. He doesn’t. He slides in next to me just as the bartender arrives with our champagne. The bartender cleans up the used glasses and sneaks curious glances at me, while I try not to feel trapped and unnerved at the fact that I’m pressed against the wall of this booth with Jacob squeezed against my side and his eyes roaming across my face.
“So, princess. Tell me what you do with yourself.”
I lick my lips, which have gone dry. I notice Jacob’s gaze is fixated on my mouth. “I thought you said you’d promise not to try to kiss me.”
He smiles, but his eyes don’t leave my lips. “I haven’t tried to kiss you.”
“Yes, but you look like you want to.”
He leans in, “I promised you I wouldn’t try to kiss you, not that I wouldn’t be thinking about it every time you move that perfect little mouth of yours.”
I push him back with one hand and I can’t help but notice how hard his chest is under his dark shirt. “Look, buddy. If you want to keep making me uncomfortable I’m just going to go.”
He shifts back a bit on the booth seat with his hands up in the air. “Okay, okay. I’ll behave.” He flashes me a grin. Yes, I can see already that Jacob is a man used to getting what he wants. “Forgive me, princess?”
I find myself nodding. Dammit.
I’m thankful for the small amount of space he has put between us. I feel like I can breathe a bit better now. I consider leaving anyway, but I do need a way to get home. And, I argue with myself, Jacob is being a gentleman. To me, anyway. Sort of. So far.
“Please, I want to hear about you,” he says as he leans an elbow on the table and rests his ch
eek on his hand. His whole upper body is turned towards me. I feel on show, like a spotlight is on me.
“There’s not much to tell,” I begin, “I’m a full-time student in my second year of nursing.”
“Nursing? Why nursing?”
“I actually wanted to be a doctor, but my grades slipped in my last year of school.”
“Why was that?”
“I…” I shift in my seat. “My grandmother fell ill. She was more important than school. I started working part-time to help out, you know, with bills.”
He purses his lips. “Is she okay now?”
I smile and nod. “Yeah, she’s okay now.”
“It’s a shame that you didn’t get a chance at med school.”
“It doesn’t matter. I decided I could help just as much if I went into nursing. Plus I think with nursing you get more person-to-person contact anyway. I want to work with patients.” I blush under his stare.
“You want to save the world.”
“I want to try.”
“Tell me, princess, do you think the world is worth saving?”
“Of course it is.”
He leans in. “And everyone in it?”
I nod.
He smiles and shakes his head. “You actually believe that. Cute.”
I reach out for my champagne flute and take a sip.
“What else? Tell me more.”
“When I’m not studying, I work part-time at a local bar to pay the bills. I also volunteer at the local old folks’ home.” I shrug. “That’s about it. I’m not very interesting.”
“You’re the most interesting woman I’ve met in a long time.”
I’m caught between pleasure and embarrassment at his compliments. “I’m not so unique. You’ve just been hanging out with the wrong people.”
He snorts. “Obviously.”
“So what do you do?”
