Emerald Eyes

by N. Michaels

  See you there.

  I stare blankly at the screen then place my phone inside my clutch. On my way to SoFi, I give Patrick a call.

  “Katherine…” Patrick’s voice is caressing my name so sensually, sending a shiver down my spine.

  “Hey… Are you there yet?”

  “Yeah, just got here. Where are you?”

  “I’ll be there in two minutes. Is Mr. Miller there?”

  “I don’t see him… wait, didn’t you ride together?”

  “No… I wasn’t ready when the limo came, so I got a taxi.” I lie.

  “Oh, all right… well, I see you soon.” I hear his smile.

  “See you soon.”

  A few moments later, I reach my destination. Even before stepping out of the cab, I see the long line of people, all waiting to get into the glamorous SoFi Lounge. I find Patrick leaning against the wall with one hand behind his back. He drinks me in as I approach him with awe in his eyes.

  “I… wow… I mean you look amazing…” he mumbles.

  “Thank you. You look great too.” I smile.

  And he does, wearing black slacks and a white shirt with its two top buttons open. Patrick’s muscular chest fills his shirt quite nicely, making me think about what that chest would look like bare. His hand comes out behind his back, holding a perfect, long stem white rose.

  “For you.” Patrick smiles, his brown eyes warm in the streetlight.

  I return his smile, “Thank you, it’s perfect.”

  I inhale the sweet scent and look up at him through my long lashes.

  I’m starting to like you.

  “You’re very welcome. I’m glad you called me.”

  “So am I.”

  I hand Patrick the V.I.P ticket and he places his hand on the small of my back as we make our way to the tall, burly bouncer. After scanning a barcode and telling us to keep out passes with us at all times, the mammoth of a man unhooks the velvet rope, allowing us to walk inside, but not before we see all the frowns that were waiting in line.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  We walk into a large lavish room that is furnished with U shaped, white couches and low lounge tables with small modern lamps. The lamps on the tables and few chandeliers above us are the only source of muted light, providing a very dim and sensual environment. The walls are deep burgundy, mixed with panels of dark wood. The busy bar is to our right, and the music is already pumping in my ears, in my stomach. It’s igniting me, flowing like hot lava in my blood. We walk further into the lounge, following a hostess who’s wearing, a black tube dress and six-inch heels. She leads us to a staircase, blocked by a burgundy velvet rope.

  She unhooks it and says, “Just go down the stairs, there will be another host to show you to your spot.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder and smiles.

  We thank her and head down the dark stairway. Hidden LED lights are embedded into the stairs glow softly, illuminating the sturdy stairs. As I descend, the music changes abruptly into a song I know, ‘I Belong To You’ by Lenny Kravitz. With each step that I take, the bell in the song rings.

  Damn Mark and his ‘setting the mood’ music.

  The floor is almost identical to the one above, except the dance floor is bigger and the couches are wider. Every couch is occupied by groups of people, all dressed in luxury. The dance floor is not as busy as the one above us. Thank God. If there is one thing I hate, it’s the feeling of being suffocated while trying to dance.

  After showing our tickets to the new host, he leads us to the couches in the far right end. Just as Mr. Kravitz sings that she’s the ultimate star, we reach our corner. Mr. Miller is sitting with Eliza, drinks in hand. He’s wearing a black suit with a dark grey shirt, no tie and the top two buttons undone, allowing me a glimpse of his smooth skin.

  Mr. Miller lifts his head and notices me first, but then his gaze falls on Patrick. Mr. Miller’s eyebrows furrow a moment before he rises, leaning his head closer to mine. “I didn’t know you were going to bring a date.” Mr. Miller whispers.

  The air escaping his mouth tickles my ear, sending goose bumps down the rest of my body.

  I bring my lips to his ear and say, “It wasn’t planned, sort of last moment thing.”

  Mr. Miller smells so intoxicating, pure male, fresh soap and a faint trace of cologne. His heady scent makes me want to spend the rest of the night glued to his neck. I inhale as deeply as I can before I force myself to lean back and face him. Mr. Miller’s striking face is not giving anything away, but in his eyes I see the fury raising, like blue flames in the inferno.

  “Hello Eric, and who is this lovely lady?” Patrick speaks up and looks at Eliza.

  She’s still sitting on the couch, nursing her Dirty Martini. Clad in scarlet-red mini dress with cutouts at the sides and cleavage so deep, it barely holds her boobs in.

  “Eliza Montgomery, an old friend of mine. Eliza, this is Patrick Green, an associate.” Mr. Miller says calmly, but I can feel that he’s anything but that.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Montgomery.” Patrick reaches for her hand, and places a kiss on her knuckles. A forced smile spreads on Eliza’s lips, “Ditto.”

  We settle down on the comfy couch and order drinks. Eliza asks for another Dirty Martini, Mr. Miller sticks to his Buchanan’s En Las Rochas. Patrick orders Jack and Coke and I get my favorite drink when I go dancing, a Mojito. I look around the room and notice the DJ’s equipment to my right. My eyes follow the speakers and electronics, leading all the way up to a large laptop, revealing Mark, who is looking straight at me. I give him a small wave and he smiles as the current song transforms into another, ‘Touch Me’ by Rui Da Silva & Cassandra.

  Shit… Mark wasn’t joking when he said he’d be playing my playlist.

  My breathing accelerates as images from the past flash through my mind, us kissing and dancing for the first time, his hands running up and down my body, his hard body pressing into mine as we swayed to the music. I hold Mark’s stare and he winks at me. I smile tightly and in that moment, I know coming here was a goddamned mistake.

  “I love this song!” Eliza squeals. “Come dance with me!” she’s trying to get Mr. Miller to stand up, but he won’t budge. He just leans back and says, “I’ll watch, you dance.”

  My bright green eyes flame with envy. With a smile, Eliza straightens herself and looks at me, “Come on let’s give these boys a show.” She narrows her eyes at me when I don’t answer her. Instead, I take Patrick’s hand, “Join me?” I ask, my eyes piercing his, willing him to agree.

  “That’s what I’m here for.” Patrick grins and stands up in one fluid motion.

  “Sorry, maybe next time.” I say to Eliza’s scowling face.

  Patrick leads me to the dance floor, which is busier now. Bodies moving and grinding against each other while the strobe lights shower us with strokes of erratic lines of light and flashes. Patrick’s hands move to my waist and I glide my hands up his arms to his neck. My hips sway slowly from side to side as Patrick pulls me closer to him, bringing our bodies flush against each other.

  He sways to the music, matching my movements as our bodies move together to the rhythm. I look over Patrick’s shoulder and my gaze falls on Mark’s eyes, they’re glowing in the dim light with rage, I assume. Well… too bad.

  “You’re a very skilled dancer. I love how your body moves against mine.” Patrick murmurs into my ear.

  “Thank you, so are you. I haven’t danced in a while. Feels good to be back on the dance floor.” I wink.

  I turn around in his arms. With my back to his chest, I move myself like a snake with slow and deliberate undulating movements. The temperature rises around us and small beads of sweat dot the back of my neck. Patrick’s warm hands splay over my stomach, holding me closer to him. My head falls against his shoulder, and I look over at our corner. Through heavy lidded eyes, I focus on Mr. Miller, leaning back in his usual position. His right arm, draped over the back of the couch, his legs spread out and his eyes, locked on min
e.

  A small strip of light falls on Mr. Miller’s eyes, leaving the rest of his face in darkness. His eyes glimmer in the light, making them even more mesmerizing. When Mr. Miller notices he has my attention, the left corner of his delicious lips pick up into a half-smirk in the shadows.

  Why is he smiling? I thought he was angry I brought Patrick. Just when – My right buttock starts vibrating and I stop dancing. I look back and see Patrick pulling his cellphone out of his pant pocket. He looks down at the screen, and a slight frown forms on his handsome face.

  “I got to take this,” his voice rising over the blaring music.

  Patrick leads me back to our table, and exits to what I assume must be the lavatory. I sit back elegantly, and sip my Mojito through the skinny black straw. Mr. Miller’s eyes are zeroed in on my throat as I swallow slowly. I run my tongue over my lips and watch his eyes darken dangerously.

  “Where is Eliza?” I ask, realizing she’s gone.

  “Over there.” He points with his chin to a corner of the room, where I find Eliza grinding her derriere into some ‘lucky’ guy. My eyebrows shoot up.

  “And you don’t mind?” I’m astonished at the ease he’s looking at her, but secretly I’m glad.

  “Like I said before, not my girlfriend. She does whatever she wants to. She’s a big girl.”

  She ‘does’ you…

  Mr. Miller scoots closer to me, until our hips touch, draping his long arm around the back of my seat. “You on the other hand, I mind.” He growls in my ear.

  Mr. Miller voice is so harsh, I have to pull away and look at him. His face is hard as stone. I frown.

  Is he bi-polar? First he tells me to be ‘professional’, and now he has a problem with me dancing with Patrick?

  Realization dawns on me. I got exactly what I wanted. I got my answer. Mr. Miller cares. He wants me too. I look away from him and my frown shift into a soft smile. I look back at Mr. Miller and see Patrick coming back to the table, clearly not happy about something.

  “Katherine, I’m sorry but I have to go. My father is not feeling well and asked me to come back to our room.” Patrick says while he grabs his jacket.

  His disappointment is visible through the slight wrinkles that have formed between his furrowing eyebrows. I put my drink on the table and stand.

  “Oh no. I hope he’s not very ill, I’ll walk you out if you’d like.” I say with genuine concern.

  “No, that’s all right, enjoy your night. I’ll call you later.” Patrick leans in and kisses my cheek. He says his goodbyes to Mr. Miller then turns and leaves. I sit back down, a few good inches away from Mr. Miller, just to see if he’ll scoot closer to me again. Mr. Miller doesn’t move though, he only sips the amber liquid in his tumbler, not taking his eyes off me. He says something but the music is too loud, I only see his lips move. I try reading his sensual lips, but it’s too dim for that. I have no other choice but to move closer to him.

  Ugh… he did that on purpose.

  “You are too far.” Mr. Miller whispers into my ear when I’m a hairbreadth away.

  “Just keeping things professional.” I say with as much sarcasm that I can manage.

  I see rather hear, the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a deep breath. A redhead waitress comes up to our table, holding a small round tray with a shot glass of Lemon Drop and a small folded note. She puts them on the table in front of me.

  “I didn’t order this.” I say.

  She smiles and taps the note twice with her finger. I look at Mr. Miller, but he just lifts an eyebrow and looks back at the note. Intrigued, I take the note and open it.

  Your favorite… drink up, dance for me and listen to the lyrics. Dedicated to you, M.

  I quickly fold the note back and look up at Mark. The moment our eyes meet, the current song fades out and a new song with an electric beat starts.

  Not from my playlist…

  I drink the shot, but I decide to sit and listen rather than dance for him.

  Fat chance buddy…

  But the beat is so invigorating; I can’t help but to bounce my leg to the rhythm. The song is about starting anew and how the guy wants her ‘Superlove’, and after a few moments, I recognize the undeniable voice of Lenny Kravitz. He keeps singing about wanting to be inside her ‘Superlove’. I shake my head slightly with a small smile. Seriously?

  I glance at Mr. Miller, who takes the last shot of his drink. He sets the tumble on the table with such force it almost breaks the glass. He calls the waitress and orders another. I know Mr. Miller’s reaction should frighten me, but the only thing I’m feeling is glee. I’m delighted he’s losing his composure, showing me a glimpse of him… the real Mr. Miller.

  “Excuse me, Miss?” I call out before the redhead waitress leaves.

  She looks at me with a smile.

  “Could you bring me a clean napkin and a pen?”

  Redhead says, “Sure.” and walks away.

  “So you don’t like to dance?” I ask Mr. Miller, toying with the black straw in my drink.

  “Never said I didn’t,” he whispers in my ear. His breath is warm and I smell the delicious aroma of his drink.

  I would love to taste you right now...

  “So you can’t?” I tease and he lets out a quick laugh.

  “Never said that either.” Mr. Miller’s lips brush over the shell of my ear, making my eyes roll back into my head, as a wave of desire bursts in me.

  If he keeps teasing like this, I’ll lose my job for sure.

  “So why don’t you?” I ask intrigued and the left corner of his lustful mouth picks up.

  “All right. Next song we’ll dance.” The finality in his voice is so grave; I don’t even bother thinking twice about his imperiousness. Clearly this man gets what he wants, when he wants it and how he wants it.

  And so do I… or at least I use to.

  The waitress is back, with another Buchanan’s En Las Rochas for Mr. Miller and a napkin and a pen for me. I ask her to wait until I write it and to deliver it to the DJ. Leaning forward, I write:

  I appreciate the drink. I also have a song for you, Medina ft. Deadmou5 – You and I.

  Listen to the lyrics.

  I fold the napkin and hand it to the waitress. One big plus about dating a DJ, is the exposure to different variety of genres in the musical world; it broadened my taste in music from one edge to another.

  Redhead walks away and I glance at Mark, giving me his mega-million smile. I nod slightly and my eyes shift to someone that makes me frown. Eliza makes her way to our table. She falls rather sits, onto Mr. Millers lap, making me move away so she doesn’t elbow me in the process of her descend. Eliza groans and starts muttering something into Mr. Miller’s ear. I feel my blood rushing in my veins as jealousy awakens in me.

  This is really fucked up. We’re both playing a stupid game of jealous chicken, to see who is going to break first, Mr. Miller? Or me?

  Mr. Miller rolls his eyes looking agitated and scoops her off of him. He orders a glass of cold water and tells her to take deep breaths.

  Is she drunk? Already?

  I look away, and my gaze falls on Mark. He’s reading my note but he’s shaking his head, smiling. Not the reaction I was waiting for. He actually plays the song that I asked for. The crowd on the dance floor starts whooping and screaming out of joy.

  I guess they like the song…

  Eliza takes the glass of water from the waitress and drowns it in one hit. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and hand the glass back to our waitress. Mr. Miller rises and holds out his hand to me.

  “We’re up.” He says in a regular tone, but somehow, I still hear it over the booming music.

  He’s taken his jacket off and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, showing off his sinewy forearms. I glance back at Eliza who is now lying on the couch with her arm over her eyes, and lift a questioning eyebrow at Mr. Miller. He calls our waitress over and hands her two bills, he says something to her and she nods then
sits down next to Eliza.

  “She will be fine. Come on.” Mr. Miller’s commanding tone purrs with that sexy rasp of his, sending tingles through my body.

  I take his offered hand and let him pull me up. Instantly, he weaves our fingers together, holding my hand tightly and leading me towards the dance floor. Mr. Miller navigates skillfully through the sea of people, pulling me closer to him so he can shelter me from overeager dancers. He brings me to the center of the dance floor and pulls me in close. I start moving my body to the beat and as I lift my left hand, I see our intertwined fingers. In a blink of an eye, I’m being spun around, finding myself pressed to Mr. Miller, with my back against his rock-hard chest. His right hand is still holding my left, and his left arm overlaps our arms across my waist, holding me fast against him, successfully caging me. I gasp at our tempting proximity, at the heat that is rolling off of him, turning me on in a split-second. Mr. Miller’s intoxicating scent wafts around me, driving me wild with desire, softening my body against his hard one and when he rolls his hips into my behind, I feel his undeniable arousal. I turn my head to look into his eyes and find them hooded and intense, blazing right through me.

  “Not the song I would have chosen, but this will have to do.” Mr. Miller whispers, his breath warms my ear.

  He moves so skillfully, so sensually I think I might climax if he keeps grinding his hips into my rear. Mr. Miller’s dancing dominates me, showing me who’s boss. Literally. I can’t even bring myself to compare him to Patrick. Mr. Miller possesses me in every way. My heart races, pumping my heated blood faster through my veins and my breath accelerates, coming out in pants. My skin is perspiring; every place he touches is burning with heat and lust. It doesn’t feel like we’re dancing, it feels like we’re fucking.

  Mr. Miller breath fans across me cheek as his hips masterfully roll into mine. He’s looking down into my eyes, so deeply I feel as though he’s breaking down my walls of letting him go, destroying my thoughts of what a player he is. As if all those warning signs just vanish and he sees into my naked soul. He sees how badly I want him. But then his words from before start circling in my mind, flashing like a damn neon sign.