by Blue Saffire
He stares at me, eyes narrowing slightly. He’s good-looking enough to be cocky about it and from the look he’s giving me, he doesn’t hear the word no nearly enough. “Who the hell do you—”
“Sorry, I’m late,” a voice says to my left, a moment before the seat beside me dips and I feel an arm slide across my shoulders to pull me close. I open my mouth to tell whoever just decided to put hands on me to back off and end up looking into the deepest, most beautiful pair of dark blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.
So deep and beautiful that back off comes out sounding like, “It’s okay.”
“Forgive me?” The arm around my shoulders tighten, pulling me even closer and I melt a little when I feel him press his lips against the pulse hammering at my throat. “My name’s Tobias,” he whispers in my ear. “And you look like you need a rescue.” He pulls back enough to look me in the eye. It’s the male model from across the lounge. The one who kept looking at me. Sable brown hair. Straight white teeth. Firm, masculine jaw. Full, sensuous mouth. And if what I’m feeling through the suit is any indication, a body hard enough to tie my tongue in knots.
Before I can say anything, Tobias shifts his attention to the guy still standing in front of us, mouth hanging slightly open. “Have Mike pour me two fingers of the Dalmore 64, straight, and…” he looks at me, his hand landing casually on my thigh, somewhere between my knee and my ridiculously short hemline. “What are you drinking tonight, love—and don’t say tequila,” he says, his thumb drawing slow, lazy circles against my knee. “You know how crazy it makes you.”
“Club soda,” I say. Despite the fact that my lungs feel like they’re being squeezed through a keyhole, the words come out loud and clear. “We wouldn’t want to get too crazy.”
Tobias laughs at my joke before turning back to the guy. He’s still standing there. Still staring. “You heard the lady,” he says dismissively. “Oh, and tack on a nice tip for yourself.”
“I don’t work here,” the guy finally sputters, his face bright red.
“Oh,” Tobias says, cocking his head. “I saw you over here when I walked in, talking to my girlfriend—I just assumed you were a server.” He turns away from me slightly, the hand on my leg sliding away as he faces the guy head on, his jaw going tight. Eyes hard and unreadable. “So, if you’re not a server, that means you’re just some asshole, harassing her and staring at her tits.”
“I just—” the guys stammers—now a strange shade of pink—caught between indignation and terror. “I saw she was alone and I…”
“Well, she’s not alone anymore.” Tobias sits back in his seat with a predatory grin. “So why don’t you and your buddies fuck off.”
4
Tobias
Well, this is a first.
Usually when I see shit like this happen I let it ride. If it gets completely out of hand, I text Gray and have him take care of it. I’ve got too much to lose to get caught up in this sort of bullshit.
Besides, I’m hardly the white-knight type.
But something about the way she dismissed him without offering him so much as an explanation pushed me out of my seat and across the lounge.
White-knight or not, I was getting involved.
I was going to tell him to take his little date-rape crew and get the fuck out of my club but something happened. Maybe my brain short-circuited. Maybe I am about to die of boredom and this is my brain’s last-ditch effort at survival. Hell, maybe I suffered a small stroke on my way to her table. I don’t know what happened, but before I know what I’m doing, I’m sliding onto the plush velvet couch next to her. Putting my arm around her. My mouth on her.
She smells incredible. Like lilacs and honey.
Pulling back enough to see her face, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut. From a distance, she was stunning. Up close she’s something else. Something that makes it hard for me to breathe
Long, thick hair, so dark it shines blue. Flawless olive skin. A full, lush mouth. Large, luminous gray eyes that have me abandoning every rule and policy I’ve ever set for myself about getting involved.
Settled back into the couch, my hand wrapped possessively around this strange, beautiful girl’s thigh, I stare at the guy standing over us, waiting for him to make a move. I feel the old me, the me who grew up swinging and scrapping for every square inch, flex and howl. It’s been a long time since I rolled up my sleeves and went to work. Too long.
Tonight, I’m starting to think it’s exactly the kind of release I need.
I think he can see it, the part of me that hopes he does or says something stupid. Maybe he recognizes me. Knows who I am. What I can do to a guy like him. Whatever it is, he folds, way too easily for my current mood.
Lifting his drink into the space between us, he salutes me. “Enjoy your night,” he says in a ridiculous attempt to save face. I’m pretty sure I can hear the ice cubes rattling in his glass. That’s how bad his hands are shaking.
When I just sit there and stare at him, he turns and walks away, tail firmly tucked between his legs. As soon as he‘s gone, the girl drops her hand on top of mine. “You can stop touching me now,” she says, her voice low, the breath of it fluttering against my skin. The sound of it, soft and throaty, hits me. Knocks the wind right out of me.
Yeah, I can.
But I’m not going to.
Instead of letting go, I sweep my thumb across the top of her knee, watching as her mouth opens slightly, her body instinctively shifting closer, welcoming my touch. Shooting her a quick smile, I use my free hand to dig my phone out of my breast pocket and dial.
“Yeah, boss?” Gray’s voice booms loudly, the sound of it running neck and neck with the near deafening pulse of music pounding away downstairs.
Boss. Every time he calls me that, I want to break his neck. And he knows it. Thinks it’s funny.
“Grab a couple no-necks and get your ass up here,” I tell him. “I need some trash taken out.”
“On it.” There was no mistaking the excitement in his tone. Shit gets boring here, compared to the places he’s used to working. Aside from slinging drunk celebutants over his shoulder and poring them into their limousines, and face-planting the occasional troublemaker, there not much trash to take out at Level.
Unfortunately, most of the trash around here is too rich and connected to risk it.
The douche and his band of brothers were neither. If I had to guess, they were mid-level investment bankers or hedge fund managers, who just scored a seven-figure commission and thought they were hot shit.
I made my first billion by the time I turned twenty-five. Excuse me if I’m not impressed.
“What are you doing here alone?” I say, turning to look at the woman sitting next to me. The second the question leaves my mouth I want to kick my own ass. I know how it sounded. Like I’m admonishing her for daring to move about society without a chaperone.
Her eyes narrow slightly, the hand on top of mine gripping my fingers so hard it almost hurts. “Are you implying that by sitting here alone, minding my own business, that I’m somehow to blame for—”
“Of course not,” I say quickly. “It’s just…” something about her, the way she’s looking at me—direct. Unflinching. Like she’s my equal and she knows it—ties my tongue into knots. “Don’t girls like you usually travel in packs?”
“Girls like me?” Her eyes narrow down to slits, her head cocked at a dangerous angle.
Just then, Gray and a couple of his scarier-looking no-necks appear at the head of the stairs. He catches my attention, giving me a where’s the fire kind of look. I jerk my chin in the direction of the bar and his gaze follows. The second it lands on the tight cluster of douchebags downing shots, he smiles. Self-important suits are his personal favorite. Within seconds, he’s got the lot of them rounded up and pissing their pants.
Trash handled, I ease my hand from beneath hers. “That’s not what I meant,” I say, shaking my head.
“Then what exactly did you me
an?” she demands, her cheeks stained a rosy pink.
I open my mouth but before I can sufficiently wedge my foot into it, Gray saves my ass.
“Hey, boss,” he says, shooting me a cheeky grin from across the table.
Heaving what I hope sounds like an irritated sigh, instead of what it really is—a sigh of relief—I turn and glare at him. “Yeah?”
Instead of shutting him down, my terse response gives him permission to be as annoying as possible. “What do you want done with them? I mean—” he lifts a massive hand and uses his index finger to scratch the bridge of his nose. “You want ‘em 86ed or tossed in a dumpster?”
Fuckin’ Gray.
“86ed will suffice. Take their pictures and circulate them. They don’t get in. Not anywhere,” I tell him. Level isn’t the only club we’re invested in.
“You got it,” he says before turning his attention toward the woman sitting next to me. “Hi.” He flashes her his mega-watt smile while offering her his hand. “I’m Gray,” he says, his smile going from blinding to surface-of-the-sun, the second she slips her hand into his. “This guy isn’t bothering you, is he?” he jerks his chin in my direction and I feel the urge to do something I haven’t felt like doing since we were fifteen—punching him in his cocky mouth.
“Argenta,” the woman next to me says, returning his smile. “And no, he isn’t.” She sits back, letting herself sink into the sofa cushions, the movement withdrawing her hand from his. “But not for lack of trying.”
Gray laughs while shooting me a where the hell did she come from kind of look. He knows better than anyone where my taste in women usually runs. I like them soft and willing. Uncomplicated. Undemanding. My life is hectic enough without a relationship or a woman who wants one hanging around my neck.
I’ve known this woman for less than ten minutes but it’s enough time to know she is none of those things.
Unfortunately, there is nothing usual about the way I’m feeling or what I’m wanting right now.
Because he’s always been able to read me like a book, Gray’s suddenly all business again. “I’ll take care of it, boss,” he says. Because he’s unable to help himself, he gives her one last grin and a nice to meet you before heading back the way he came. Within a few minutes, he and his crew have the suits rounded up and herded downstairs. Sitting here, I’m not sure what to do or say next.
Another first for me, especially where women are concerned.
Finally, I figure it out. “Can we start over?” Turning, I find she’s already looking at me. Considering me, her deep gray gaze unwavering and direct.
“Yes,” she says, the tip of her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip before she catches it between her teeth.
“I’m Tobias,” I say, offering her my hand.
She smiles at me, amused by my gesture. “Argenta.” She looks at my hand for a moment before taking it. “Thank you, Tobias,” she says, in that low, smoky voice of hers. “For rescuing me.”
We both know she didn’t need rescuing.
“You want to get out of here?” It wasn’t what I’d planned to say. Not even close. I’m usually smoother than this. A lot smoother. Usually, I’d have a woman like this eating out of the palm of my hand. Instead, I’m sitting here, my totally inept and eager question hanging between us, waiting for her to fling the rest of her club soda in my face.
Without warning her cell phone comes up and a bright light flashes in my face. She took my picture.
I open my mouth to ask her what the hell she was doing but she shushes me, holding up a finger in front of my face while firing off a quick text. When she’s finished, she tucks her phone into her purse before standing.
Holy shit.
There’s beautiful and there’s stunning and then there’s this woman. The dress is just this side of a felony. Candy apple red and tight enough to render me speechless, it’s intricately placed cut-outs offering glimpses of firm, flawless skin. Not enough to be indecent but enough to tell me that those snotty bitches Jase took upstairs were right. She isn’t wearing any panties. Long black hair, loose and skimming past her shoulders in thick, tumbling waves, surrounding a body that makes standing up a risky proposition.
“Well,” she says, offering me a hint of a smile. “Are we getting out of here or what?”
5
Silver
I didn’t lie. Exactly.
My name is Argenta. Argenta Fiorella. Argento means silver in Italian. My father loves to tell the story of how, newly born, I was placed in his arms at the hospital. He says my eyes were wide open. A soft, shimmering gray, so luminous, they looked silver in the bright hospital lights. My mother wanted to name me Danielle but he insisted on Argenta, a feminized version of Argento.
Solange didn’t care enough to argue her point, and so I was named Argenta. Silver, since before I can remember.
While Tobias makes a quick phone call, I tap out a text to Jane.
Me: I’m leaving with
this man. His name is Tobias.
I attach the picture and send it. Waiting for it to load, I get a good look at it. He looks irritated, brow lowered. Mouth tight. Jaw clenched. Definitely not someone who enjoys having his picture taken.
Almost immediately, a text comes through.
Jane: Holy Hotness,
Batman!
Jane: Please be safe.
Call me in one hour.
No texts. I want to hear
your voice!
Me: Who’s the grandma
now?
“Something funny?”
I look up to find him watching me. That’s when I realize I’m smiling. “No,” I say, tucking my phone into my purse without waiting for a reply from Jane. “And just so you’re aware, I sent the picture I took of you and your name to my friend. If I end up dead in an alley somewhere, you’ll be suspect #1.”
Instead of looking annoyed or appalled that I would even suggest such a thing, he laughs. “Well, now that I’m sufficiently thwarted…” he holds out his hand and I take it.
Tobias leads me down a back staircase, toward a heavy metal door. Above the door, there is a security camera mounted. It swings wide, opened by another mountain of a man, his huge hand pushing and holding it so that we can pass through.
“Hello, Joseph,” Tobias says as he crosses the threshold, his hand wrapped around mine to pull me through the door after him. “Tell Jase I took off when you see him.” He lets go of my hand in favor of the set of keys, dangling from the giant’s grip.
“Sure thing, boss,” Joseph says, the rumble of his voice so deep, I can feel it in my toes. “Ma’am.” The corner of his mouth lifts just a bit, more of a twitch than an actual smile.
I do my best Solange Moreau impression, tilting my head at an almost haughty angle, my chin lifted just enough so that I give the impression that I’m looking down, even though this man’s elbow is in my direct line of sight. “Joseph.” I murmur the word and in response, the giant’s face cracks in two. He gives me a real smile, so quick it’s gone before I even have a chance to register it for what it really is.
Approval.
Sitting in the narrow alleyway outside the club’s only side entrance is a Bugatti Veyron Super Sport. My father is a car buff and the Veyron Super Sport is the Holy Grail of cars, with a price tag that makes a Lambo look like a Honda Civic.
“What did you say your last name was?” I say, tilting my head toward the man standing next to me.
“I didn’t,” he says, flashing me the kind of smile that makes me forget my own last name. “Where would you like to go,” Tobias says, skirting the front of the Bugatti.
“It’s my birthday,” I blurt out, earning myself a sharp look across the roof of his car. The giant opens my car door with a quiet chuckle and I slide in, immediately enveloped in soft, supple leather.
As soon as I pull my legs into the car, the door is shut behind me. Moments later, Tobias slips into his own seat. “Your birthday, huh?” He gives me a long loo
k, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the car. “How old are you, Argenta?”
“Twenty-one,” I tell him, following it with a shrug. “How old are you?”
“Older than twenty-one.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a quick smile. “Where are we going, birthday girl?”
“I don’t care what we do or where we go, as long as I can get out of this dress.” As soon as it comes out of my mouth, I realize what I’m saying. How it sounds.
“I think I can handle that,” he says quietly, the low rumble of his voice reaching out to me, filling the interior of the car. Before I can say a word, he hits a glowing, blue button on his dashboard. Within seconds, a disembodied voice fills the space.
“Good evening, sir.” Clipped. Refined. Faintly British.
“Good evening,” Tobias says, gaze pinned to mine. “I need a cake.”
“Very good,” the voice says, actually sounding excited at the prospect of finding and delivering a cake at nearly 1AM. “Any particular flavor, sir?”
Tobias gives me a questioning look.
“Chocolate,” I say. “Enough to kill me.”
“Of course, madam,” Bentley says as if any of this makes any sort of sense. “Shall I deliver it to your residence, sir?”
Your residence?
“Yes,” Tobias says, his gaze still pinned to mine, dark blue and hooded. “It’s her birthday.”
My heart starts to flutter in my chest, my fingers wrapping around the hem of my dress.
He’s taking me home with him.
“Indeed, sir.”
He ends the call and breaks eye contact, slipping the key into the ignition mounted on the dash before pressing the start button under the gearshift. The Bugatti roars to life. “Now,” he says, wrapping his hand around the gearshift before giving me a wicked smile. “Let’s get you out of that dress.”
6
Tobias
Rule #1: Don’t bring them home.
