by Kim Karr
Still, I smile at him because he really is cute.
“Let me buy that for you.”
Note to self—innocently flirting with bartenders is not a good idea—because now, the super young guy beside me thinks I’m looking for a hookup, and he’s all in. He probably thinks I’m a cougar on the prowl.
Great.
“No, thanks,” I tell him and slide my money across the bar to pay for my drink.
Unfortunately, the college guy doesn’t seem to take a hint. “I’ll buy the next one, then,” he offers.
“No, really, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m waiting for my boyfriend.”
“You’re not waiting for your boyfriend.” He says this with unshakable confidence.
“Really? And what makes you say that?”
His smirk is wide. “There’s not a guy out there that would leave you alone in a place like this.”
“Well, my friend had a meeting, and he’s on his way.” Saying the word boyfriend feels like a lie, so I don’t say it.
“Ophelia?”
I jerk in surprise at hearing my name called from beside me, and I spin around on my stool. It’s Sir Arnold Raymond, the aristocrat Polo player who asked me out at the first Royal event of the season.
Oh, balls.
Julius doesn’t know about his proposition to me, and I hoped to keep it that way. I am more than sure Julius would think it was me asking his Polo mate out and not the other way around. I said no, of course, but still.
“Don’t bother to hit on her, man. She has a boyfriend.” Arnold and I glare at the college kid beside me, and the both of us start to laugh.
“Thanks, man,” Arnold tells him, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“No, really, dude, she does.”
“Yeah, dude, I know she does. He’s a real Prince, too.”
The college kid shrugs and then grumbles, “Don’t believe me,” before finally taking his drink and walking away.
We both laugh even harder.
“A Guinness,” Arnold tells the bartender and then smiles at me. “What an unexpected surprise it is seeing you here.”
“I could say the same. I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew.” I sip my wine.
“I come here at least once a month. Best nightlife in Europe.”
“This is my first time,” I tell him.
The bartender slides a glass Arnold’s way. He takes it and instructs him to start a tab.
“Are you in town with Julius?”
I nod.
Arnold makes a show of looking behind me, under me, beside me. “But he isn’t here with you?”
“He’s coming.” Or at least I think he is.
“So, are you two as serious as the gossip columns are making you out to be?”
I draw in a breath. Despite what Julius thinks, I’m really, really bad at lying. “I wouldn’t say serious is the right word,” I answer truthfully.
“That sound hopeful. Any chance you’ll break it off with him and run away with me?”
This I find funny and laugh a real, full out laugh. “I bet there’s not a woman in here that would turn you down, Arnold.”
“Yeah, well, they aren’t you.”
“Arnold,” I sigh. “Don’t play with me that way.”
“Who says I’m playing.”
We keep up this banter, and I’m not sure if he’s serious or joking, but I play it off as funny just the same.
Then he puts a hand up, and while looking at me, he says, “Let me buy you another drink.”
“I haven’t finished the drink I have,” I tell him, but with the smile and a laugh.
Arnold leans in. “You really need something a bit more exciting than wine in a place like this.”
“Oh, yeah, what do you suggest?”
I’m really not trying to sound flirty, but I feel like I’m coming off that way, especially when he gets even closer. “The possibilities are endless.”
Just then, the song changes to “Come Together” by the Beatles, and I’m not sure why, but my gaze darts to the piano.
And there’s Julius, looking at me with bright eyes. My heart skips a beat. One. Two. Three.
When my gaze meets his, his lips curve into a slow, sexy smile that makes me shift on the stool.
It’s like he’s come alive.
He has a microphone in his hand, and he’s pretending to sing, all the while waggling his eyebrows at me. I’m not even sure he knows the lyrics, but he pretends he does.
Then, about halfway through the song, he motions me forward, and I can’t help it, but he’s like a magnet I’m just drawn toward, and I hop off the stool. “Arnold, it was nice seeing you,” I tell my stool mate.
“Yeah,” he says. “Remember what I said.”
I shake my head at him and leave him at the bar. My heart jumps, as it always does lately, as I head toward the tall, broad-shouldered man in the middle of the lounge serenading me.
Before I reach him, he sits beside the piano player and pretends to both play and sing at the same time. I can only imagine the tip he had to give the pianist to be allowed to sit beside him.
”Julius, you’re insane,” I tell him when I reach the piano.
He takes my hand and pulls me down on his lap when I stop beside him. “Was Arnie trying to pick you up?”
I duck my head away from his tickling mouth and playfully elbow him. “No, he was just keeping me company.”
His low, deep chuckle reverberates down my spine. “I bet that’s exactly what he was doing.”
“Are you jealous?” The words slip out before I realize what I’m saying, and I make sure to stand up before he shoves me off him.
Yet, he doesn’t respond the way I expect by telling me to go to hell. Instead, he responds the way the Julius I knew three years ago would. He gets to his own feet, slides his arm around my shoulder, and tilts his head, giving me his sexy low-lidded stare. “Should I be?”
I melt right here. “No, you shouldn’t.”
Game over.
OVER EASY
The Present
The lines are starting to blur, and I’m not sure what the hell is happening. This was all supposed to be pretend, and it is, right?
Love.
Hate.
Trust.
Mistrust.
My emotions feel like the light show that is in full swing as we make our way up to the third floor.
There was no way in hell I was spending the night with Arnie trying to pick up Ophelia right in front of me, especially after she admitted he’d asked her out.
It’s not like I’m jealous. A—I have no reason to be. And B—I really don’t give a fuck.
Really, I don’t.
Out in the club, it is dark and impossible to talk over the heavy thumping bass, so squeezing Ophelia’s hand, I lead the way.
Having had enough of calm, I head toward chaos. The top floor is crazy with people, but also the best way to become invisible.
Picture perfect moments are over, and I’ve had enough of being spied on for one night.
Here, in London, I’m able to move around without security, which is like a breath of fresh air. Still, purposely ending up in the rag mags really is hard work, and I’m done working for the night.
Up here, there are cages for dancing and raised platforms where groups of dancers are gyrating to the beat.
Over my shoulder, I shout, “Let’s go get a drink.”
She nods.
The bar on the top floor is against the far wall, and when I reach it, I lean over and order whatever the bartender suggests. Two rounds to help ease the tension I’m feeling with a girl who has me turned backwards.
The bartender pours two glasses of something neon green and pushes them toward me. I slide one Ophelia’s way.
“What is this?” she asks.
I shrug and lift the glass. “Cheers,” I tell her and then lean down to say into her ear. “Drink up, Pretty Girl.”
She sips hers and lets out a little oof. “What in the world is in this?”
“Hennessey and something green.” I grin. “Want another?”
“No.” She holds up a hand. “I’m not even sure I can drink this one.”
“Come on,” I taunt. “We’re in London. Let loose and have some fun.” “I’ll get you a Cosmo instead.”
“Okay,” she smiles, and I swear my entire insides light up. I have no idea what’s happening here, and I should end this right now, before I do or say something I’ll regret, but I don’t want to.
I spent the last two years with a woman who I should have been able to fall in love with: a kind, beautiful woman—who was not Ophelia Heart.
Fuck.
Why the hell am I still hung up on this woman sitting beside me?
After Ophelia has her new drink in hand, I clink her glass. “To—” I stop, unsure what I want to say.
To us.
To you.
To what could have been.
“To Monaco Unlimited,” she says for me.
I nod and grin at her. “To Monaco Unlimited.” I’m more than aware that I’m acting more than flirty with a woman I thought I hated, but with the music pounding away at us, the past just doesn’t seem too important.
I toss back my drink and put the glass on the bar, and then drink hers before ordering another Incredible Hulk.
Lia has another as well, and once she finishes it, she points to a spot on the dance floor. “Let’s dance!”
There’s no hesitation as I hold out my hand. She grabs it, and we hit the dance floor just as “Cry Me A River” begins its distinctive beat.
“Oh, my God,” she laughs, “Do you remember the Justin Timberlake Dance-off?”
I lean close. “Of course I do.”
This is the first time we’re talking about our dating experience on The Bachelor and laughing about it.
“Your moonwalk kicked ass,” she says.
“Of course it did. I told you, Justin himself taught me how to do it.”
“I still don’t believe you.”
“I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you sometime,” I tell her, and know I’m talking outside the parameters of our deal, but don’t know why.
The crowd surges around us, grinding and moving. Groups of dancers join and break apart, making patterns. Couples move in unison, becoming one. The entire vibe seems feral.
I put a knee between her thighs and place my hands on her hips. We move like this, close, staring into each other’s eyes, without talking. The music changes, and I twirl her around, moving her closer to me until she is as tight against me as she can be.
Like this, she lets me move her. We find a rhythm pushing and pulling in a way that keeps perfect time.
When the song ends, I turn her back around. She’s laughing. At what, I have no idea. Silly. Fun. Like she used to be. All of a sudden, I have another urge to kiss her, so I do. Grinning, I bend to kiss her. And it is no sweet, gentle peck. It is a full-blown, mouth open, tongue-searching kiss.
Over the past few weeks, when I’ve been with her, I’ve been of the mindset that when you turn the lights off, it’s all the same darkness, but now, even the darkness seems brighter.
We draw closer, like magnets attracting, one to the other.
After a few seconds, she pulls back. Out of breath and panting, she yanks me down by the collar to her level. “Is this real or just for show?”
My fingers splay against her side, my thumb drifting back and forth along the silky fabric of her dress. “I don’t know. What do you want it to be?”
“I want you to answer first. Yes or no?”
My head pounds at her question because I don’t fucking know anymore. Her gaze brightens as she waits for me to answer.
When I don’t say anything, she shakes her head, solemn. “Forget the question, and let’s just keep dancing.”
I stare at her, hard, and I can’t see anything else. I can’t feel anything else but the spots on my body where her body touches mine.
Another song comes on, and the dance floor gets even more crowded, leaving little room for maneuvering. We’re not really dancing anymore, anyway. We’re just moving.
Drawing her closer to me, I place my hands at the slight curve of her waist, and they fit perfectly there as if she were made for me. Two steps later and my thigh slides between hers.
The crowd surges around us, and soon, we’re lost in it. I slide my hand up her side, up high, just under her breast, and I rub her nipple. Like this, I look into her eyes and lose myself in them. We move together, and soon, her hand slides from my shoulder to cup the back of my neck, and she’s pressing against me.
Heat flares between us where she rubs against my groin. When she sticks her tongue out to lick her lips, I know she’s turned on. In quick response, I slide my hand up her back to tangle in her hair and then tip her head back. With her throat bare to me, I bend to slide my lips along her smooth skin.
When she gasps, I pull her closer. The crowd has become one massive body moving to the sensual beat. No one is paying any attention to us. The couple beside us is kissing, their tongues tangling as their hands stroke each other.
Sex is in the air.
My cock presses hard against her belly as my hand splays across her fine ass. I stroke upward to reach the small of her back, then down again to caress her there, and then I press my erection against her.
I get lost. Lost in her eyes, in her touch, in the pounding of the music. Lost in my own want and need, which I can’t deny.
My hand slides down her hip to her thigh. My fingers catch the hem of her little dress, inching it up as we move until I can slip into her skimpy panties. She jumps, but I press the heel of my palm against her clit and my other hand against her ass to keep her still. The crowd moves us, and with each shift, my fingers move to dip inside her slick heat. Her eyes widen only slightly as I pump in and out of her.
But then her lips part in an unheard gasp and her body jerks as I tease her folds. A moan tears from her throat when I start to caress her clit. That’s when her fingers grip my shoulders in a sudden, tight hold, and I wonder if I’m bleeding, but I don’t care. One more move and her gaze flickers over me with concern.
“Let go,” I mouth.
And she does. Shaking and trying to remain calm, she comes like a rocket, and I can’t stop watching her. The way she looks when she comes undone nearly brings me to my knees.
Her lips part as she holds back a scream and the only thing I can think about is how they are red and raw and mine.
She’s mine.
No matter how much I want to deny it.
She’s mine.
FIGHT OR FLIGHT
The Present
“I’ll be in the restroom,” I tell him, pressing my hand to his erection before making my way through the crowd.
What am I doing?
He bites down on his lip, watching me under his thick dark lashes with blue eyes that shimmer like moonlight.
In the corner, down a short hallway is a sign, “Ladies.”
The bathroom is elegant and large. Marble counters, cool grey tile, and dim lighting.
It isn’t empty when I go in, but I still stop to look at myself in the mirror. I’m buzzed, and even to me, I look like I just came.
Oh, God.
Still, I smile at the woman who passes by me and then head into the empty stall at the end.
Is he going to follow me?
The stall is more like a private bathroom. There’s a mirror, makeup table, and a modern white sink with a waterfall faucet.
My heart hammers loud in my ears. I splash water on my face and then place my hands flat upon the counter to look at my flushed face in the mirror.
This is the face of a woman about to get fucked in a restroom. He’s going to come in here and fuck me, and I’m going to let him.
Aren’t I?
The door opens, and I can hear footsteps. Then he opens the stall door. I c
an see him in the mirror as he strides in and locks the door behind him. I stay where I am. “We could go back to the hotel room,” I suggest.
He’s behind me, his eyes locked on mine in the mirror as his hands grip my hips. “We could, but that would take much too long, and I can’t wait that long to have you.”
The glimpse of his face in the mirror shows me he’s telling the truth. He moves me to the side with no hesitation and places my hands up, palms flat, against the wall. His hands slide beneath my dress and between my thighs in seconds, finding me so wet that it should be embarrassing. He holds me from behind, his fingers curving upward to brush my clit. I shudder and press my forehead against the cool wall. Closing my eyes, I open my thighs, and he spreads them even wider, by slipping his feet between mine and pushing them apart. He yanks my thong to the side, and his fingers circle against my slick heat.
God, his fingers.
Soon, I hear the slight sound of a metal buckle being undone, followed by the soft purr of a zipper parting. His fingers dip down to my clit, then up, to open me. At the same time, he presses his chin into my shoulder, and his mouth nips beneath my ear.
I tilt my head to the side to allow him access to my neck. The hand he’d used to free himself yanks my dress up. My fingers pinch against the wall, finding nothing to grab. I bite back a moan when his palm caresses me and traces the curve of my behind. “You’re so fucking sexy, and you don’t even know it.”
I breathe in, forgetting to let the air come out, until it hisses from between my lips in a long, shuddering sigh.
“Tell me you want this,” he breathes into my ear.
“I want this.”
He pauses, blows a hot breath against my neck, and a bolt of electricity races through me, radiating all the way to my fingertips.
After he yanks my thong down my hips and past my knees, he presses his cock against me. He doesn’t plunge, though. Instead, he nudges it along the seam of my rear toward my entrance, where he dips down, then up, to push inside me.
