“Ian isn’t going to happy to see you here, Miss Mattlaw,” Cole, her savior, informed her humorously.
Courtney opened her eyes, turning to slant him a curious look. He was wearing a wedding band. A thick, obvious stamp of ownership. Trojans might share their women, but they never touched other females. He was safe.
“Perhaps Ian’s pleasure in this small area isn’t high on my list of priorities,” she suggested archly.
Suspicion filled the dark blue eyes. “What areas interest you?”
“In Ian’s pleasure?” she asked curiously. “Why would you care?”
“Ian’s a friend.” He shrugged muscled shoulders carelessly. “And you don’t appear to be the sweet little virgin he warned us all against.”
Her brows snapped into a frown. “He warned you against me? In what manner?”
“In the manner that if they touch you.” He nodded to the men still watching curiously. “They don’t just lose membership, they lose vital body parts.”
He was laughing. It was obvious he found it all highly entertaining.
“And he did such a thing for what reason?” Not that she had any designs on the other men, but the fact that he would do so irked her feminine pride.
“Virgins are endangered species,” he lowered his voice, though it still vibrated with laughter.
“Virgin?” She threw back the rest of her drink before smacking it back to the bar. “I would have never guessed Ian was a virgin. My, my, who was that I saw f**king the housemaids while he stayed on the estate? I should discuss this with him. Rumors can be so cruel.”
Chuckles echoed through the room.
“I gather the virgin isn’t you?” He sat back in his stool, watching her intently as his hand drummed idly, silently against the bar.
Slowly, she spread her arms, well aware of the wickedness of the outfit and the soft sheen of silky bare flesh.
“I hardly think so.” She smiled slowly. “Virginity is such a chore. One is never allowed to have any fun when her daddy believes such a heinous thing. But, when Daddy is happy, life is much better.”
“So what Daddy doesn’t know, doesn’t affect the little non-virgin’s life?” he asked with a hint of mockery.
“Exactly.” She shot Thom a disgruntled look as she turned from Cole. “You are not a very effective bartender. My glass is still empty.”
Thom looked to Cole, as though asking permission. What happened to Trojans being dominant, alpha, take-charge men? She was about to become very disappointed in them.
Courtney barely restrained her exasperated sigh.
“My glass is empty, Thom,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, and Ian’s most likely on his way,” he grunted. “You’ve had your limit, ma’am.”
She would have pouted if she thought it would do her any good. Instead, she allowed a small smile to cross her lips, the one that should have warned him that her day was coming.
“Fine. Ian has a perfectly outfitted bar upstairs. I merely assumed the company was much more interesting here. I heard the Trojans were a bit more adventurous than it appears they are.”
“Being adventurous and having a death wish are two different things,” Cole reminded her as she stood from the stool and stepped down from the small dais the bar sat upon before turning for the door.
She watched suspiciously as one of the men at the table closest to her pushed his bottle of whisky across the table in invitation. He lounged back in his chair, lazily relaxed, his black eyes curious as he watched her.
Now there was one willing to break the rules, she thought admiringly. It was too bad that for this first confrontation with Ian, it was much better that no other males be involved.
Too bad Thom and Cole weren’t as forthright.
What had ever made her think that the men in his club would dare go against Ian’s orders? He was as dangerous to cross as her father was, and she knew it. What was it about her that she seemed surrounded by overprotective males? Did she seem so innocent? She didn’t feel innocent. She felt frustrated and on edge and purely pissed that the only emotion she seemed to be able to inspire in Ian was his blasted protectiveness.
She ignored the silent offer of the whisky. It wasn’t the drink she wanted. She turned and headed for the closed double doors, intent on perhaps trying a different venue to tempt her prey. There had to be a way. As she took her first step, the doors were flung open with a controlled, subtle display of power and anger. They didn’t bounce against the wall, but the crack of wood meeting wood echoed around the room.