by Diana Seere
And then—
The slap made him lose eye contact, the pain of Isla’s palm against his cheekbone barely registering, and nothing in comparison to the inner pain of having the moment shattered by her petty gesture.
“I want you out,” Isla said in her accented voice, the words like nails on a chalkboard, dragging until they drew blood from places where it should be impossible. She was back, like a bad disease. Too bad there was no antibiotic to eradicate her. The two Russians bookended her, turning her back to the hallway where some private rooms held delightful secrets. Derry should know. He’d had sex in every single one of them.
Before.
Before her.
He ignored Isla, not bothering to rub the spot she’d hit, knowing it would just give her satisfaction, sure she was watching him even as she left. Instead, he looked to Eva for his exit.
“I’ll need a change of clothes delivered to me in one of the lounges,” he declared. He smelled like a kindergartner at snack time.
“Of course,” Eva said tightly. She turned to Jess. “Please help Mr. Stanton to restore himself to decency.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Jess said, deadpan. Her hand still clutched the damn highball glass that, he assumed, once held the Gatorade that covered him.
Derry snorted in spite of himself.
“That was not a request, Ms. Murphy,” Eva said. Isla shot Jess an evil glare from across the room. Either that, or a contact lens went astray. It was hard to tell with Isla’s face these days. Why was she still here?
“Me?” Jess squeaked. “You’re serious?”
Not one to answer rhetorical questions, Eva pointed her attentions toward Isla and left Jess and Derry standing there, him dripping, her blinking, with one order:
To get him out of these clothes and into something more comfortable.
Chapter 8
Wishing her hands would stop shaking, Jess gave the empty glass to the quiet staff guy who was already on his knees cleaning up the sticky mess. She was supposed to help Derry get naked? Had she heard that right?
She wanted him with parts of herself she hadn’t even known she possessed.
“Where—which lounge—” she began. There were private rooms on this floor, but Isla had just marched that way with the two Russians, and it didn’t seem like a good idea to be within fifty feet of them right now.
“Downstairs,” Derry growled, still watching her in that way that made her toes curl, her insides try to go outside.
She turned toward the elevator. “Follow me.”
“Try and stop me.” His voice was so low it could’ve been the bass line snaking through the lounge from the dance floor.
A shiver danced down her spine, settling between her legs, where she was aching for him with sweet, wet need. And he knew it. She’d seen the knowledge in his eyes.
If he’d made fun of her, if he’d curled that generous lip and teased—she could’ve slapped him down like Isla had. Harder. She would have, too, even at the cost of her job. Laughter would’ve been unbearable at any price.
But he hadn’t laughed. And the sober, serious intensity of his expression had shocked her. She’d never seen him look like that before. It was as if underneath all the debauchery and mindless, immature blather, he was actually an intelligent, sensitive, compassionate man.
Good one, Jess, she told herself. It was incredible what hormones could make you believe. Luckily for her, she had enough sense to recognize the delusion for what it was: lust.
The elevator, thank God, was already on their floor. The door opened immediately, and he followed her inside, his breath seducing her like a song. She could feel him even when he was two steps behind her. She shivered, sensing him everywhere, wanting him deeper.
When the door shut, he closed the space between them and crowded her from behind against the wall of the elevator car. Strong fingers splayed along the nape of her neck, brushing her hair to one side. She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck just as the elevator lurched, and she lost her balance.
“Easy,” he said, catching her from behind. His arms came around her waist, shoving up her breasts as he held her close. His pelvis pushed into her hips.
He was hard as steel.
“Apparently I am,” she said, not putting up any struggle whatsoever. She closed her eyes, uncontrollably aroused by the feel of the erection he’d failed to muster for the other women. Her neck throbbed where his breath caressed her, right on her wine-red birthmark. The throbbing became a pulse. The same pulse that beat between her legs.
Him.
“It must be hard,” he said as he ground deeper into her, “to be so beautiful.”
“I’ve learned to endure,” she whispered.
Suddenly he pulled his hand away, a few strands of her hair clinging to his fingers. “Christ,” he said. “I need to bathe. I’m sticking to you. That damn Gatorade.”
“Oh, sure. Blame it on that.”
His voice rumbled near her ear. “You did this to me. You made me like this.” His lips found the pulse under her ear. She felt pressure, a kiss, a tongue.
And, incredibly, an even stiffer erection grinding into her.
She was tempted to mention how hard he was, ask him why he’d had trouble last night, why he didn’t now. But she knew it had to be the lack of alcohol and couldn’t bear to hear him lie to her.
With a chuckle, he wiped a strand of wet, sticky hair out of his eyes. “Most servers choose to hand the members their drinks. Not throw it in their faces.”
“Eva told me to do it.”
“But you enjoyed it.” Teeth dragged across her skin. “Didn’t you?”
“Maybe a little,” she said.
The elevator bounced to a stop. Derry released her abruptly and turned away, facing the doors as they opened.
“I’ll require a change of clothes,” he said. “My own. If there aren’t any here at the club, send someone to retrieve them from my home.”
The abrupt shift from being treated like a seductress to a servant was a slap in the face. She was just about to tell him to get his own damn clothes when she stepped off the elevator and saw a guy in the all-black Platinum uniform nod and stride away through a green-curtained doorway.
He’d been talking to a male staffer, not her. But it was an important reminder of her station in this place. She took a deep breath and counted to five.
The floor was unfamiliar to her. Dark wood flooring, frosted glass doors, dim lighting. It smelled of sandalwood, candle wax, oiled leather. Modern instrumental music played softly from invisible speakers.
“Three is my favorite,” he said, shooting her a smoky look before stepping forward and grabbing the handle of the third door down the hallway. “Let’s hope the number brings me more luck tonight than last.”
Did he assume she was going to jump in where the other women had failed, just because tonight his equipment was functioning?
When she followed him inside and saw that the space was only a bathroom with a luxurious but tiny dressing room attached, she froze. She’d imagined it would be larger, more like an apartment. This was much too intimate.
And he was already unbuttoning his shirt.
“I’ll go get your clothes,” she said, sounding breathless even to herself. “While you shower.”
In two strides, he was between her and the door, his hands now unbuttoning the last button over his abdomen. Dark hair peeked out from beneath the crisp, red-stained dress shirt.
She swallowed over the lump in her throat. There was nowhere safe to look—his eyes, his chest, below his belt, which he was now unbuckling—no place was safe.
“I will not be found in here with you,” she said firmly. “Do you understand?”
“Eva wanted you to assist me. Your boss wants you to please me.”
“Not like that. She knew you’d never leave Isla up there without another woman to lure you away,” she said. “She trusted me to disengage when you were no longer in danger
of humiliating one of the members, especially a loud and famous one who could damage the club’s reputation.”
He moved away from the door but was still only inches away from her. “Are you saying she used you as bait?”
“Yes. Now go take a shower before you start attracting ants.”
His expression darkened. “Has she done this before? Used you to remove misbehaving men from the lounge?”
“No, but—”
“If she does, I want to hear about it immediately. It’s not safe. I won’t stand for it.”
She laughed. Suddenly he wanted to protect her? The only man she was in danger from was him. Jabbing him in the chest with her manicured index finger, she wiggled past him and opened the door. “Take a shower. I’ll check on your clothes.”
She was halfway down the hall when he shouted to her from the doorway. “Ms. Murphy!”
Reluctantly she stopped. “Yes, Mr. Stanton?” she asked, turning around.
God help her. He’d taken off his shirt. She’d always appreciated a little breadth in the pectoral muscles. The sight of his massive, well-defined, dark-haired chest, the broad shoulders, the happy trail over his rippling abdomen into his trousers, knocked the wind out of her.
“I’d like a bottle of ’94 Novo brought to me here,” he said. “Others will see to my clothes.”
She managed to suck in a breath. “Ninety-Four Novo?”
“It’s quite rare, but I find that I have an undeniable taste for it this evening.”
She wasn’t familiar with the vintage. Carl would know. “Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m very glad to hear that, Ms. Murphy.” He turned on his heel and strode back into the private room. Mouth dry, she stood still and watched him disappear, bewitched by his thickly muscled shoulders, the hint of dimples low on his back.
She was as attracted to him as ants to Gatorade.
Derry slumped against the back of the closed door, his barrel chest filling to the brim with air and fire, with desire and her scent, nose detecting every deliciously aroused atom on Jessica Murphy’s tantalizing body. Dear God. He swallowed, the barest hint of her taste on the edge of his lips from the kiss he’d planted on that succulent skin, an erotic tease of the feast he needed most.
He was a starving man right now.
As he pulled away from the back of the door, strands of his long black hair stuck to the polished oak. He chuckled, the laughter a deep rumble that felt timeless. Ancient. Infinite.
How he felt every second he was within arm’s reach of her.
Her.
Gatorade. The woman had doused him in electrolytes. On Eva’s orders, no less. Later he would have words with Eva. Angry words. Using Jess as bait to manage the miscreants in the club was utterly unacceptable. Abominable.
Intolerable.
No more. It wouldn’t be easy to convince Eva of her wrongdoing, but he would hold the line on this. Jess was his. His and his alone.
He throbbed for her as he disrobed, every feather touch of his own fingers against his skin like a whisper from her lips. Rock hard and straining for release, his cock reminded him of the ache to be in her. Rubbing his body against that sweet swell of her lush ass had been torture. A pleasant torture, mind you, but one that could only be cultivated if it ended with Derry above her, buried in her wet heat, her mouth screaming his name, her face flushed with the primal, carnal knowledge that only his hands, his mouth, his body could provide.
Her.
Her.
Mine.
As he pulled off his socks and padded to the shower naked, he turned on the six-headed shower and waited for the water to heat up, the steam soon pouring over the glass walls. Hot needles assaulted his back with what should have been a delightful relief.
Instead, he found himself quite mad with need.
Closing his eyes, he saw her honey-shaded hair spread over his face as she rode him. Reaching for the soap, he swam in the pool of those passion-filled, catlike eyes that begged him for sanctuary and love. Lathering up, the sugary drink washing off his skin, he imagined his own touch, so inadequate, was hers instead, those feminine hands touching the swell of his hardness, her knees dropping to the ground, her lips wrapping around his thickness and—
Damn it. He felt the tightening of tendon and bone that began a shift into his animal shape. Bloody hell. What curse was this? He was so close, so close to release. With unprecedented difficulty, he finally regained his control of his human form.
Just in time to lose it.
Neck straining and body leaping forward with the familiar pleasure of climax, he came, shuddering with an intensity that rode through his body like an electromagnetic pulse, his seed washing down the wall. He didn’t even have time to say a word, no sound, no groan. Wave after wave of craven desire pulsed through him, and then he gasped, her name the only word he knew, her face branded behind closed eyelids as the water washed over him like a holy ritual that had no name.
Yes, it did.
Jess.
Her.
For the second time in less than ten minutes, he slumped against a door, only this time, he was weakened by the betrayal of his own damned body. When had he become a horny teenage boy with no self-control?
“Fuck,” he muttered aloud, breathless and panting, chasing his own mind in circles around a heart that knew what he needed.
And, for the first time in his entire life, he was filled with an emotion that was new.
He was afraid.
What if she really didn’t want him? Jess did this to him. Brought him to this point of vulnerability, where the mere thought of her made him come in a damn club shower.
She had invaded his soul.
How?
Sorceress. She must be a sorceress. How else? His lips twitched at the thought.
His cock twitched, too, making him stare at it with a look of incredulity. Already? While he prided himself on his stamina, this was a record for… recovery.
He disappeared into a vague sort of haze for a moment, a combination of endorphins and overwhelm, and came to only when he realized, to his grinding shock, that he was painfully hard.
Again.
Already.
Dispensing with the necessaries, he washed up, rinsed, and shoved himself into the minimal amount of clothing needed to go and hunt Jess Murphy down.
And find a way to invade her right back.
Chapter 9
“What bottle did he ask for?” Carl asked.
“A ’94 Novo,” Jess said. “I hope I got that right. He said it was rare.”
Carl put down a bottle of vodka and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. After a pause, he said, “Very. You’ll have to go into the special cellar for it.” Lifting a cocktail shaker in the air, he nodded at the crowd in the lounge. Busy night. “I can’t spare anyone right now. You’ll have to get it yourself.”
Jess assured him she’d hurry back to help serve, then returned to the service elevator. The elevator passed the floor where she imagined that Derry was, at that moment, soaping up his naked, powerful, glistening body, all alone and still hard for her. Aching for her. Under the hot spray, he was rubbing and lathering his cock, back arched, teeth clenched, shouting her name as he—
The elevator came to a sudden halt. She was there. Out of her mind, but present.
She tried to distract herself by wondering about the ancient wine cellar. She hadn’t realized how old the original building must have been. She loved historical sites. Later she’d have to ask Eva about it. Or even her future brother-in-law—would he know? Hadn’t he been a member of the club for a long time?
Thoughts of Gavin inevitably brought her back to Derry. But thoughts of Derry were never far away. She touched her neck, biting her lip as she relived the feel of his kiss. She walked toward the cellar door in a daze, only half-awake, her mind spinning with thoughts of him in the shower, then stepping out and patting himself dry with a towel, rubbing here and there, stretching, flexing.
<
br /> He wanted her. How could she resist that?
She couldn’t. There wasn’t enough ice in the world to cool her down when she got thinking about Derry.
She’d have to make sure they were never alone. Relying on her own willpower wasn’t going to work. There would have to be situational remedies. Avoiding him. Chaperones. A blindfold, if necessary, so she couldn’t look at him and get obsessed with the cut of his upper shoulders.
She needed to conveniently forget that they would be in their respective siblings’ wedding soon.
Oh God.
The cellar was cool and dark, but smelled clean. It might look like a dungeon, but there was no moldering garbage and scurrying vermin here. She flicked on the light and began scanning the shelves for France. Many of the bottles looked ancient, foreign, with handwritten labels.
There. The entire back wall was devoted to French wines. The poor lighting slowed her down, and she felt bad about how long it was going to take her to get back to the bar to help Carl and the other servers during the rush. Even after she’d found the wine, she’d still have to deliver it to Derry’s room. Her body warmed at the thought.
No. She’d ask somebody else to bring it to him. Or invite a chaperone. A situational remedy.
“It’s on the bottom row, two paces to your right.”
Jess’s heart leapt into her throat. That voice. It struck chords she’d never heard before she’d met him.
He was a few steps behind her. She was bent over, her ass in the air, her hands braced on her shins, and God help her—she didn’t want to move. She wanted him to take her right there, just like that, before she could change her mind and stop him.
For a moment she indulged in the feel of him seeing her with her legs spread a little, her skirt hitched up, exposing the backs of her thighs, inviting him closer…
With supernatural willpower, she raised herself to standing, smoothed her skirt down, and turned with every intention of thanking him for his help and then running like hell.
