The Rebound - Stefanie London Page 0,27

insecurities. Do you think bad girls get insecure about their boobs? No way.

“I hope you enjoy the oysters, madame.” The waiter nods and leaves us standing at the painting. I trace my fingertip over the gilt frame, catching each groove and bump as though exploring something forbidden. Then my finger finds what it’s looking for: a latch on the bottom of the frame, hidden from sight but not touch.

“What on earth is going on?” Sebastian’s hand is at my waist and the touch fuels me. I want desperately to rock back against him, to feel him close to me like I did on the dance floor last night.

But I’m going to pick my timing. Good girls show their feelings up front, but a bad girl knows when to pull the trigger. At least, that’s what Cosmo told me once.

“Ready?” I ask him over my shoulder, biting down on my lip to keep from laughing at his bewildered expression. I press the latch and feel the painting release. Slowly, I shift the panel of the wall—aka the hidden door—to one side. It reveals a dimly lit, narrow staircase. “Welcome to the Oyster Room.”

“A secret passageway? Very Scooby-Doo.” He clasps my hand and follows me without hesitation. “How did you find out about this?”

My heels make clipped sounds as we descend, the secret door sliding closed behind us and the latch clicking shut with a sharp snick. “Friend of a friend.”

The lower we get, the clearer the music becomes. We get to the door at the bottom and knock three times—single sharp knocks evenly spaced apart. A cover slides back at eye level. “What’s the password?”

“Lucky llamas,” I say, and behind me, Sebastian laughs.

The door opens and we’re greeted by a man in a waistcoat. He has a full beard and glasses, and leads us to a table right at the front, on my request. There’s a stage before us, and a beautiful woman with flowing red hair, amazing breasts and the most sparkling lingerie I’ve ever seen proceeds to perform a burlesque routine that’s halfway between rhythmic gymnastics and sex. She holds a ball that’s made to look like a pearl.

“Now I know why they call it the Oyster Room,” Sebastian says in my ear as we’re seated.

There’s a little velvet couch, so we can sit together, and a low round table with a cocktail menu that’s as thick as an encyclopedia. The music is loud enough that it complements the burlesque show, but soft enough that it’s possible to hear the person next to you if they lean in.

My leg brushes Sebastian’s as he sits next to me, not bothering to keep much space between us. Tonight he’s devastating as ever—dark hair a little wind-blown, stubble lining his jaw, eyes like rich espresso. He’s sharply dressed in dark denim jeans that fit like a dream, and a shirt with a blazer. He’d be clean-cut if it wasn’t for the stubble, and I love that contradiction.

I press my thighs together, trying to stem the insistent feeling there. The neediness. I’ll be honest, I’m not the kind of woman who’s ever had an out-of-control sexual appetite. Don’t get me wrong, I like sex as much as the next person. I even have a fancy vibrator that I bust out on occasion. But I’ve never been consumed by desire. I’ve never wanted someone so much that it made it hard to think, hard to breathe. Not even with the two men I thought I might marry.

But I feel that way now.

Maybe this is some kind of rebound symptom—a diversion tactic to keep you worrying about your broken heart.

But is my heart broken, really? Or is it more shame that I almost led myself into a lackluster life? Shame that I let myself be convinced I was in love for all the wrong reasons?

Even when deep down I’d known something wasn’t right.

Sebastian stretches his arm along the back of the velvet couch and I shuffle closer, comforted by the broadness of his body and the easiness of his touch.

“Surprised?” I ask.

“Very.” He turns and a smile infuses his hard-edged features with warmth. “Not at all what I thought you had planned when you suggested dinner and drinks.”

“Do you like it?” My eyes flick to the stage, where the performer undulates in time with the music, the pearlescent globe in her hands catching the stage lights and shimmering. She holds the audience ensnared, captivating them with her saucy smile and liquid movement—her body curvy and