by Alex Wolf
My life seems to revolve around my profession. I love my job, but Sean was right, I don’t know how to shut that part of me down as often as I should.
“I got us a table at that new club. You know what I had to do to get Mr. Pike to get me this table? Please?” She draws the word out.
Mr. Pike is her silver fox asshole of a boss.
“No, and don’t tell me.” Misty and her boss have a special relationship. Meaning she’s his plaything, sidepiece, whatever the kids call it these days. I don’t know why she works for the man—I really don’t—but she’s a big girl. She can take care of herself. Not my concern.
She can deny it all she wants but I know she’s in love with him.
“Meet you there in like an hour?” Her voice is desperate, a pleading tone.
Ugh. I hold my phone from my ear and look at the time. In Misty speak that means more like two hours which would give me time to get ready, if I was going out.
I do have a hot little red dress I’ve yet to wear and the perfect shoes to match.
Hmm.
“I didn’t hear a no.” Her voice is nasal and singsongy.
“If I say yes, will you stop talking like that?”
“Maybe.” She does the voice thing again.
“Fine. Text me the address and don’t be late.”
“I promise.”
She’s full of shit and I’ll be sitting at the table drinking alone for at least two songs before she shows up.
“I’ll be there.”
“Yay!” She squeals in my ear before the line goes dead.
Clicking the power button on the TV off, I move Casper from my lap and put a lid over my popcorn bowl to save it for tomorrow night.
That red dress hanging in my closet screams my name.
When I get inside the club, it’s filled with people wearing New Year’s party hats and dressed to the nines. The bar’s jam-packed, and the waitresses appear to be running their legs off for the private party going on in the VIP section that sits up a flight of stairs and overlooks the club. I’m twenty-eight. I should be living it up like the group up there. Maybe I will, for one night, anyway. I deserve it.
I’m married to my job because I love it. I’m an attorney on retainer for a women’s non-profit. I represent women who can’t afford someone on their own. I know I can’t save the world, but I try.
Maybe it’s time I put myself back out there again. It’s been nearly six months since I ended things with Sean and moved into my new apartment on my own.
Closing my eyes, I take a moment to let all my worries go. Tonight, I need to cut loose. It’s almost a new year and the air seems full of possibilities. Smiling to myself as my mind clears, I move to the music, swaying my hips with the beat.
Right now, I don’t care that Misty’s late. I don’t care that there will probably be ten new cases on my desk when I return to the office on Monday.
Right here, right now—there is just me and the music.
“Fuck me, that dress would look fantastic on my floor.” An oddly familiar voice growls in my ear and a hand slides around my waist from behind, pulling me into a solid chest.
Woodsy cologne envelops me, and I shake my head.
I know who it is without looking.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Out of all the bars in Dallas, fate has delivered the asshole from the cab.
“Weston?” I don’t look back, and hope to God it’s him or I’ll feel ridiculous.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about his cocky smile and that heart-piercing dimple, ever since he disappeared from the cab. I can practically feel his smirk burning a hole in the back of my head.
“I made an impression. What are you drinking?”
Normally I’d smart off, but I do need a drink. Besides, I need to kill some time until Misty arrives. “Whatever you’re having.”
He clears his throat, and I turn around to face him. I think he was expecting a snarky remark, and his face actually looks a little disappointed.
“Champagne in the VIP room. Want to join me?”
Is that hope I see sparkling behind his dark eyes?
“Okay.”
“Seriously? That’s it?”
“Nope. It’s New Year’s Eve and a time for new beginnings. Why don’t we start over?” I smile and hold my hand out. “I’m Brooke.”
He grabs my hand and electricity shoots straight to my pussy when he smiles, exposing that dimple I spent a good part of the night dreaming about. “Weston.” He gives me a side eye.
“What?”
“I don’t know how I feel about this yet.” He wags a finger up and down my body.
“I thought you liked the dress?”
“I’d like what’s underneath more.”
And, we’re back.
“I’m sure you would. I could use an errand boy to take it to the dry cleaners for me.”
“That’s better, cab girl.” He grins.
“Can I call you Wes?” I stare into those dark eyes and everything and everyone around us seems to freeze. It’s like we’re the only two people standing here while the rest of the night blurs past. Only a minute has passed but it feels like forever.
“No.”
“So, about that champagne you were going to fetch me?” I raise an eyebrow at him.
He doesn’t let go of my hand, simply moves his other to the small of my back and leads me to the velvet rope that gates the stairs to the VIP area. His hand is like fire, just inches from my ass, and I think I might combust.
He nods at the bouncer who lets us through.
As we approach the tables where his group is seated, a few of the girls flash me nasty looks. Guess they think I took him off the market for the night. I ignore them. I’m only using Weston to occupy time until my friend arrives.
Weston
Sipping on my fourth glass of champagne, I watch as the party rages around me. Everyone laughs, dances—they’re having a hell of a time. Me, I’m soaking it in, perusing the crowd in search of who I’ll be balls-deep in later. Normally I’d have pussy lined up for the night, but I ended shit with Katrina, my flavor of the week, before I flew to Montana to have a sit down with Pike.
His latest fling threatened to lawyer up. Things usually never get that far. We usually throw enough zeroes at his conquests that they shut up, take the money, and disappear.
My brother raises his glass at me. He and Jaxson sit, surrounded by artificial women hanging all over them. It’s a pity. They managed to pick up some hot ass, but I can smell their desperation. That’s the problem with women. They don’t get that you don’t go to a bar to find Mr. Right. The only thing men who frequent clubs are interested in is being Mr. Right Now and Mr. Let Me Fuck You Tonight. That’s it. They aren’t looking to stick a ring on your finger. Maybe a cock ring on themselves if they think you’re into that kind of thing.
I’m not even going to warn them—Brodie and Jaxson. They should be smarter than this by now, but they’re thinking with their cocks, and you can’t reason with a man’s dick.
“Hold this. The future Mrs. Bass just walked in.” Maxwell shoves his flute into my chest.
I look to see who has captured his attention.
Standing near the edge of the dance floor I spot a woman wearing a red dress that hugs her curves so damn tight it should be against the law.
Damn. Wish I’d seen her first to lay claim on her.
The woman spins around as her hips sway. Her head tilts up in our direction and I freeze. It’s the woman I shared a cab with last night. We’re too far away for her to recognize me. I do, however, recognize those long legs I imagined wrapped around me and that tempting smirk on her face.
What the hell is she doing here alone?
There’s no way I’d leave her side if I went anywhere with her. For the night, anyway.
If she’s here with someone he’s a fucking idiot who doesn’t deserve her. She belongs under me, in my bed, having so many orgasms she can’t see st
raight. My cock hardens just thinking about stripping her out of that fuck-me dress.
“Hold your own drink. She’s mine.” I grit through my teeth at him as champagne sloshes over the brim and down both our hands.
“I saw her first, bitch.”
I shoot him a glare that tells him to back the fuck off in a hurry. “I shared a cab with her from the airport last night. Sorry, man. I’ll owe you one.” I grin as he shakes his head and calls me a cock-block.
“Goddamn right I am.” I mutter the words under my breath as I make my way down the stairs. If he even talks to her, I’ll rip his arms off and beat him to death with them.
When I get close to her some clown in a cheap suit is about to hit on her. I jerk him backwards with a strong hand to his shoulder. “She’s taken. Go elsewhere.”
He holds up his hands with wide eyes. “I don’t want any trouble.” He melts back in to the crowd.
He got that fucking right.
Sliding my hand around her front, I tell her exactly where I’d like to see that dress. On. My. Floor.
She’s like a demon sent here to torture my dick. So fucking sexy and tempting. She got lucky I let her leave last night. But not this time. No, the universe has spoken.
Her body fits snug against mine. That tight little ass of hers presses against my cock and I have to bite back a groan.
She shocks the hell out of me when she agrees to join me in the VIP room. She can pretend all she wants, but I see the look in her eyes.
When I move my hand to the small of her back, her lips part, telling me my touch affects her. I can feel so many eyes throwing daggers into my back. She’s by far the hottest woman in the club.
Maxwell scowls at me as I lead her to our table.
I slide into the booth next to her, draping my arm over the back as the server pours more champagne.
Brooke brings the flute to her lips, smiling over the brim, and all I can think about is how good that red lipstick would look smeared around the head of my dick.
Fuck, I want to take her home right now, pin her to my bed, and bury myself in her for hours. Her eyes don’t break from mine as she swallows a long drink.
Her gaze is almost challenging. Daring me to make a move on her. I’m a player by nature, but maybe I’ve finally met my match.
Her cell phone rings breaking the tension between us. “I need to check this.”
“Go ahead.” I down the rest of my drink and wink at Maxwell as he gives me the evil eye. I slyly flip him off over her shoulder.
She stares at the screen and her face twists like she just swallowed a lemon. Her fingers move, typing out a message. I can tell by the pout she’s wearing whatever the message says it has upset her.
I place a hand on her knee, making sure to remember exactly how soft her legs are. “What’s wrong?”
She rolls her eyes and her mouth tugs into a weak smile. “My friend ditched me.”
“Looks like you’re stuck with me. It’s fate.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t believe in fate. I believe in choices and consequences.”
I grin. “Jesus, you sound like a lawyer.”
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Alex hails from the Midwest and currently resides in New Orleans.
He enjoys writing steamy romance but more importantly he enjoys the “research” required to produce the steamy scenes. If you like filthy-mouthed, possessive alpha heroes and steamy romance, then he’s the author for you!
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