What really got her was the way Tom expected her to be hands-on. Should anyone touch or harass the dancers, they were thrown out on their asses faster than they could say “sorry.” But he expected her to be nice. Friendlier. Not to mention she had to wear this dumb outfit.
The black skirt was too tight, and too short. To feel comfortable, she had to wear thick tights so no one could see her ass when she bent over. The shirt wasn’t a shirt at all, but a ripped-up white tank top with their club name, Screw, across it in red. When her large breasts weren’t falling out the top, they were dropping out the bottom. Not to mention that the heels gave her blisters. Or the way Tom insisted she cake thick makeup on her face and paint her nails brilliant, vulgar colors. With her sun-bleached hair, the whole ensemble made her look like a cheap whore.
At least some part of what Tom was doing had to be illegal. He’d get away with it, though, because she needed the money too badly to quit.
A glass started an incessant banging on the bar and she winced. Not him again.
“Hey yaaaaa ...! I’m empty, sweet thang!” her worst customer of the evening slurred.
Clenching her jaw, she turned and walked down to where he sat. The kid was young, probably not even twenty-one. And cocky ... oh, so cocky. Sure, he had good looks. Reminded her of a blond surfer. But alcohol was not his friend.
Leaning on the bar, he practically fell over it. “You know what I want, baby. You gonna give it to me?” He swung the glass back and forth.
“Stop it,” she snapped, trying to catch the swinging glass. So much for friendly. Screw it. “You’re going to break the fucking thing.”
She went to grab the glass, but as she did, he let it go. It hit the floor, shattering into a million pieces. Shit! She jumped back just in time as the tiny shards flew through the air.
Grace sucked in a deep breath. Damn, she was lucky none of the razorlike shreds sliced her.
Geez! She shook her head as she bent to clean up the mess. “You’re cut off.” Anger boiled over in her voice.
She counted to ten, gritting her teeth together. She drew in a several steady breaths and tried to calm herself. Hand shaking, she grabbed a nearby trashcan, then began picking up the larger pieces and disposing of them. All of a sudden his fingers wrapped around her hair, yanking her whole head upward. Sharp pain shot through her scalp. A loud screech escaped her. Her hands immediately went for his, trying in vain to free herself.
He jerked her over the smooth, polished bar. The wooden ledge cut into her ribs as she slid into him. “I’m not cut off, am I, baby?”
The putrid smell of cigarettes and whiskey smacked her in the face.
“No. No ...” A sob caught in her throat. “Please ‑‑”
When he didn’t release her, she screamed again. She pounded her fists at him, but they bounced off him like little pebbles. She just wasn’t in a position to throw a good punch.
Why the hell weren’t any of these jerks helping her? Where in the hell were the bouncers?
Hot tears brimmed in her eyes and slid in burning paths down her cheeks.
He wrenched her head toward him, his lips pouted into a kiss. “Give me a little makeup peck, sugar.”
“She will not.” A strangely accented voice, deep and commanding, interrupted them. “Let her go. Now.”
She heard the kid give a cry of pain as his fingers released her hair. Stumbling backwards, her hand went to her head, where her scalp was on fire. Immediately the pain began to subside. She rubbed the tender spot, as if it would make it better.
A sob choked her as she swiped away the tears. The scene before her blurred then cleared. Wide-eyed, she watched her hero yank the kid from the barstool by his shaggy blond hair. He flung the kid aside, kicking him in the ass. “Get the hell out of here. Now.”
She wanted to jump up and down and cheer as the kid half crawled, half ran away. Once he stumbled out the door, her gaze darted to her hero. Oh, yeah! No wonder the kid had run!
Lean and cut, his tall frame was knotted with strength. Broad shoulders supported a well-defined chest, and carried upward into a tightly muscled neck. He had to be at least six-foot-five, and power radiated around him. From his body to his black, stylish business suit, he carried himself with the supremacy of someone not only rich, but in command.
Perhaps even a bit cocky. She eyed the curling golden hairs exposed where three buttons were undone on his white silk shirt. His jacket hung open, giving just a hint of his flat stomach and slim hips.
Long, wavy, shoulder-length golden hair tied into a ponytail confirmed the type of man he was. He might be rich. He might be a businessman. But he was a wild one who always did what the hell he wanted.
She licked her lips unconsciously.
“Are you okay?” His accent dripped from his mouth like smooth velvet.
Her insides curled. Accents were her weakness.
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
She snapped her head up, looking him in the face. His brilliant blue eyes, framed by thick golden lashes, were the color of the sparkling clean ocean. They reminded her of pictures she’d seen of the Bahamas, a place she dreamt of going to.
Their crystal cerulean depths captured and held her swimming, treading as if she were about to drown.
“Do you want me to call the police?” His accent tingled down her spine, jerking her gaze from his eyes to his lips. His mouth was wide and full, the type that could kiss you silly. He smiled, a little lopsided, and a dimple appeared in his left cheek.
Unable to help herself, she smiled back.
He raised his thick brows, questioningly. “I’m calling the police.”
She snapped out of it. “No. No, everything’s fine.” Her hand went back to her head. It still thumped, but it wasn’t that bad. Not if she could so easily be distracted.
It was nothing, she promised herself.
If someone called the police, Tom would fire her. She was damn lucky he was in the back room right now and had missed the huge scene.
Tom should fire the slow bouncers, who had never taken notice. They were too busy watching the strippers.
She shook her head, looking around. All eyes, up and down the bar, were focused right on her. “Everything is fine. I’m fine. Let’s forget it ever happened.”
Reaching up, she tried to compose herself and fix her hair. A few stray stands fell out, falling through the air to the floor. Ignoring them, she tucked the mess behind her ears and faked a smile.
As if he understood, her hero nodded. “Let’s. Free drinks for everybody to help the memory vanish. On me.” The solemn look on his face made it clear. He understood. He’d cover for her.
But he didn’t like it one bit.
A huge uproar of clapping and cheering burst out from the staring men, followed by a flurry of drink requests. She stood, stunned, as her hero sat on the kid’s barstool, his eyes never leaving her once.
* * * * *
Hell’s mercy. Edmund’s gaze followed her as she flurried about, serving drinks. Slim and fit, she moved quickly, pouring and serving like a pro. It amazed him how she could balance those long legs on such pointy high heels. She had grace and control.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She probably thought he was some sort of weirdo.
There was something about her. Something classy and ladylike that didn’t belong in a place like this. Maybe it was her sweet, heart-shaped face. Or her huge brown eyes. Or those pouting, full lips that revealed glistening white teeth every time she smiled.
It wasn’t hard to imagine her kneeling before him, those lips wrapped around his cock as she stared up at him with those wide eyes.
His rod jerked and hardened. But he didn’t care. Sitting at the bar, no one would notice.
He enjoyed desire. He liked the feel of wanting something he couldn’t have. The challenge of hanging on a teetering edge and wondering if he would find satisfaction.
The only women he ever fucked were well paid and gone the next d
ay. There was no wooing. No dating. No anticipation. He always knew what he was going to get and got it.
To love with passion was not possible for him.
Nor had it ever been, not since he was a boy. Not since his father died and he became an undying king. Oh, he’d married his queen and made heirs. But he’d never loved her except as the mother of his children. It had been his duty, and he had upheld it. For seventy years, he remained faithful to her.
But love? Unbridled passion? It did not exist for him. A man like him, who could not die, knew all too well the pain of losing. He had watched his wife and children die. His grandchildren. His nephews. Nieces. Great-grandchildren.
He would not chance losing a great love and carrying the pain forever.
But if he could ...
He watched the sway of her slim hips as she approached him. Modern women just got thinner and thinner. He often missed the soft, feminine curves of the voluptuous women from his day. Yet he couldn’t deny that the sight of a woman’s tight, fit body was equally tantalizing. Especially firm rears, slightly heart-shaped but small and trim. Just like hers. He couldn’t get enough of seeing hers bent and stretched in those black tights.
Leaning on the bar, she flashed him a wide, open-mouthed smile with brilliant, clean teeth. They looked more like pearls, they were so shockingly white. Much different from women of his time, who more often than not didn’t even have all their teeth. He could just imagine hers grazing his cock, every so gently.
“What about you, hero? What would you like to drink?”
He followed her plump red lips as she spoke, wishing he could reach out and run his fingers along them.
“A soda.” His voice cracked as he answered, and he cleared his throat. “A Coke.”
She raised her almost nonexistent blond brows, widening her huge brown eyes. Golden daggers sparked in them, questioning him. “What would you like in it?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. Just plain soda.”
She bit her plump lip in the sexiest way. “Who are you, anyway, hero?”
“Edmund Wulfhere, at your service.” He held out his hand, but she did not take it.
Disappointment flooded him. How he wanted to feel the soft caress of her skin against his. What would her hand feel like in his? Or rather, wrapped around his manhood?
Turning around, she busied herself by washing glasses in a tiny suds-filled sink. “Edmund, if you’re not drinking, and not watching the girls, what are you doing here?” A tremor of trepidation etched her voice.
So, he made her nervous. But why?
“Being your hero.” He murmured just loud enough for her to hear.
She whipped around as he said it, her eyes alive with questions.
A heavy chuckle poured from him. “This was a client’s idea of dinner. This really isn’t my type of place. Actually, I was just leaving, before ... Well, I can’t now, can I?”
Her hands went to her hips, and she looked at him like he were nuts. “And why’s that?”
“Someone has to protect you.”
She licked her full lips slowly, a sarcastic smile nipping her cheeks. “Well, aren’t you chivalrous?”
“Any decent man is.” His gaze swept over her again, wondering if she liked being protected. “Where’s my soda, anyway?”
Her mouth formed an O. Reaching into the small refrigerator, her barely there shirt let her big breasts nearly spill out. Unable to help himself, he studied the deep crevice between the two lush mounds. Hell’s mercy. To stick his cock into such a heaven ...
She pulled out a can and cracked it open. Dumping it into a glass, she set it in front of him. “I assure you, I can take care of myself.” Annoyance danced in her tone.
“Yes, I can tell.” He couldn’t help it. He laughed. She could take care of herself about as well any female. Why did modern women always think they could be men? A girl like her needed a husband to take care of her. “Why do you work here? Maybe I’m wrong, but you don’t look like you belong in a place like this.”
Her eyes narrowed, anger flashing golden streaks through them. “Where do I belong?”
“Lying on a bed of rose petals.” He flashed her his best smile, a little lopsided and just enough to create a tiny dimple. How he enjoyed flirting with her. It was the best sort of foreplay. “Underneath me.”
Chapter Two
Grace didn’t know whether to be angry, stunned, or flattered. He was one good-looking, obviously well-off man, and he was putting the moves on her. Being her hero.
Not that she needed one.
But she did want him. Unlike she’d wanted any man in, oh, say, seven years. She hadn’t experienced such an attraction to any man since Matt. Dear Matt ...
She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about him, or any other man, for that matter. She’d loved once and would never again. It was too hard to lose someone dear to you.
Unable to help herself, she eyed her hero up and down. She wouldn’t mind a fling, though. A woman had needs. If she could be attracted to him, maybe she should act on it instead of lying in a cold bed tonight.
“Would you like that?” His pale blue eyes sparkled and captured her once again.
Oh, yeah. She was drowning.
She could not look away. Raw passion flooded through her. Need caused her nipples to tighten. Desire paralyzed her. All ability to speak or move vanished. She wanted to jump his bones. Right here and now.
Her lips trembled as she tried to recover her senses. Geez! For hell’s sake, she was working. She shouldn’t be standing here. Flirting. This wasn’t the time or the place, and all it would do was give other men the wrong idea.
It was time to change the subject. She leaned against the back bar and crossed her arms. “I work here out of pure necessity. I graduate in a month. Pre-law. I could never make it all the way through law school, so I’m hoping to work as a paralegal. Once I get established somewhere, I’ll go to school part-time until I have my law degree. I have a notion to put drunks in jail.”
There. That ought to shut him up.
Instead he looked pleased. “Really? It just so happens I might be looking for a paralegal.”
If she hadn’t been leaning on the counter, she would have fallen backward. That’s where she had heard his name before. He was a lawyer! Edmund Wulfhere. Let the king represent you! The slogan was everywhere. TV. Billboards.
“Maybe I should give you a call when I graduate and quit this job,” she joked as bitterness snipped at her. “Then again, I want to be a lawyer to uphold the law. Not make a joke of it.”
She couldn’t stand his type. It was men like him who had allowed Matt’s drunken murderer to go free. He should have stood trial for the accident the same as if he’d killed Matt with a gun.
But he’d had some fancy lawyer, and in the end, Matt died and his killer got a slap on the wrist.
“No.” Edmund didn’t look startled by her words. Just annoyed. His blue eyes narrowed and shot daggers into her. Slowly he shook his head. “I think you should quit this job right now. That or press charges against the guy who attacked you.”
His arrogance annoyed her. Who was he to tell her what to do? He knew nothing about her life.
“I can’t.” Gritting her teeth, she turned her back to him. What did he know?
“Just so you know, I don’t represent anyone I feel is guilty. I have money. Being a lawyer is more of a hobby than a career. I stick to my ethics. I could use a secretary with the same gumption.” His finger thumped on the bar. “Come work for me. I’ll take care of you.” The last sentence wasn’t said with the same grit as the rest of his words. Spoken softer, it sounded more like a promise.
She swallowed. Despite the fact that they chipped away at her determination to be independent, the words warmed her. She’d never admit it, but there was this little piece of her, deep down inside, that longed for someone to take care of her.
Sometimes she was just so tired of doing it herself.
She h
adn’t missed the fact that not one customer had asked for a drink while they spoke. No one dared interrupt him. A man like him really could take care of her, and in more ways than one.
But she was a big girl, right? She straightened her shoulders. She certainly wouldn’t take handouts, and that damn well better not be what he was suggesting. If he thought she was that sort of girl, he had a huge slap in the face coming.
She jerked back around and gave him a glare. “I’m not that kind of woman.”
“What kind of woman are you?” He looked her right in the eyes, as if he’d find the answer there. “Looking for marriage?”
“I’ll never marry.” Despite herself, her voice cracked. Geez! What the hell was it about this guy that took such power over her? She stood and straightened her shoulders. “Hell, I’ll never even commit. But don’t think that means I’m some sort of slut.”
His tongue ran along his teeth. “Oh? Why is that?”
“Because love is not forever. It’s impossible. People die.” She yanked her gaze away. “I have to get back to work.”
Oh, yeah. She wanted this man too much for a fling. It was better to pretend she’d never set eyes on him.
* * * * *
An occasional car whizzed past him, but the city side street was otherwise empty. Edmund leaned against the hard brick wall and stared. The full moon glowed amongst twinkling stars, in a brilliant, almost magical way.
He tapped his foot. Hell’s mercy. For the first time in nearly six hundred years, a woman had him nervous. Why? What was this strange power taking over him?
He shook his head. Despite the fact that she ignored him, he had sat at the bar until two a.m. and watched her work. When the place started to close, he’d come outside and waited at the doors for her.
He just couldn’t let go.
Hell’s mercy. Whatever it was, she was just his type of woman. Not a slut, but not interested in love.
Even so, he normally wouldn’t touch a woman outside of intimacy. It was always about pure gratification. But there was something about her, more than her body or pretty face. Something drew him to her. He had to have her.
Spell of Love: Lust Upon Roses Page 2