guest of ours wants to speak with you.”
“Tell him I’m fucking busy.”
“It’s Rio Warren sir,” she said. “He seems to think that you’re fine with him being here, and I’ve told him that he’s not.”
“Jesus Christ…” He moved back. “I’ll be there. Get away from the goddamn door.”
“Yes, sir.”
Looking into my eyes, he sighed, as he pulled my dress down over my thighs.
“Give me five minutes to come back to you and finish what we started,” he said. He smoothed my dress before opening the door and letting me out. He led me back to my booth and poured me a glass of champagne before walking away.
On edge, I downed the entire glass in one gulp. As I was leaning forward to pour another, the familiar sound of Adele’s “Set Fire to the Rain” song came over the club’s speakers. Although it was over a much faster beat, her words were the same, and each syllable she sang cut deep.
All of a sudden, I couldn’t focus on sitting in this club anymore. I was sitting next to my mother in the front seat of her truck—singing the lyrics at the top of my lungs, laughing as she said, “Even your terrible singing voice can’t ruin my new favorite song of all time, Meredith. I’ll be singing this one for the next fifty years…”
Shaking away the memory, I grabbed my purse and left the booth before the tears could fall. I took the elevator down to the lobby and collected all of my things from the security check. I rushed outside, stopping when I saw the sea of slow moving cabs. The music was now gone, and I could breathe again. I could also go home and try to forget about fucking up this night.
Stepping close to the curb, I held up my hand to hail a cab, but I felt someone pulling it down. A set of hands gently grabbed my waist from behind and spun me around.
“So, this is going to be a pattern with you…” Michael said, smiling. “Running away from things you want?”
“No, it’s—” I shook my head. “It’s a lot of things.”
“Tell me the most important ones.”
“Well, for one, what type of DJ plays Adele at a fucking party? Like what the hell is that?”
He raised his eyebrow.
“What type of best friend tries to talk you out of having sex after you’ve been in a dry spell for two years because she thinks that deep down you want more than that?”
“Do you?”
I didn’t answer that. “I just wanted to get fucked tonight. Really hard, really rough, and then really soft, too. I just wanted to feel something other than the feelings that are in my chest right now, and I was so close to getting it, and—” I stopped talking. I was baring my soul to a man I hardly knew. “Your club is beautiful,” I said instead. “It deserves all the praise it gets in the press and—”
He pressed his fingers against my lips. Then he tilted my chin up with his fingertips.
“The Four Seasons or The Waldorf Astoria?”
“Four Seasons.”
“Penthouse suite or sky suite?”
“Penthouse.”
He clasped my hand and led me into the alleyway that was next to his club. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, and the bright lights of his Jaguar flashed in the darkness.
A gentleman, he opened the door for me and waited until my seatbelt was secure before walking to his side of the car.
The drive to the hotel passed by in a hazy blur, and the next I thing I knew, Michael was leading me through the doors of the penthouse suite.
He hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ hanger on the double doors and made sure they were locked. Pinning me to the spot with his gaze, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his suit jacket. He took his time taking the things off completely—teasing me with his every move.
When he was down to his dress shirt, he took his time unfastening every button, and I gasped once his chest was completely bare.
His six-pack of abs led down to a beautifully carved “V,” but the grey and black tattoos that snaked around the sides of his torso took my fucking breath away.
Without saying a word, he pulled me against his chest and kissed the fuck out of me, until my knees went weak under his sensuous assault.
“Ah…” I moaned against his mouth when he finally allowed me a few seconds to breathe.
Sliding his hand against the side of my dress,