"She said 'no', sir," he said.
Dragon drew in a breath. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the top of the table as he stared at her. He should be angry. Nobody rejected him. Nobody questioned what he wanted. If they did, the consequences were swift and intense.
There was something different about her. He couldn't let it go.
He got up and started for the steps leading down from the platform. Kenton and Marcus stepped in line behind him, but he lifted a hand to stop them. They stayed back and watched as he walked across the club to the bar. He stepped up beside her, but she barely paid attention, as if she almost didn't notice he was there.
Now so close, he could smell the citrus on her skin. The effect of one finger sweeping over the smooth edge of her glass was stronger when he could see the slope of her hand. When she’d caught his attention the last time, her clothing was outrageous, and her stance resistant. Now she was different, but it held his attention even more. Her simple black dress cut across her collarbones and nipped in at her waist but spread around her thighs in a drape of soft fabric that exposed long legs and shoes that drove him to the edge.
“Hello,” he said.
Wide green eyes slid over to him.
“Hello,” she replied.
“How are you this evening?” he asked.
“Fine.”
He gave a short laugh.
“Do you know who I am?”
She took a sip of her drink, and her eyes roamed over him without urgency.
“Should I?”
“Everybody knows who I am,” he said.
“I must have missed the memo.”
She took another sip, draining the glass down until there was only a small amount left. He nodded toward it.
“Let me get you another one of those,” he said.
She shook her head. “I'm alright. Thank you.”
“I invited you to my table,” he said.
She was unaffected by the revelation and only gave a bob of her head.
“I know,” she said.
“Why didn't you come sit with me?”
She looked at him again, something approaching a smile tilting up her glossy red lips.
“Just wasn't interested,” she said.
“You have a man somewhere?” he asked.
She finished off her drink and shook her head, shifting her position, so she leaned to the side against the bar.
“No,” she said.
“Then why'd you turn down my invitation?”
“Was it an invitation or a command?”
He licked his lips, his smile wider. This woman was getting to him. It shocked him as much as it intrigued him. She turned back around and faced the bar, her elbows propped on it as she twisted her glass around in the shallow pool of condensation on the polished wood.
"You look different tonight."
"I was at a party," she said as if it explained the way she’d looked the first time he’d seen her.
"I like this," he said and waited for her reaction. When none came, he took a step closer. Breathed in sweet citrus. "Come sit with me."
She glanced over, and her eyes dropped to the stool beside her.
"Sit with me," she said.
He couldn't walk away from her. All around him, there were women vying for a single drop of his attention, just for a second to know he noticed they existed. Yet he couldn't move away from her. She had a grip on him without even touching him.
He stared at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to relent. Her expression never changed. Finally, he slid onto the stool and was rewarded with a slight smile on those full ruby lips.
Everywhere he went, he was noticed. Now, she noticed him, too.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Ariella."
He offered his hand, and she rested hers in his palm. Her skin looked milky against the gold tint the sun baked into his. As if she only existed in the shadows. Only came out at night to tempt him.
"I'm called Dragon."
Chapter Seven Now
“So, silver lining to my forgetting I was supposed to bake a cake today is, you get to see the infamous Sherwood grocery store,” I say.
Dean looks at me from the passenger seat and laughs.
“Infamous because it's in Sherwood?" he asks.
"Um… yes," I say. "But, also, it means you can get the food you like to have at the house while you're staying with me."
"Is this the same grocery store where you won the murder vacation?” Dean asks.
I hold up my hand like I'm displaying his point.
“There you go. That's why it's the infamous Sherwood grocery store,” I say.
He laughs. "So, has anything else come out of that whole situation? Did anybody ever find the owner of the island and the resort?”
“You mean the mysterious Mr. Windsor?” I shake my head. “No. It turns out even the people working at the resort didn't know how to get in touch with him. They only spoke to him when he called. The person they thought was him was actually a representative of his sent to the resort.”
“A representative?” Dean asked. “I thought he actually went sometimes.”
“I thought so, too. But when people have been asking around, nobody has been able to give any indication that they’ve actually had a conversation with him in person. It's completely bizarre. He owns the company through a holding company that is listed as an anonymous LLC. The actual identity of the owner and any other members of the board, if there are any, aren't public record.”
“But since the resort was being used both for smuggling drugs and as part of a human trafficking ring, there has to be something the authorities can do. It can't possibly just continue operating because the owner's name isn't publicly listed,” Dean says.
“No, it can't. The
