“How does a pharmaceutical rep know about Monet?”
“Always loved art.”
We reach the end of the hall. The music isn’t as loud here, although you can feel the beat.
“I don’t want to talk about art,” I say as I hold my office door open for her. She walks inside hesitantly, running her fingers along the edge of the modern desk and looking all around. The beams on the ceiling are purposely exposed, giving the room an urban look. It’s a look people pay for nowadays, but when my father purchased this building, he didn’t have the money to remodel the upstairs, which is why it looks so different from the rest of the club. “Get comfortable.” I motion to my white leather couch and go to take her purse, but she clings to it. With a shrug, I walk over to the bar by the window. “Another drink?”
“Sure.”
I loosen my tie and take off my suit jacket, throwing it on the back of my chair. I can feel her moving about the room while I mix her drink.
“More photos of your dad, huh?”
“The man is a narcissist. He decorated.”
“Oh my God, is that Madonna?” she yelps, and I know exactly what photo she’s looking at. I finish making our drinks and walk over to her, stopping right behind her, my front to her back. She has the photo in her hand. “Sure is. She used to come here a lot. I was just a kid, but I remember her clearly,” I say, and hand her the drink. She looks at it, and without tasting it she hands it right back. “More olives, please.”
I open a new jar of olives and stick two more inside, careful not to overfill the drink, which is slowly becoming a salad.
“I’ve never seen the inner workings of a nightclub before.”
“Well, then, welcome,” I say, gesturing in the air. “Inner workings happening all around you.”
She snorts and takes a sip of her drink. Then she glances up at me, looking unsure and a little nervous, so I take the lead. I open up the blinds to the window that overlooks the club. “So about that dance…”
She walks up to the window. “Wow, look at all those people.” Everyone is moving up and down, side to side, like a mass of bodies all in sync with the thrumming beat. From up here you can see how close everyone is pushed together, the way the men look lustfully toward the groups of single women and the way the women pretend they’re not dancing to attract the attention of men. The music is sexy and upbeat, yet soft and lascivious-sounding. “So sensual,” she breathes.
“Yeah.” My whisper comes out hoarse. While she continues to stare, fascinated, I press the intercom button, and the music from below starts to filter louder into my office. Then I pull her back against me and begin to move my body against hers, my lips hovering close to her ear. In the short amount of time I’ve known her, I already know that the area right below the shell of her ear is a particularly erogenous spot. I’m sure she has more, but this is the only one I’ve found…so far.
Give me some time—this is only the second time I’ve seen her.
Her sharp intake of breath as I nuzzle the sensitive skin with my nose spurs me on. I turn her around, and I’m sure she can see that any trace of humor is gone, replaced by lust. Her mouth is in an O shape, and her eyes are wide, the blue a little darker than it was a minute ago.
I press closer to her. “Your eyes…I’ve never seen eyes that blue before.” I’m barely touching her, just moving my nose and cheek along that long neck and across her collarbone, and she releases a little mewl. And, fuck me, I’ve never been this hard in my entire life. This slow seduction seems to be doing more of a number on me. I run my fingers through her hair and grab it firmly, pulling her head back, to give me more access to her neck. I’m used to longer hair, but it’s long enough…it’ll definitely do. This time I kiss under her ear and then again on her collarbone. “If you’d let me,” I murmur between kisses, “I can make you feel real good.”
Even though I’m pretty sure I hear her whimper, she pulls back and takes a cautious step to the side. “I should go.”
“Yeah, you should,” I agree. “Because I want to touch you so fucking badly. So, yeah, you should go. I can wait. You’re worth waiting for.”
“We just met.”
“I know what I’m talking about. We’re going to get to know each other, you and I.”
“Shouldn’t I have some say in this decision?”
“You don’t want to get to know me? You wouldn’t be up here if you didn’t.”
“I really have to go.”
“You’re a runner. Interesting.”
“Runner?”
“Yeah, you run away when you get nervous. It’s cool. You’ll stop running eventually, or I’ll just chase you. But Junebug, eventually I’ll catch you.”
She just stares at me as if I’ve lost my damn mind. And maybe I have. I feel insane right now.
“I need your number.”
She hesitates for a moment before handing me her phone. I tap on the keyboard for a moment, then hand it back. “I sent myself a text from your phone. Now I have your number too.”
Hand in hand, we walk downstairs and out of the club, and I hail her a cab. “When can I see you again, Junebug?” I kiss her softly on the cheek before she slides into the cab.
“I’ll be around.” She winks, and then the car takes off.
I realize I don’t know anything about this woman. Sure, we just met, but she doesn’t give any clues as to who she is. I’ve seen the confident badass woman pouring a drink over the head of a douchebag. And, when we’re alone, I’ve seen her unsure and almost shy.
It’s like she came out of nowhere. Manifested herself from nothing and dropped right into my lap. One minute I’m watching her from my window, having the single most visceral reaction to a woman I’ve ever had, and the next she’s leaving my club with my seven-hundred-dollar silk jacket.
Once I’m back inside the club, I ignore the packed bar and go straight upstairs to my office. My head is throbbing again. I have a deposition on Monday that I can’t miss, and tomorrow I can’t leave here until the last shipment of liquor arrives, which means that I’ll be working on Monday with little sleep. I put my feet up on my table, close my eyes, and lean back in the chair. How long can I keep this up? At some point I have to decide. Either I’m at the club full-time or I stop helping out my family.
Then I think of June. Sexy-as-fuck June. My father has always had a thing for women with straight dark hair. Now I know why. There’s something mysterious about hair like that. Something naughty and edgy. I can’t wait to see her again. Maybe the hope of seeing her next weekend will make the next week go by faster.
Chapter 3
It’s Saturday, and I wasn’t able to make it to the club yesterday after work because the trial ran late. When I stopped off home to pick up my bag, I sat down on my couch for five minutes…and didn’t wake up until the next morning. I have a missed text from June asking if I was at the club. I didn’t reply because I was asleep.
Shit.
I send a quick text. Sorry. Just saw your text. Fell asleep after work. Leaving for Miami now. See you later?
Gulping down a Red Bull, I run out of my apartment and head straight to Miami Beach and Panic. I’m exhausted, but I refuse to make coke a habit, so I stick with the Red Bull.
A few hours later I’m lying on the white couch in my office, waiting for a shipment of liquor to arrive and hoping I can catch at least a few minutes of sleep, but I’m almost immediately interrupted by one of our security guys. “Hey, boss, there’s a chick knocking on the door outside.”
It’s early, just before noon. The club doesn’t open for hours. Yawning, I follow him into the security room, where I look at the monitor and chuckle.
It’s June. She’s wearing leggings and a sports bra and is knocking on the club’s huge wooden doors as if anyone would ever hear it. As I head down I take out my phone and text her. So you came to your senses?
Huh? she answers almost immediately.
There’s a beautiful woman banging down my
front door.
She texts back. What does a girl have to do to get a bottle of water around here?
Just then I reach the door and open it. “You came all the way here for water?” I ask, leaning against the doorjamb, trying not to look like a creeper staring at her lean, sweaty, sun-kissed body. “Or is it because you were so worried about me not answering your text yesterday?” I have to hold on to the doorjamb to avoid reaching out to touch her.
She shrugs and winks. “What can I say? I’m thirsty and clingy.”
Chuckling, I step away from the door and motion for her to come in. “Well, you came to the right place.” She sends her gaze around the empty club; it looks so different without all the lights and people. I pull down a stool in front of the bar and then walk around to the other side and grab two water bottles.
Quickly she downs half of her water, then wipes her lips. “I was out jogging and thought I’d come by and say hi. I was joking about the clingy thing, by the way.”
“But not about swindling me out of a water bottle, huh?”
“Nope. I really needed the water,” she says with a smile. “So, this is Panic after hours.”
“More like before hours. But yeah, this is it. Different without the haziness from the alcohol and the people, right?”
“Very much so. Almost…”
“Eerie?”
“Yeah, exactly.”
I lean my forearms against the bar. “There are days I’m here alone unpacking boxes and I swear I can almost hear the beat of music. It’s like it’s ingrained in the structure.”
Smiling, she takes another sip of water as she looks at me from behind those long lashes. “How about a tour? You never did show me that other Picasso.”
A little surprised by her abruptness, I shrug. “Sure, but only if you agree to have dinner with me.”
“I don’t know….”
“Come on, one date. It’ll be fun.” She’s obviously interested—she’s been back to see me twice now. A date seems like the logical next step. Why the hesitation?
She plays with the cap from the bottle for a long minute until finally she says, “I’d love to.”
“I would’ve given you the tour regardless.”
“I would’ve gone on the date regardless.”
“You’re cheeky. I like that.” I grin widely, then lead her back the same way we went a few days ago—except now, in the daylight, it feels so different.
“Tonight? Eight o’clock?”
“Uh…yeah, sure.”
“You okay? You seem distracted,” I say, glancing at her. She’s looking around almost too intently, as if she’s making a note of where everything is.
“No, I’m fine. Sorry. It was hot today and the run must’ve…I’m just tired, is all.”
“So, dinner tonight, then. I’ll pick you up. At eight.”
“I’ll meet you.”
“Smart girl. Okay, I’ll text you the restaurant information.”
Upstairs, we bump into my father and one of his oldest friends, who are just walking out.
“Matty boy, we were just talking about you,” my father says.
“Hi, Dad. Dad, this is June. June, this is my father, Victor, and this is a family friend, Leo Castillo.”
She extends her hand. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
“Raven hair.” My dad laughs. “He’s just like his ol’ man, isn’t he, Leo?”
Leo laughs, and I feel June stiffen next to me. “Yes, black hair is a Moreno favorite,” Leo agrees as they walk away.
“Dirty old men.” I roll my eyes and I notice her skin has paled. “They were just teasing. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she replies distractedly, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She continues to look at them as they walk away. A moment later she says, “You look like your dad.”
“I hear that a lot. Wait till you meet Nick.”
“You’re twins—wouldn’t he look the same as you? Wait—are you fraternal twins?”
“We’re identical, but he has this stupid long hair and beard, which make him look more like Dad.”
“You’re only saying it’s stupid because you’re not man enough to grow a beard,” Nick scoffs, walking out of his office.
“I could grow a beard if I wanted to. I just don’t want to look like a douchy hipster,” I taunt back. “Nick, this is June. June, this is my brother, Nick.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“See, she’s clearly into men, not boys.” Nick winks at her, since she’s staring.
“No, I…it’s just…you two look so much alike.”
“Yeah, well, twins,” he says matter-of-factly. “It was fun when we were young. Anyway, gotta run—meeting Naomi for lunch. Catch you later, Matt. Nice to meet you, June.”
“Nice to meet you too. Bye,” she replies as I take her hand and lead her into my dad’s office. “He seems nice.”
I snort. Nick is a lot of things, but nice isn’t one of them. “You are probably the only person who’d say that Nick is nice. Don’t worry—once you get to know him he’ll set you straight.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s ornery and grumpy and always trying to do everything. He’s not nice. He barks orders and stresses about everything.”
“Really?”
“Really. I think he only has long hair because he hasn’t had a chance to cut it. Between making sure every tiny detail of Panic is perfect and dealing with his crazy-ass girlfriend, the guy has no time for anything.”
“And you?” she asks, standing in the middle of the office. “You don’t seem stressed or concerned about much. In fact, you seem pretty laid back. Aren’t attorneys supposed to be angry or serious, or something? You look…” She looks at me intently. “Happy.”
I put down the pencil I’m twirling. “Anything wrong with being happy?”
“No, nothing wrong with it. It’s just that most people are stressed out about something or other. Yet you don’t seem to be. Not that I know you well. Maybe you’re just putting on your best face. Trying to impress me.”
I laugh and pull her close. “No, this is me. I can’t change things that are out of my control. My brother spends his days downing antacids. I don’t want that for myself. I guess we just handle stress in different ways. I have stress and worry like everyone else; I just don’t see the need to put it out there and make it worse.”
“And what is it that stresses you? Panic seems to be doing very well, isn’t it?”
“Well isn’t exactly the right word. It couldn’t be doing any better. After thirty years, it practically runs itself, which is why Nick should just hang back and relax a little. My stress is the usual life shit.”
“So what’s the problem? Why is Nick so grumpy, and what do you mean by the usual life shit?”
I don’t want to talk about all this. It’s too heavy and a bit intrusive. I take a small step back, running my fingers through my short hair.
“Too deep for midday, huh?” she says, noticing my retreat, which I quickly cover up with a smile.
“Yeah, no heavy shit before eight p.m.” I pull her around my father’s desk.
“I prefer my men clean-cut, by the way. I’m not a fan of the yeti look.”
“Glad to hear it.” I tuck back a piece of hair that has fallen from behind her ear. “I didn’t want to have to grow a beard.”
“You’d’ve grown a beard if I had said I liked it?”
“We’ll never know, now that you’ve admitted you like the way my smooth face feels against yours.”
“I didn’t say all that.”
“I think it was implied. You want smooth skin when I kiss you.” My lips skim closer to her cheek, and then I’m just a whisper away from her mouth. Her tongue sneaks out to wet her lips as one of my arms wraps around her waist and brings her so close she has to grab my shirt to keep her balance.
“I think it’s time we kissed,” I say, touching my lips to her cheek.
She moans, but shakes her head. “No,” she finally croaks.
“You sure about that, woman?” I ask, my lips hovering against the corner of her mouth.
She’s grabbing my shirt, rubbing her face against mine. Her body wants this. It’s practically buzzing with anticipation. But still she holds back. “We just met. I don’t kiss strangers,” she says in a barely-there whisper, her eyes closed.
“We’re practically boyfriend and girlfriend.”
That makes her laugh, which cuts the tension.
“Is that so?”
“It is.” I move back to give her the space she seems to want. She’s conflicted, and I don’t understand why. “We text each other.”
“We texted once.”
I wanted to text or call her earlier this week, but I was so busy with work, I just never got around to it. “Is there a magic number of texts that qualify for being someone’s boyfriend?” I ask teasingly. “Besides, I’ve seen you mostly naked.”
“What?” She playfully shoves my shoulder.
“Your transparent dress, remember? And I loved what I saw. So no worries on that front, Junebug.”
She’s laughing so hard she has to catch her breath. “I wasn’t worried.”
“Good. ’Cause you shouldn’t be,” I assure her. Then I continue, “You love my smooth skin. You’ve been here a few times. Had free drinks. You have my jacket, which I bet you sleep in. That’s what girls do, right? Sleep in their boyfriend’s T-shirts?”
“Yeah, T-shirt. Not an expensive silk Armani suit jacket.”
“Aw, look, you noticed all of that. You were sniffing it, weren’t you? Just admit it.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Fine, I’ll give you some more time before I kiss you,” I say, relenting. But I want to make my intentions clear. “It’s gonna happen, though. There’s chemistry here, June. You can feel it, I know you can. So today, say whatever it is you need to say to yourself to get ready, because tonight, on our date, my lips will be touching yours at some point.” Then I give her one last sweet kiss on the cheek and lead her to the Picasso, which she stares at in complete awe.
Make Me Stay: The Panic Series Page 4
