by Nora Flite
“Finally,” Thorne growled in my ear. I ignored him and kept my smile solid.
“Oh-ho,” Blue Suit purred, sitting forward so suddenly he knocked Gina off him. She recovered, perching on the couch and pretending it hadn’t happened. “And who’s this pretty thing?”
My smile twitched. Thing? Nope. “Here you go.” I nudged the tray closer. “If you need anything else, just—”
The man snatched my wrist, keeping me where I was. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Costello’s jaw tighten. Blue Suit kept on grinning, saying, “I asked who you were, sweet cheeks. I’m guessing you don’t know who I am, or you’d have answered.”
All eyes were on us. Gina was giving me her “Say the word, I’ll step in” stare. Patiently I smiled down at the guy holding me. My knees locked so he couldn’t yank me into his lap, like I suspected he was planning to. “Scotch. I’m Scotch. Now, you boys drink up and—”
He cut me off again. “I’m Darien. And I’m buying you for the night.”
Acid swam over my tongue, but I tried to keep it out of my voice. “Sorry. I’m not a dancer. One of these other girls would love to spend time with you, though.” I was positive they would, too. Now that I was closer, I could see those weren’t ones, but tens and twenties stuffed into the dancer’s thong. Darien was generous.
And an asshole.
He tightened his hold on me. “I want to play with you. Get it?”
That fucking tickle in my brain became a hammer. Bracing myself, I decided I was done being polite. He wanted to play? Fine. I had a favorite game called kick the dick in.
Costello’s shadow fell over us both. His voice was low and dark, and it went into my bones. “She isn’t for sale.”
Darien grimaced; the other men shifted uneasily. “Excuse me?”
Costello grabbed my shoulder, staring down at my captor; he could win a staring contest with a statue. Where Darien’s hand was a sucking whirlpool, his was a solid safety line. “She’s not here to entertain you.”
Static crackled between them. Thorne stepped forward, the bottle of whiskey from the tray in one hand, shot glasses in the other. “Why the fuck are we talking?” he asked. “Drinks are on me! Suck it down before I start charging, this shit is worth thirty bucks a shot!”
A guy with a red fauxhawk snatched a glass, bellowing, “To future good times!”
Someone else cried, “Deep Shots forever!”
“Tits forever!” Gina countered, jostling her own. That brought out more cheers.
Darien was a foot away from me. He wasn’t blinking or breathing, just looking deep into my eyes—maybe waiting for me to crack. I knew his kind, the sort used to getting their way. Between my own stubbornness and Costello’s blunt support, Darien wasn’t going to win.
I just kept smiling, especially when he let his hand drift away.
Costello’s fingers dug in—a silent way of saying I’d done a good job. That I was a badass. Or maybe I was reading too much into his presence. Either way, Gina had been right. Tonight was going to be great.
Then Darien turned his cool green eyes toward my best friend.
And my smile drifted away.
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~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~
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A USA Today Bestselling Author, Nora Flite lives in SoCal where the weather is warm and she doesn't have to shovel snow—something she never grew to love in her tiny home state of Rhode Island.
All of her romances involve passionate, filthy, and slightly obsessive heroes—because those are clearly the best kind! She's always been a writer, and you'll probably have to pry her keyboard/pen/magical future writing device out of her cold, dead fingers before she'll stop.
She loves when people say hello! If you see her in the wild, walk up and start chatting. Or hey, just email her— [email protected]
www.NoraFlite.com
-Nora Flite