by J. Saman
Chapter Ten
I pull myself up and out of my oh-so-cozy bed, sleepwalking over to the view. My fingers press against the glass and I smile. This feels like hope, and even though I’m foolish to let it, I can’t stop it. In the five hours I’ve been in this room, no one came knocking. No one tried to break in. No one so much as called the phone.
I am alone.
For the first time in God only knows how long, I feel okay.
Not safe. Not fully anyway. But safe enough that I took a bath in the tub and a nap in the bed. Now I feel rejuvenated and every time I think about my stranger—since Maddox vehemently denied everything when I called him—I want to cry happy tears. As much as I do not want to know who they are, I also wish I could thank them. Because calling this gift huge is an understatement. It’s life changing. It’s mentally restorative. It’s soul saving. Amazing what a place to sleep can do.
I sigh wistfully, wishing I could spend the night in one of those robes, drinking that champagne and staring out at the Las Vegas night, but I can’t. It’s Sunday night and the bar will be busy. The bar is busy every night.
Welcome to Las Vegas.
Setting my backpack up on the counter, I dig through until I find my uniform dress. I squeeze into it, lamenting the amount of bare flesh it shows, before I brush through my slightly snarled bedhead. I put on makeup, including that damn red lipstick, slip into my black wedges, because these are far better than the heels I wore that first night of work, and then I’m good to go.
Except my backpack. What do I do with that?
Anyone can access this room when I’m not in it, so I guess my decision is made. I pack everything into it, including some of the food from the basket, just in case I can never come back here, and then I’m out the door.
I hit the elevator in no time and then I take it all the way down, squeezed to the back behind the other people ready to take on the night. Just before I can enter the restaurant through the side entrance, someone calls out, “Mia”. I spin around and find Brent on the opposite side of the large hallway, leaning against the façade that has a picture of a designer shoe store with the words Coming Soon plastered across it.
He knows my name. And he’s waiting for me.
“Are you here for me?”
I stare him down, knowing he is, and wondering if he captures the double entendre.
He nods as he rights himself, sauntering over like he’s got all the time in the world to stalk his prey.
Me.
I’m most definitely his prey as he enslaves me with his incisive stare. My heart kicks up into hyper-drive. My mouth bone dry, my stomach in knots and my skin prickles.
Is he the person who set me up in the room? Is this all a big ruse or way for him to demand sex or whatever he’s after from me? Or does he work for Niklas? Jesus, how fucking stupid am I? “I thought I’d try to catch you before your boyfriend interferes.”
He reaches me, and in these shoes, I’m nearly six feet, a couple inches shorter than him.
“What is it that you want? I need to get in. They’re expecting me,” I add like this will make any sort of difference if he believes people would look for me.
“I think you know exactly what I want, Mia Jones.” I swallow and shake my head, my eyes wide and fearful despite my best attempts at reining in my emotions. “You, Mia. I’m here for you. Why else would I come to this bar night after night? You’re my reason for being here.”
“I already told you,” I whisper, my voice void of any strength or potency, “I don’t—”
“And I already told you, I’m persistent. I always get what I’m after, Mia. Always. And right now, I’m after you.”
Soul-crippling chills run up my spine. My breaths come out in short, unequal spurts. Fight or flight. I surreptitiously scan around, wondering if I could take him down and make a run for it. I doubt it. Something about this man, his size, his confidence, the way he’s looking at me, says I’m not going anywhere until he lets me. Even if I scream.
“I make you nervous,” he observes with a wicked grin. “Good. You should be nervous around men like me. I might be everything you think I am.”
I swallow hard and step back.
He steps forward.
I shake my head.
He nods his.
“Are you?”
He shrugs and then shakes his head slowly, his eyes never wavering from mine. “Not in the way you think. One night, Mia. One date. Dinner. Talking. Just you and me.”
There is so much more behind the last part of that. “How did you find me?”
“Call it fate, because that’s how it feels to me. The important thing is that I did find you. And now that I have, I’m not letting you go.”
I take another step back and, damn him, he takes another step forward. I can’t think. My mind is a jumbled mess of too much adrenaline and limited innate survival skills. Because let’s face it, if I had a proper set of those, I’d never be in this situation. But despite the magnitude of his words that leave me quaking like the earthquake they mimic, his green eyes are sparkling, and his smile is warm and inviting. It makes me wonder if my fears are warranted. If this is simply the act of a charming man trying to seduce a woman. Sadly, I can’t tell the difference anymore. There are a million things dancing behind those eyes and I’m blind to all of them.
“My business in Las Vegas is nearly finished, so I’m on the clock. I know you said you don’t date and the fact that I don’t live here is a deal killer. But I travel here a lot for work. A lot,” he emphasizes. “So maybe if we tried dinner a few times, we could see how things went. Try me, Mia. You know you want to. We’ll only talk. And eat, of course. Nothing more. It’s not as sinister as you think it to be.”
A date? He’s got to be fucking kidding me. And the way he just transitioned from stalker to light and flirtatious is giving me whiplash. A derisive scoff passes my lips. I straighten my spine and fix him with my most assertive glare. “You’re good with the lines, Brent. I’ll give you full credit on skill and effort. But I’m still not dating. And that’s not going to change.”
“I am good with a lot of things, and not everything I say to you is bullshit. But I get it. You’re…unsure of my intentions.”
That’s putting it mildly. Then he takes a final step and I find myself plastered up into a wall. Pinned. There is a foot or two between us. But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like he’s consuming me. Eating my fragmented soul piece by piece.
He opens his mouth to say more when we both catch movement out of the corner of our eyes.
Jake.
He’s standing there like he was just about to go into the restaurant and spotted us.
Our eyes lock, my green ones and his dark ones, and for a moment there is nothing else. My heartbeat calms. My breathing returns to normal. It’s the most nonsensical reaction based in absurdity, but it’s still welcome. He smiles, those dimples sinking deep into his smooth cheeks. I smile back before I can help myself and that smile seems to alter something in him because he steps towards us.
“Sunshine,” he greets me, completely ignoring Brent, who is openly scowling at Jake. “You coming in with me?”
The question is innocuous, but there is nothing innocuous about the way he asks it. Especially the way he emphasizes the word me.
“Mia and I are in the middle of something,” Brent clips out, maneuvering his body so he’s closer to me.
“Oh?” Jake replies, still grinning at me like he has a secret only he and I are privy to. “It looks to me like all you’re doing is making her uncomfortable.”
Brent’s back stiffens, his posture becoming tall and wooden like this thought disgusts him. “I think you’re jealous she pays me a hell of a lot more attention than she does you. Can’t say I blame you, though.” He chuckles, finding me again with something dark and deliberate, as he talks to Jake. “There’s a lot more going on between us than you know.”
“I’m, uh…I’m going to head in now,�
� is all I manage, using Jake’s presence as my escape, and pushing past them both. Taking in a much-needed breath, I walk as fast as I can without running. I need to think about that encounter with Brent. Analyze it fully when I have more time. Because I believe him. I think he is here for me. I think there is a lot more going on between us than I know.
What exactly? Well, that’s the question, now, isn’t it?
I stash my bag in the back room, take some more deep breaths to prepare for what I know is waiting for me out there. By the time I reach the bar, say a quick hello to Diamond, who does nothing more than give me a curt nod, both men are in their usual spots—Brent sitting at the bar and Jake behind it. I pour Brent a drink of the same bourbon I gave him last night, before he can ask me for it.
“You never gave me an answer,” he says when I place it in front of him. He reaches for my hand, but I don’t give him access and he gives up. “You don’t have to give me one this minute, either. Think about what I said.”
Sort of impossible not to.
“Dinner tomorrow night.”
“How do you know I don’t have to work tomorrow?”
He gives me that million-dollar smile. The one meant to be charming and reassuring. It’s not. I’ve seen that smile before. I know it intimately.
“Because I asked your boss.”
I’m hoping that’s where he got my name from, too, but instinctively, I know it’s not.
“I appreciate the attention. I’m beyond flattered—”
He puts his hand up stopping me. “Not yet. Don’t decide yet.”
I give him a nod because I don’t know what else to say or do. Nothing with him feels the way it should. But if he were working for Niklas, wouldn’t he have already taken me? I’m honestly not sure.
I leave Brent there to sip his drink and fiddle around on his phone. I don’t have time to waste. The bar is overflowing as the restaurant is filled to capacity after the weekend turnover.
Jake hasn’t said much to me other than bar-related business since that scene out in the hall. It’s a relief. He’s another one I cannot figure out. Yet, I think about him. More than I should. A lot more than I should. And none of my thoughts are innocent.
Opening wine bottles might just be my bartending nemesis. It’s difficult and requires leverage and short of sticking the bottle between my thighs to pull out the cork with the shoddy corkscrews they give us here, I’ve got nothing. And of course, two women order a very expensive bottle of white wine. I set the bottle down on the back counter, go through the routine of taking off the foil and twisting the corkscrew into the thick meaty cork.
Then I pull. And I pull. And just as the cork is about to pop out, my elbow smashes into a row of glasses next to me, two of them tumbling to the floor and shattering. Shit.
I sink down, grabbing the small dustbin and brush hidden under the counter and begin to sweep up the shards of glass. I’m not myself tonight. Everything about today has turned my brain into a turbulent, chaotic, jumbled mess.
Once the glass is cleaned up, I empty the dustbin into the small trashcan next to me. Just before I stand back up, I catch a large shard stuck in the rubber of the floor. Reaching out, I grasp it in my hand, give a good tug and yank it up, only to get jostled from behind as Diamond practically knees me in the back, pushing me over.
“Sorry,” she calls out as she rushes down to her side, not even checking to see if I am actually okay. Yeah, she’s not sorry. Sharp, shooting pain sears through my hand and when I open my palm, that I had stupidly closed over the broken piece of glass I was holding, there is blood everywhere.
“Crap,” I mutter, dropping the bloody piece of glass into the bin with the other pieces and taking in the wound that doesn’t seem to want to stop bleeding. I grab a few bar napkins and press them into the wound.
“Jake?” He turns around, smiles and comes over to me. “Can you finish off this bottle of wine and get it those ladies over there, please?” I point with my good hand. “I cut myself and need to get cleaned up.”
He takes my bleeding hand in his, ignoring the way I draw back from his touch and uncurls my reluctant fist. “Shit. This is a mess. You okay?” he asks as he examines the gash.
I nod, trying to extricate myself from his grip, but he’s not relinquishing the firm hold he has on my hand.
“Kiera, can you finish off this bottle for those women over there and cover us for a few minutes?” he asks one of the bar-backs, even though it’s not really her job to do so. “Mia cut her hand, I’m going to help her get cleaned up.”
“Sure. No problem,” Kiera answers.
“Come with me,” Jake commands.
I shake my head. “I can do it myself, Jake. Really. It’s not that bad.”
“No arguing.”
Jake grabs a first aid kit from a lower shelf and leads me through the bar, still holding my wounded hand, until we reach the bathrooms in the back. They’re single bathrooms, and without hesitating, he opens the door to the men’s room and guides me in. The door shuts heavily behind us and he locks it with an amplified click. The sound of my exaggerated breathing and the blaring reality that I’m alone with him in a small, confined space, has me turning toward the faucet and away from him, to wash out my cut.
I twist the water on to cold and nearly jump out of my skin when the splash of water hits the porcelain. Lord have mercy, I need to get a grip. I feel his large, overpowering presence looming behind me, his thumbs brush up and down against my exposed arms and I start. “Do you need help cleaning it out?”
“No.”
He chuckles lightly, his warm breath skating across the shell of my ear. “Then why are you just standing here staring at the water like it’s going to drown you?”
My eyes flicker up to the mirror, finding his in the reflection. He’s so close. So tall and commanding. I feel his heart beating against my back. Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump. It’s a hypnotic rhythm mine seems to be matching, even when it’s desperate to run five beats faster. His molten chocolate eyes search mine, a concerned expression marring his handsome face before his lips quirk up into a lopsided grin. He reaches around me and takes my injured hand, his eyes fixed on mine as he brings it under the cool water. It burns, and I wince, but I can’t stop staring at him.
“Sorry,” he whispers, letting the water do its thing before pulling my hand out and patting it dry with a cloth hand towel from the side of the sink. “Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
He spins me around in a flash, pressing my back into the sink. I gasp and then whimper when he caresses my fingers with his. “It’s okay,” he soothes, clearly thinking that sound was pain related. It wasn’t. Not even close.
Drawing my hand up to his face, he examines the small cut on the top of my palm, just below my pointer finger and then puckers his lips, blowing cool air onto the wound. My body erupts in a shiver, and he steps closer into me, our bodies practically flush. My face flames, my chest rises and falls in rapid, succinct movements. The smell of his sweet breath mixed with his cologne is making me dizzy. It’s also making me want to tear the clothes from his body and beg him to make me come right here in the men’s bathroom at work.
“It’s not bad,” he whispers, urging me to look at him.
But I can’t. I’m too nervous. Too wound up. This is excitement. This is anticipation. This is the type of rush I haven’t experienced in a very long time. And that scares me as much as it thrills me. “Look at me, Sunshine. Let me see those gorgeous eyes of yours.”
I swallow down the thickness clogging my throat and look up.
Jake stares into me before shifting his focus to my lips. My tongue reflexively juts out to moisten them. Black pupils eclipse soft brown irises. He smirks, enjoying the effect he has on me.
“We need to get back.”
“Not yet,” he replies on a thick exhale. “I haven’t bandaged your hand yet.”
Right. My hand.
Dark, lust-laced eyes framed in black
lashes, flitter to each one of my features like he’s trying to memorize every dip, curve and freckle on my face. My breath hitches at the intensity and my heart beats even faster, my cleavage heaving over the top of my dress.
“I think it should be good with some liquid bandage. The bleeding has mostly stopped.”
“Whatever you think.” Because I have no idea what day it is right now let alone how to bandage my hand.
He reaches up and brushes some hair out of my face and that smile of his grows wider when he realizes I didn’t flinch. Nothing shocks me more. He leans in, his eyes locked on mine as he gauges my reaction to him. I can’t determine what he’s going to do. Is he going to kiss me? Whisper something in my ear? Push the boundaries on how far he can go before I freak out? I don’t know. But I’m thinking right now, I’d let him do whatever he wants with me.
Knock, knock.
“Just a minute,” Jake calls out and I close my eyes, blowing out a relieved breath. What the hell am I thinking? This has to stop.
And it does stop. Jake blinks, clears the wild desire from his eyes and focuses on the task at hand—literally. He applies liquid bandage to my cut after making sure it’s good and cleaned out. We exit the bathroom together, my head ducked down when we pass the man who was waiting to enter, because I do not want to see the expression he has. We come off as two lovers who just fucked in the bathroom of a restaurant. Sadly, I came pretty close to letting that happen.
Just before we reach the bar, he turns back to me, drawing my body close to his once more.
“You’re okay?”
“I am. Thank you for helping me.”
“Any time.” His fingers glide across my cheek before he regretfully drops them back to his side. “Every time.”
What the hell is going on?
I give him a tight nod and then I brush past him, going back to work, practically shaking myself at the clarity space provides me. How stupid am I to sink into a guy like that? To fall into a gorgeous face and eyes that say, you can trust me? Those eyes say, ‘you’re safe with me’. They say, ‘I’ll give you incredible pleasure and no pain’.