This dude was a mountain of bulging muscles and veins and possible steroids. He gave me the beady-eye, and I waited for his acceptance or rejection. My heart raced despite the fact that I didn’t actually want to be here.
Bouncer man ogled my boobs then nodded and jerked a thumb to the door. The rope lifted, and I was in, embraced by the smokey, boozy, sweaty bosom of the club.
Kara had told me she’d meet me at the bar, so I made my way over, avoiding catching anyone’s eye. The sooner I met up with Kara and had the celebratory drink, the sooner I could get out of here.
I didn’t have money to waste on alcohol, and though Dad had assured me he didn’t need my help at home, I wasn’t exactly happy about leaving him there alone.
Tension knotted in my chest, and I stood at the bar, looking up and down it for any sign of my sister.
Nothing. Nowhere to be seen.
I prayed for patience and brought my phone out of my pocket. I unlocked it and shot off a text.
“I’m here. Where you at, K?”
No answer forthcoming. Either she’d decided to ditch me—highly likely since she’d done it before—or she’d met some guy and was too busy grinding up on him to bother checking her phone. I turned, grasping my phone, and craned my neck, searching the sweaty bodies on the dancefloor.
The music changed, and “Streets” by Doja Cat came over the speakers, the baseline so heavy, my throat and chest vibrated with every beat.
Arms sloped around necks, asses were grabbed, dresses hiked up, and the steam level rose up about twenty notches. My cheeks flushed at the sight of it—women pressing themselves against the hot, hard crotches of their partners, or men they’d only known an hour, a few minutes, if that?
So not my style. I had to repeat it to myself and switch my gaze to my phone because god damn if the dancing didn’t make my mind wander to places it shouldn’t.
Damien. Damien. Damien.
It was a whisper of a memory. My voice screaming his name. A flutter started up in my pussy, and the heat in my cheeks doubled.
What the hell was wrong with me? I cleared my throat.
“If you’re not at the bar in the next five minutes I’m getting out of here, Ka.”
I sent the text, taking another step away from the bar and toward the dancefloor.
“Don’t go.” The voice spoke in my ear, a hot melting chocolate that dripped and flowed. Hands wrapped around my waist, large and warm, holding me in place. “We haven’t had the chance to catch up yet.”
I lost my breath.
Because it was him. Of course it was him.
The Velvet Rope wasn’t my type of place, but it was Damien’s. Likely, he’d come out tonight on the prowl for a fresh piece of ass to take home, sleep with, and abandon.
I spun around in his arms and glared up at him, my heart pounding out a tattoo against the inside of my throat and goosebumps running down my front. My nipples rose, betraying the effect he had on me.
Twelve fucking years and his sexual magnetism hadn’t dulled. If anything, he’d gotten even sexier and more dangerous.
“Fuck off,” I said.
“I’d prefer not to,” he replied, leaning in and lifting one hand, placing a thumb against my ear and tucking his fingers against the nape of my neck. “I’d prefer to stay right here with you.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I growled. “We haven’t spoken in years, and you think the first thing I’m going to do when I see you again is jump into your satin devil bed? Get real.” Still, I didn’t pull away from him.
“Devil bed? Are you saying I fuck like a demon?”
“I’m saying you’re an evil shit, and I’ve got better things to do than waste my time on you, Damien Woods.”
“I like it when you say my name.” His dark eyes flashed heat and sex and all the things he’d done to me in the past, the good, the bad, and the utterly fuckable. “Am I flattering myself to think you came here looking for me?”
“You’re delusional, is what you are.”
“So, if you’re not here for me…” he laughed into my ear, his spicy amber cologne washing over me. “Then why are you already dripping wet?”
This time I did pull away from him, stumbled, and nearly fell.
He caught me by the arms and spung me around, snuggling my ass to his body. The outline of his erection pressed into me, hidden beneath his smart suit jacket, and I forced myself not to squirm.
Damien loved getting a reaction out of women. He loved being in control.
“I’m leaving,” I said.
“I don’t think you are.” He looped his arms around my waist and pointed, directing my attention toward the raised VIP area. A velvet rope separated the plebeians from the celebrities’ local or international.
“You think I’m going to go up there with you?” I asked, holding myself stiff and unyielding. The minute I melted into his arms, it would be over. That was Damien’s way.
Melt, and he’d pull you apart and put you back together again, except the pieces that you started out with wouldn’t be the same anymore. You’d always carry a little bit of Woods with you. A little corner of pain and pleasure that made your insides thrum and scream.
Idiot.
“I don’t think you’re going up there with me,” he whispered, breath chasing against my ear. “I know you are.”
“Dream on.” I moved, and his grip tightened. “Damien.”
“For once in your life, Hazel, use your fucking eyes.”
“Excuse me?”
He pressed his fingers to my chin and directed my head to the right.
My sister sat on one of the silvery velvet sofas on the raised dais, sipping out of a champagne flute and flirting relentlessly with a
