by Jami Denise
I found them toward the back, and unfortunately, I caught sight of Flynn first. He commanded the attention of everyone in the room. The way he oozed power and confidence permeated the entire club. A zing zipped through my body, straightening my spine and tightening every muscle as I watched him laugh at something someone at the table said.
I missed him.
Just as the thought entered my mind, as if he'd heard it with his own ears, he looked up and captured my gaze. Instantly, my body reacted to the look in his eyes. I could feel my sex clench and my nipples harden.
As I sauntered across the room, purposely putting more movement in my hips than necessary, his eyes followed me. I couldn't help the satisfied smile that spread on my face.
Gotcha, asshole.
I knew I'd overdone it with my wardrobe, but the look on his face made the tight-as-fuck skirt worth every crease my skin would suffer wearing it. He approved, obviously. Flynn Maguire was a very naughty, naughty boy, and I was ready to have a little fun in the midst of my personal nervous breakdown.
I approached the table and he stood, a trait of his I found endearing and admirable after I got to know him—especially for someone like him. I still appreciated the gesture and nodded before taking a seat.
"Where's Vince?" I said, lifting from the seat and making to leave.
"He's on his way. Don't worry—you don't have to be alone with me.” It was then I noticed that we had company, and not the good kind.
"Are you fucking kidding me with this shit? You brought hookers?"
"Hey," a petite brunette snapped, leaning over the table. "You should know better than to call names, Jayne King. You're no better than we are."
"Fuck off," I bit out. Turning to Flynn, I raised my chin and shot him a glare. "We don't have to like each other, but I'm not doing this."
Flynn shook his head and held up his hand. "I'm not trying to piss you off. Calm down."
I glared harder.
"I'm calling V. If he's not here in five minutes, I'm going to bounce. I didn't agree to these bullshit games."
All of a sudden, the music was too loud and the chitter-chatter around me was too much. Nervous energy bubbled up in my belly, and I did everything I could to avoid looking at Flynn. The girls across from me were burning holes in my head, and I couldn't be bothered with that shit. I still didn't understand what they were doing there, but I was willing to wait and see what Vince had to say about them when he showed up. If he showed up.
"Would you like a drink, Jayne?"
Turning my head slightly, I gave Flynn a curt nod. "I'll take lemonade."
He chuckled. "As you wish."
I didn't like his passive-aggressive attitude, and I really didn't like the way he was staring at me. Shifting uncomfortably, I started to rummage through my purse just to give myself something to do. I hated being uncomfortable, and I was definitely uncomfortable.
Finally, I gave up. I couldn't do this. I couldn't sit across from him and act like we were acquaintances. There was nothing more ridiculous.
"You know what?" I announced. "I'm out of here. I will get ahold of Vince and we'll do this another time, somewhere else. I'm going home."
Pushing myself out of the booth, I avoided all eye contact. I really wanted to throw a fit, as was my way, but in front of those girls? No way. Even if I was walking down other avenues, I didn't need a bunch of girls gossiping about me like I was some jealous bimbo.
"Janie," Flynn said wildly. He stood, blocking me from leaving the table, and every ounce of my tolerance was shattered.
"Don't touch me. I mean it. I'm leaving. I don't see why we need an audience for this. I was under the impression you and Vince were ready to talk to me like adults. Obviously, I was mistaken. I. Am. Leaving."
I shoved him out of the way and walked briskly through the club, not giving a shit if I was shaking it or if he was watching. I was way over that game. Games in general.
As I stepped out of the club, I walked right into Collins and groaned.
"I'm sorry," I said.
He moved in front of me again and grabbed at my arm. "Miss King, Flynn asked me to give you this."
He shoved a note card in my hand and walked away, and it took every shred of patience not to wad it up and chuck it on the floor. Instead, I folded it up, clasped my hand around it, and went on my way.
My curiosity got the best of me. As soon as I got in my car, I opened the card. Call it pathetic, but my eyes wanted to see his script, wanted his words. My heartbeat was as fast as a hummingbird as I unfolded it and held it up in front of me.
Meet us in my suite in an hour. No one else will be there. We'll talk—I promise.
—Flynn
No hearts. No I love you. No with love. Nothing. Zip. It was just as well.
I considered whether I should go to the suite or not. I sure as shit didn't trust him, but something told me he was ready to talk—even if Vince wasn't. Hunger grabbed ahold of me and my stomach growled. I had plenty of time before he asked to meet, so I got out of the car, handed the confused valet my keys, and headed back inside.
Sitting alone in the small, quiet café gave me time to think and recompose myself. The bitterness was eating at me. It was really an awful feeling. I missed Jackson, his warmth and honesty and smile. My throat tightened as I swallowed a bite of my turkey sandwich, knowing that I'd hurt him, and knowing that I was no better than Flynn. I also thought about how forgiving Jack was. There was no doubt that if I walked back into his life and begged him for his forgiveness, he'd give it. He'd work on it, and he'd find a way to forgive me.
I really wanted to be that kind of person. I thought I was beginning to become that person while I was there. But, the resentment was too deep, too consuming.
I made a decision in that moment that I'd at least try. Moving on with my life would just prove more difficult the longer I hated Flynn Maguire. It didn't mean I was letting him off the hook either.
I looked at the time on my phone and decided it was close enough. I was finished with my wannabe dinner, so I cleaned off the table, gathered my things, and headed up to his suite.
~~***~~
As I exited the elevator, I spotted Collins standing outside the door of the suite. My senses were lit and alert. He never greeted me from outside—it was always from behind the door. Something was just... off.
I had the urge to jam, but my feet kept moving. I was tough. I could deal with whatever he threw at me.
"Miss King. It's a pleasure seeing you again."
Somehow, I didn't think he was sincere. He'd given me the stink eye earlier when he handed me the message, and he had a similar sour expression now. He didn't like me or what I represented. I wasn't stupid—I knew he wasn’t my biggest fan. The thing was I didn't especially like him or his role in Flynn's life, either. He was nothing but a bitch in my book, taking orders and scampering around for a spoiled man, playing a glorified pimp in a stuffy suit.
I didn't get the suit. It was annoying as hell.
"The pleasure is all mine," I purred, laying on the sickliest sweet smile I could muster.
"Mr. Maguire is waiting." He stood aside and held the door open for me to step inside.
"Fantastic," I bit back.
Walking back into that suite was upsetting. Déjà vu hit me like a ton of bricks. It wasn't exactly a bad feeling, but the memories were certainly not good either.
I pushed them back and looked around the room, finding him sitting in the red chair, lazily smoking a cigarette. Smoke plumed around him, stagnant in the air of the room.
"I'd appreciate it if you put that out. The smell is disgusting."
He didn't look up at me as he responded. "I think you can handle it."
My body tensed and my hands began to sweat. I wanted so badly to smack him. He was back to being an asshole. Well, two could play at that game.
"I'll be in the other room—out of the smoke while we wait for Vince."
As I expected, he followed me into th
e other room moments later, strolling in with the cigarette disposed of and a grim look on his face. He went straight to the bar and poured himself a drink.
"Where's Doyle?"
I figured, why prolong things?
He diverted his eyes and began swirling the liquid in his glass nervously.
"Answers, Flynn. I just want answers. As difficult as this may be for you, I want the truth. All of it."
His eyes shot over to me and his glare cut at me. "We kept things from you to keep you safe. There were a lot of things involved, Jayne."
Annoyed, I rolled my eyes and shook my hand at him dismissively. "Save the B.S. for your little whores. My life is in danger, and I don't trust you. You can't continue keeping things from me for my own good—you or Vince. Your little scheme got my father killed."
"Your father got himself killed!" he roared, slamming his drink on the counter. "We were trying to keep you out of it!"
I barked out a laugh. Unbelievable.
"I find it hard to believe that fucking me had anything to do with my safety. That was selfish and all about you.”
He ran his hand through his hair and let out a growl as he turned away, clearly pissed.
Good. He needed to be rattled.
"It was selfish. I'm not going to insult you by saying otherwise, but everything I did—as stupid as they were—I did to get closer to you. That was selfish. I could've gone around it another way, and that's my mistake. I apologized! Fuck!" He slammed his fist into the wall and leaned his forehead against it. "What do you want from me?"
I gritted my teeth and adjusted my jaw. "Nothing," I said. Suddenly the room was way too small. My hands began to sweat and my legs were restless. My bravado was lacking, and my heart was trying to jump out of my chest. He had a sneaky way of pulling at my heartstrings. "I don't want anything."
It was time to get out of there. It was becoming clear that Vince wasn't showing up, and I was going to claw his eyeballs out for setting me up because that's exactly what was happening. A fucking setup.
As he turned to face me, my heart got even heavier, and I couldn't have hated him more in that moment. I loathed that he could still cause that reaction. The conniving bastard.
Any self-respecting woman would walk away and never look back, but I'd proven that I hadn't a shred of respect. I'd run away and escaped and given myself whiplash looking backward.
I'd never get him out from under my skin.
"I need to leave. Obviously Vince isn't coming, so I need to go."
"Please stay," he said, making his way across the room. "Don't go yet. I'll talk."
I hesitated. I'd been going around and around in circles for weeks. I could stay and listen, and hopefully get some answers, or walk away and get nothing.
I was ready to give him a shot.
"Fine. Talk."
He smiled at me, grabbing his drink and made his way over to the couch to sit. "Vince isn't coming."
I smirked. Of course he wasn't. "I figured that out when he wasn't here when I arrived. I'm not stupid."
"No, you're not."
I gave him a small smile and looked away. "Can you tell me where Doyle is?"
He sat back, his legs spread wide and his head against the cushions. "Can you just trust me that you're not in danger? He won't hurt you. He's gone."
I turned, folding my leg beneath me, and watched his eyes trail up my leg to where my dress had lifted.
I ignored his staring and went on. "Gone. What does that mean?"
He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands over his face. "Vince didn't tell you anything at all?"
I let out a small laugh. "No."
Letting out a long, deep breath, he sat up and slapped his hands on the top of his thighs. "Well, I think you're going to need a drink."
"Maybe a glass of wine," I agreed. "I have a feeling I'm going to need it too."
He turned his head slightly and smiled. "Red or white?"
I shrugged. It was all the same to me. "Whatever is easiest, I guess. I'm not really a connoisseur."
He stood and stretched his arms over his head, and I couldn't help but let my eyes linger on the way his jeans fit snug around his ass. I loved the way he filled out a suit, but in jeans, he was a work of art. It was stupid how good looking he was, and even stupider that I couldn't stop checking him out.
He acted like he hadn't noticed, but I knew him a little better than that. He was trying to be on his best behavior, but Flynn liked to be noticed, and especially by me.
It didn't take him long to gather a couple of wine glasses and a bottle of wine. He strolled over to the couch, set them down on the table, and sat down—closer to me than before.
I could see him smirk as I scooted toward the arm of the couch, making a little more space between us. He was all about strategy. I wasn't stupid. He was definitely going to put moves on me, and it was going to be a struggle to fight them off. The sudden civility between us didn't make things right. I was still hurt and angry, but unfortunately it didn't stop the reaction my body had to his. I was still a woman, a woman that loved and enjoyed sex—especially with him. Flashes of his skin against mine scrolled through my mind, and I bit down on my lip to hold in a groan.
"Are you comfortable?" He handed me a glass full of wine, and I took it gratefully.
"I'm fine." I took a large gulp of the wine to cool my nerves. It was dry, but sweet and immediately helped my nerves.
"My dad is in hiding." He said after a long moment of silence. "He was gone before I got out of the hospital."
"Shit," I spat. "So no one knows where he is?"
I looked over, and he shook his head. He took another drink of whatever it was he was drinking, and threw his ankle over his knee. This position put us even closer, and between that and his arm on the back of the cushion behind my head, I was surrounded by him.
"So how did you come to take over the casino?"
Knowing Doyle, there was no way he'd allow anyone, his son included, take over what was his while he was still breathing. There had to be more to the story. I took another gulp of wine, anticipating the worst.
"I just did."
He sounded so self-assured, as if his father wasn't a fucking murderer. "And you think he has no problem with it? Flynn, your father is insane."
I looked over at him again, surprised by my fierce concern. Obviously, so was he. His hand shot out and I flinched, but settled once I felt his finger run down my cheek. My eyes fell closed, and my heart hammered. It was way too tender and felt way too good.
"I'll never hurt you. I hate it when you do that."
I wanted to argue. He'd hurt me from day one. My lips refused to respond, and my eyes refused to open. Instead, I shifted away from him again and drained my glass.
The wine was already going to my head. I felt light and warm and much too comfortable with him touching me.
“Do you mind if I take my shoes off?” I asked. They were killing me and had been all night. It was one of the repercussions of living in sneakers and flip flops for months. I wasn’t used to them.
“You can do whatever you want.” His voice was gruff, almost too quiet to hear, but I heard it, and I wanted to believe it.
“Thank you. I’m not used to them.”
I reached down to slip them off, but his hand caught mine. Our eyes met, and my breath caught in my throat when he let his gaze trail down my leg and fall on my shoes.
Him and his damn shoes.
“Let me.”
He didn’t give me the opportunity to protest before he had my legs in his lap and his hands on my feet.
“You always wear heels,” he said. He ran his hand over the top of my foot, up and over my ankle, staring at my shoes.
“I haven’t been wearing them. Not until I got back to Vegas.”
“Hmm,” he hummed. “I prefer red, but these are nice.”
A small smile creased the side of his lips as he slipped the first shoe off. Gently, he laid it next to him and then wen
t to the other foot. His motions were smooth and calculating, and I had to catch myself from laughing at his fetish. At least it was nice to know something about him was genuine, even if it was his kink.
“You can let go now.” I tried to tug my foot out of his grasp, but he squeezed down hard enough to make me flinch.
“Don’t move.”
I groaned when he applied pressure to the ball of my foot, and just gave up. If he wanted to rub my feet, I was going to let him. He wasn’t going any further than that, but he could think whatever he wanted. He liked my feet, and I liked his hands. It was a win-win situation. At least I had him right where I wanted him. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon as long as he had my feet, so I was going to use that to my advantage.
“Is your dad in hiding? Protection? What?”
"Don't worry about Doyle. He won't hurt you. You don't have to worry about him. Vince and I have things under control."
I couldn't help myself. The wine gave me confidence, and I was sick and fucking tired of that song and dance already. I sat up on one knee, pulling my feet away from him and pressed myself forward, my finger in his face.
"Stop bullshitting around. You are both giving me the same crap as before! Stop avoiding my questions! Stop trying to protect me!"
I felt the droplets of liquid against my skin as his glass hit the floor and I was pulled into his lap. My hands shook, but I couldn't push myself away.
"My dress!"
My mind was going ninety-to-nothing. To say I was muddled and confused was an understatement. The room spun, my stomach dropped, but my heart... it felt like it was home. In his arms, good or bad, I felt everything.
He grabbed the side of my dress and started to push it up my hips so I could sit flush against him, but the damn thing wouldn't budge. I wiggled a little and he groaned, yanking at the hem and ripping the seam up my side.
"What the hell?" I gasped.
He grabbed my face with both hands, pulled me forward, and then his lips were on mine, hard and determined. My body melted into his, falling forward and embracing him like I'd wanted to do all night. I was a little drunk, but alert enough to know what I was doing and that it was a huge mistake. I was too far gone, though.