by Kells, India
“Thank you for the invitation and sorry for the late response. I wasn’t sure about attending, but someone was bored and wanted to have fun tonight, and I couldn’t resist.”
Damon leaned in and kissed her neck again. The blush was natural, and Mr. Black smiled. “Well, if I have you to thank for getting Mr. Evans here as our guest, I, too, am at your feet.”
He took her hand and kissed the back, but in his dark eyes, she saw two things: lust and dismissal. She wasn’t important to him. Mr. Black’s true interest was Damon. That’s where the money, the power, and the real threat lay. It was clear she was only a potential fuck, nothing more, a possession that could be had and given. He probably thought she was either a gold digger or a hired escort.
In her life, it would have enraged her, but in this situation, it could work in her favor. “Thank you, Mr. Black. I would have also liked to say thank you to Mr. White, but I can’t see him in this crowd.” It was a delicate tactic, but now she knew what Mr. Black looked like, she wasn’t about to let go of her own goals so easily.
Sweeping the room, Mr. Black, indicated a blond-haired man laughing in the corner. Not as stacked as Mr. Black, the man had everyone’s attention around him despite not being the most handsome man in the room. Money and power gave ordinary men an undeniable charisma.
Returning his attention to her, Mr. Black gave her a barely contained lurid look, before dismissing them both. “I still have people to greet, but I can’t wait to chat with you. In the meantime, dance, drink, eat, be merry, and I’ll catch up with you later.” With his whiter-than-white smile, Mr. Black went to welcome another guest.
Damon resumed his hold around her waist and steered her toward the opposite side of the room. He nodded to several people, mostly men, but didn’t introduce her, which was a wise move in her opinion.
The place exuded money, whether it was jewels, watches, suits, and even glamorous escorts. The champagne literally flowed from two intricate fountains and waiters milled around with trays of hors d’oeuvres and canapes.
Damon selected a love seat in a corner, its back to a wall, another recognizable move from him.
He sat and pulled her down, half on his lap, his hand securely on her ass, keeping her firmly in his grasp. With no other option than playing the game, she hooked one arm around his shoulder but maintained her view of the crowd. A waiter passed and she accepted a flute of champagne while Demon selected whiskey.
After taking a sip, he lounged back on the couch and leaned into her, running his lips on the edge of her breasts. Orla felt her body react, but it wanted something more, or more accurately, someone else.
Her eyes scanned the crowd as Damon made it more and more difficult to focus and then she saw him. A tall man was making the rounds of the room. He towered over the people around him. Smiling and shaking hands, he stopped and spoke to each group. His hair was a dark blond, mostly short with longer, wilder strands on top. He had a five o’clock golden shadow and an almost a permanent smirk on his face. The more she stared at him, the more a little voice in the back of her head wondered if he wasn’t the mysterious vigilante. His body, height, and built were similar as was his coloring and even the angle of his jaw. But she’d speculated the same about Damon and been proven wrong. She couldn’t go around analyzing every man that had pale stubble and broad shoulders to determine if they were the vigilantes or not. That was counterproductive and obsessive. And from that very logical point of view, if he’d indeed followed her, he was most probably keeping a distance.
Caught by his charisma, Orla almost overlooked the woman on his arm. Uniquely beautiful with graceful curves, it was her bright pink hair tied in an elegant knot that drew her attention- that and the corset dress that put her breasts on display. The light green satin that wrapped her body made her look like a delicious candy treat. But it was the man her eyes kept returning to.
As she watched him, Damon slowly turned her body into a living flame. Despite being more than satisfied the previous night, her body wanted more. Her lust spiked as she took in the mysterious newcomer who hadn’t once looked in her direction. Orla was in a jam. Her brain was telling her one thing, her body another. She had to get the lust under control, and there was only one way to do so.
The stranger finally turned to look at her, and she felt the full effect of his green eyes on her. His expression was indecipherable, but his intensity was not.
As if nothing had happened, the man turned back the conversation, and with ease, excused himself, hooking the woman’s hand on his elbow. Orla felt like she couldn’t breathe when she saw the couple heading her way. Damon had seen them too, his body turned tense and hard, his hold on her relaxed, Orla was finally able to slide off his lap and stand. He offered his hand, and she was glad of the support.
The pink-haired lady watched her, not as a possible threat, like many women there, but with deep interest, licking her lips as if she was about to indulge in something sweet.
The stranger glanced at her, but quickly turned his attention to Damon, offering his hand. “Mr. Evans. I’m Sam Ferguson from Noctem Consulting. I’ve heard a lot about you and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to introduce myself.”
Both men were tall, but Sam Ferguson was slightly larger. Or was it the energy he projected that made him appear so?
Damon took his offered hand, although Orla could see his guard was up. “Mr. Ferguson. I have to admit I’ve never heard of you. How strange.”
Unaffected, Ferguson grinned. “We don’t like publicity, and we’re the kind of business who prefers to stay in the background. We believe that working out of the spotlight reaps greater benefits.”
What a weird thing to say. Orla slid her gaze from Ferguson to the woman beside him. Her blue eyes bore in hers, and this time, she saw amusement. Orla made a mental note to check out Noctem Consulting and what they did. If they were present, they could have a usable connection to the Maximon Entertainment Group and its mysterious owners.
The men exchanged a few more banalities, and a waiter passed with his tray, and Orla gave him her empty flute before excusing herself with a smile.
She needed to find the bathroom and compose herself as well as putting some much-needed distance between the two men and herself. Instead of being focused on the job and observing what their host was doing, she’d been distracted by Damon’s caresses, and Sam Ferguson’s gaze. Especially his attention. That was madness, one that had to stop.
She took her time making her way to the ladies’ restroom, scanning the room to see if she could spot Mr. Black without being too obvious. Where was he? On the spur of the moment, Orla decided to enter the service door. If someone spotted her, all she had to do was play dumb and say she’d become lost searching for the bathroom.
Waiters passed her as if she was invisible, too busy to tell her she wasn’t supposed to be there. There were a few doors on the left; the right side seemed to be access to the kitchen. Once passed the kitchen area, the crowd thinned considerably, and the noise faded. If it hadn’t, she would’ve missed hearing the shouts coming from further down the corridor. It was impossible to hear the words, but the tone was angry. She could only hear one voice as if someone was on the phone. Carefully, Orla took a few more steps, creeping closer to the corner, and saw a man standing guard in front of the door where the voice was coming from. He spotted her immediately, but Orla was ready and offered him her sweetest and most naive smile, asking if it was the right way for the bathroom. The bodyguard, who looked more like a hired killer to her, snarled at her and shook his head, telling her that she had to go in the opposite direction to find them.
Without a good reason to linger, she excused herself and returned to the reception area. Was it Mr. Black on the phone? She had to discover who Mr. White was, and if he was still mingling in the crowd. When she exited the kitchen area, she searched for Damon, only to find him dancing with the pink haired lady. Although dancing was probably a loose term in this case, they looked more like they were making love as the
y swayed to the sexy standard being played by the jazz band.
“May I have this dance?”
The low rumble of an enticing male voice close to her ear made her jump. One hand on her chest to calm her heart, Orla turned to see Sam Ferguson’s handsome face. “I don’t think I can dance if you give me a heart attack!”
Even though he offered her a pitiful look, she wasn’t fooled. The emerald of his eyes swirled with too much mischief to be trusted.
“I guess a heart attack could be collateral damage if you stay too close for too long, but I assure you that for a dance, you’re perfectly safe with me.”
Again, he offered his hand. Her brain battled with curiosity, but it was her body that made the decision, and before she realized it, her hand slid over his rough palm. What kind of job did the man do? It was way more than pushing paper, that was for sure.
It was another question to add to her list as he pulled her onto the dance floor and took her in his arms. It didn’t take much to be overwhelmed by him. Taller by a head, his touch was light around her waist, but she’d never felt so possessed in her life, and she knew she was in deep trouble.
Chapter Ten
In the middle of the packed dance floor, Orla was in a protective cocoon as she swayed in the arms of this stranger. This Sam Ferguson. Being so close to him, she could smell his expensive cologne, a mixture of warm vanilla and leather with a hint of musk. Some men used scent as a statement imposing it on others, but not him. This cologne was like a spell, softly invading her nostrils until it was too late.
At a guess, she suspected it revealed much more of the man than it concealed. No surprise there, as men on the fringe of legality rarely outed their true self, something she’d learned through years of experience in dangerous situations. However, Orla sensed deeper layers in him. He wasn’t showing off his wealth or power like most of the men in this room, although it was obvious he was dangerous. It was something she could feel coursing over her skin where he held her hand, and where he touched her on the small of her back through the delicate fabric of her dress with the other. Only a man of intelligence and restraint would be able to do that, and, if she were right, it would make him the most dangerous person in this place.
“Are you always this lost in thought when you’re dancing with someone, Ms…?”
As if she was giving him her real name. “I don’t think you asked me to dance just to learn my name.”
His smile never wavered. “Are you the type of woman who underestimates herself so much you think a man wouldn’t be interested in her apart from her body?”
It was her turn to smirk. “I know so. As for my name, half the people here are probably not using their real ones. Sam Ferguson may not even be your real name. What is the point of giving you mine?”
A rumble of laughter shook him, transferring to her body as he tightened his hold on her and spun them. Her head was spinning a little when he steadied her again. “It is my real name. But maybe it doesn’t sound exotic enough, thus giving the impression of being fake.”
The more he talked, the more Orla heard a new sound in his words. So far, his English had been quite international, without any particular distinction, but now, not so much. It was then it clicked in her mind. “You’re Australian.”
The surprise on his face was genuine, so was a slight hesitation, although he quickly recovered. “You have the ear for it. It’s been a long time since I left my home and I traveled a lot, I believed it had disappeared. Although some of my colleagues tell me when I’m pissed off, the Aussie comes back with a vengeance.”
“And what pisses you off so much that you lose your composure, Mr. Ferguson?”
He seemed to ponder it for a second as he spun her and pulled her back in his arms. “Please, call me Sam. Nowadays, not much. I’m not an angry guy. Not anymore. If I had to guess something that would get to me, it would be a loss. I guess that would piss me off.”
More questions rose after his answer. Too many powerful men would’ve spoken about money or contracts, even lovers, confrontations, or treason. She’d expected him to be like most men. But loss? It had a deeper vibe that got closer to emotions. What hardships could he have experienced that would make him so philosophical with her?
For the longest time, he looked down at her, his amusement gone, replaced by uncommon intensity. His green eyes detailed her face, his head started to lower and for a second she thought he was about to kiss her, but instead, he stepped away.
Bereft, Orla almost lost her balance. There had been a connection, something she’d experienced only a few times. Something tickled deep inside her, and more importantly, in her brain. It was an annoyance she’d felt before, and she forced herself to crush it and focus on more important matters.
With his amused grin back in place, Sam took her hand and kissed her palm. It was intimate, way too much for a complete stranger, so why did her body relax so easily into his?
Without a word, Sam bowed and abandoned her among the couples whirling around and vanished in the crowd.
It was the hand of another man touching her that brought her back to herself and to the task at hand. “Hey, babe.”
It seemed that Damon had left the pink-haired lady after all. If Orla was honest, she’d lost track of time. For all she knew, they could have fucked ten times before he came back to her. Instead of engaging in a useless discussion, she took his hand and led him back toward the kitchen. From the laughter she heard behind her, the man probably thought he was about to get lucky.
Ignoring his chuckle, Orla pulled him through the first door she saw on the left and closed it behind them. In the dim light, she could see a few discarded chairs and strewn tablecloths. The door had a window, but the staff were too busy to peek in their direction, and Orla honestly didn’t care if they did. All she wanted was a quiet place to speak without being overheard.
However, before she could utter a single word, Damon plastered her against the only free wall and kissed her.
A kiss wasn’t the right word to describe how his lips descended on hers as if ready for a fight, licking, biting, and bruising. At that moment, Damon Evans exuded nothing but impatience and contained violence. Her brain misfired from the lust that had been building up inside her body after her dance with Sam. As Damon bruised her lips, it wasn’t the biker she saw behind her closed eyes, but laughing emerald eyes. Orla wondered how Sam’s lips would taste.
As she debated between quenching the lust that was messing with her brain and pushing him away, the biker began to tear at her light embroidered dress, quickly undoing the couple of buttons that held it together and tossing it away, leaving her wearing her 50s style golden bikini. Damon descended between her breasts like an animal. Her body responded, but something felt off. For a split second, she had to decide if what was unfolding should continue. She wanted to release, but Damon Evans, as handsome and willing as he was, wasn’t whom she wanted.
“Oh, sorry! I’m deeply sorry.” A young waitress dropped a box she was holding and instantly turned as red as a tomato.
It should have felt like an ice bucket being poured over her head, but this unexpected interruption was more of an eye-opener.
Damon cursed when he turned and saw she was buttoning her dress. “Come on, babe! I’m hard as a rock here.”
She might have laughed at him; instead she kissed his cheek. “And you also made me forget why I’m here. I think it would be better if we were talking with people, and with that waitress barging in on us, I think it’s time to leave. I’m going to grab a drink. Join me; I have a couple of questions for you.”
With him cursing behind her, Orla retied her dress and stepped out the door. With a quick look in a side mirror to make sure she was presentable, she reapplied lipstick, straightened her shoulders, and headed back into the ballroom.
Thankful for the dimmed lights and crowd of people, she spotted a server and grabbed a glass of champagne before downing it.
“It was that bad?”
Orla blinked, unable to decide between laughter and outrage. Laughter won. “Nothing happened, so it’s more of a drink to celebrate my frustration and hope it fades. I don’t know what I was thinking. My head isn’t in the right place, I guess.”
Her new companion smiled. “Yeah, I know the feeling. I haven’t had a steady play partner for a while now and I’m just glad some of my toys plug directly into the wall or I’d be spending a fortune on batteries.”
Orla let out a booming laugh. As she scanned the crowd, her eyes went to the pink-haired lady’s companion, Sam, chatting with two men. As if sensing her gaze, his head turned, and they locked eyes. Again, his green eyes acted as a sudden punch in her chest. “If that’s the case, your companion should do something about it.”
“Oh, the man you are ogling? We’re not an item. I came with him as a favor. The poor guy couldn’t stand to come alone. I’m Sloane, by the way. Sam and I both work for Noctem Consulting. It’s more a work date than an actual date.”
Orla would’ve been offended by the remark if she didn’t know it was partly true.
“Oh, honey. If you were completely obvious when you were dancing with him moments ago, I’d be making advances on you now.”
It took a moment for Orla to reroute her thoughts, so she understood what Sloane was saying. “I’m flattered, but after a few attempts in college, I came to the conclusion cocks are my thing, even if men can be real dicks sometimes.”
This time, it was Sloane who chuckled. “I like you. College is indeed the place to experiment, and I have to confess I’m the type of woman who falls for a mind first, and not a set of genitals. And I would’ve gone for Sam if he wasn’t a work colleague, but that goes against my principles.”
