Chapter 12
She carefully maneuvers her way over the long legs of the girl currently beside Calais, not wanting to step on her. Kara makes a beeline for the long row of seating along the length of the limo opposite the entrance, sitting down on the fancy leather cushions that squeak loudly as she does so.
All the sparkling party lights are on full force. Settled in, Kara can see the other occupants of the vehicle. Calais and Long Legs are at the back end of the limo, while Kara finds herself seated next to the man with the devious dark goatee and shiny black shoes. All the way to the front with their backs to the driver are two scantily-clad girls on either side of the devasting blonde gentleman in his lovely midnight grey suit. He looks positively eye-catching with his black shirt and accompanying black silk pocket square tucked into the suit breast pocket, contrasting sharply with his very pale hair.
Goatee Gentleman raises a hand to brush Kara’s hair away from her neck, but Kara twitches and slaps it away. She raises a single finger and shakes it at him, scolding him sharply, “Ah ah. Think again. Keep your hands to yourself. I’m not here to be your personal playtoy.”
He snorts, rolling his eyes as she scoots further away from him, closer towards the end where Calais is idly pouring himself more gin from the golden wet bar, filled with assorted juices, sodas, and alcohol. Kara isn’t close enough to touch him, which is perfectly fine; she just needs to be able to talk to him without shouting across the vehicle.
Kara eyeballs the wet bar. There’s spilled powdered sugar on it.
Someone is grabbing her around the waist while she’s distracted, sliding her rear across the seats. The same hand makes a pass at her ass. Kara growls with teeth and twists to face Goatee. “Did you think I was kidding when I told you not to touch me?”
Those midnight eyes widen in surprise; ah, so he did think she was kidding. Not used to women refusing to fall all over him and his money, likely. His hand loosens on her before slowly pulling away. When he finally gives her a respectful distance, Kara holds out her hand with her eyebrows raised. “This may come to you as a surprise, but I am a human, not an object to entertain you. I’m Kara. I also have sharp teeth.” She snaps her teeth together, making an audible click. And a bad temperament.
Goatee chuckles, briefly looking over Kara’s shoulder at Calais. “Sharp teeth, eh? It seems you are an acquaintance of Nicholas.” Then, he engulfs her hand in his own, squeezing tight, a bruising grip that Kara returns. “Walter.” He tilts his head in curiosity. “Has he brought you out before? You do seem familiar, you know.”
Oh, no doubt. This must be the lady hound limo crew. Kara is pleasantly surprised that none of the opposing counsel, other than Calais, is present. This must not be Sunshine or Rugby’s scene, as it were. Fabulous; now she doesn’t need to feel weird about seeing either in court.
While Walter doesn’t try to grope her again, he does lean over Kara a bit, eyes walking down the line of her throat, across her exposed collarbone, down to her chest. His arm comes up behind her, across the top of the seat. He’s wearing a deep black button-down and Kara can already tell that he smoked a cigar at some point tonight. With him towering over her in this fashion, she can clearly see a deep scar running down the side of his neck.
“Jade, be a sport and go keep Walter company for me,” Calais is drawling in a bored tone somewhere behind Kara.
“Of course, Sir.” Long Legs, her name apparently Jade, gets up and scoots into place on the other side of Walter of the Goatee, pressing up against him eagerly with a practiced smile. Her finely manicured hand settles high up on his thigh immediately.
With him practically on top of Kara, the hooker pressed up on his other side, Kara suddenly feels like she’s part of something she absolutely wants no part of. No effin’ way, Walter boy, no sandwich for you.
Jade’s hand is creeping further. If it creeps any higher, Walter is going to be having himself a good time while breathing down Kara’s neck. Oh, lord. He’d best not or I’ll strangle him with his tie.
“You’re moving rather slowly for someone who is supposed to be relocating to the seat beside me,” Calais utters flatly. Kara can feel his eyes boring holes into the side of her face.
Turning to look at him, tie undone about his neck loosely, Kara gives Calais a disgusted look. “What is this, a horse trade? Give me a break, ornery jag-off.” Regardless, she takes her sweet time moving over to the open real estate beside him, leaving ample room.
The girls in the front of the limo are looking at Kara seated beside Calais, both of them giving her pitying looks, mixed with concern. Kara gives them a thin smile, “Oh, don’t give me that look. I know all about him.” She jerks her thumb in the direction of Calais.
“Oh,” he scoffs at this, “Do you?”
The blonde leans back in his seat as he watches them from across the limo, tipping his beer bottle upwards as he drinks, his throat working. When he’s done, he gestures to the wet bar with his bottle. “Are you going to offer your ‘guest’ a drink, Nick? Your manners are getting lax.”
Calais is unamused, sending a dry look at the far end of the limo. Regardless, he leans forward to make her a drink. Oh, hell to the no. Kara spurs herself into action. “Stop. No, I can make my own drink!”
She’s mistrustful of anyone making her a drink. Anyone .
He pauses, then shrugs elegantly, leaning back in his seat, smirking at the man across the way, as if saying, ‘there you have it, I tried’.
Scooting towards the wet bar, Kara grabs a clean glass and shovels some ice into it. Picking up the ginger ale, she pours it in with some nice-looking tequila, telling herself it’s better to stick with what she’s had earlier in the night. The taste likely won’t be pretty, but she doesn’t intend to drink much of it.
She goes to wipe the powdered sugar off the bar, but Blondie says, “Leave it.”
Kara gives him a confused look, her eyebrows furrowing.
As she’s mulling that over, gazing at him, Kara is rudely jerked back into her seat. Ah, the scent of rum, coffee, and sweet tobacco. She inhales before she can stop herself, because wow , that scent is her guilty pleasure as much as it gives her nightmares. If he were any other man…
Seeing Calais giving her an odd look, she flushes, taking a sip of her awful franken drink that she cobbled together sloppily. “If you were any sort of decent, you’d change your cologne, bastard.”
He sighs before setting his lips in a thin line. The skin around his eyes is tight, displeased. The tropical color of his eyes is dimmed in the low lighting, though no less sharp. His gaze is cutting, and Kara doesn’t think his mood towards her has improved one ounce since their last encounter. “What do you want, Kara? Here to attempt blackmailing me about last time you took a ride in this limo? I already told you; it won’t work.”
Shaking her head, Kara twists to face him fully on their shared seat. She artfully crosses her legs while balancing on the edge. “I’m a little preoccupied with something else. You didn’t let me speak before you went Jekyll the girls all over him giggle. At ease once more.
As the girls are laughing, he grabs the one still sitting up and pushes her face down, telling her to clean her friend up with her tongue. The girl pauses before she does as she’s told, running her tongue across the expanse of her counterpart’s breast. Kara wonders if the cocaine is going to make her mouth numb.
Afterwards, the two women of the night clutch at each other, practically writhing in his lap with exaggeration as he leans back with a sigh, sipping from his beer with a suddenly bored expression on his face. Looking like a distant dream.
And now, Kara is sure she recognizes him and she gasps. The memory of her night at the Dark Mirage comes to mind.
…By the far stone benches and fire pits, a group of distinguished men stand chatting with animation, a light blonde in the center with the dark slate grey mask on his face. He doesn’t seem to be a server, but he’s certainly not a member….
As she watches, he pulls a small little metal capsule shaped vial out of his pocket, raising it to his nose, inhaling sharply. Cocaine, likely…
…Kara’s defender turns to glance over his shoulder at the group of men. Her aggressor does the same, mouth tightening in a manner that speaks to his sudden nervousness. The distinguished blonde is standing in the group with his arms crossed, looking unamused. He gestures with one hand, a ‘get out of my sight’ motion.
“Did you get that?” Defender of Women says flatly to the man beside Kara.
Angry Boy-Man nods quickly, standing up and vacating the outdoor deck immediately without another glance at Kara…
The memory makes her stomach twist in shock and Kara tries to keep a straight face as she looks at the man sitting across from her, smooshed between two escorts.
Oh, my God. This is the gentleman from the Dark Mirage. The silent masked blonde, standing in the center of men at the far edge of the outdoor area. Snorting cocaine from a vial. Probably a co-owner. And here he is, sitting in front of me.
And I’m part of the prosecution. Against his club. What have I walked into?
Feeling slightly out of control, the alcohol going to her head, Kara can’t help but burst out with nervous laughter. Unbelievably, Calais shifts closer to her, his arm going behind her across the top of the seat in what normally she would have considered to be a come on, only he’s not coming on to her at all.
In all honesty, it feels possessive. He’s not even looking at her. He doesn’t even want her to be here, after all.
“Okay,” Kara says, feeling the overwhelming urge to cackle like a witch. The scent of him is surrounding her and she feels like suffocating. This is all too much and she has the overwhelming urge to absolutely confirm who the man on the other side of the limo is . She pretends that she’s not already physically overwhelmed by the man beside her, instead focusing on the one across from her.
She gestures with her hand, palm up, babbling stupidly. “When I hopped in this hot ride, I heard the 80’s jams and thought, cocaine? Nah . But look! There is! This is really, I mean really , quaint. Completely wholesome. Introduce yourself, before I give you an awful nickname in my head.”
Nicknames are her specialty, after all.
Across from her, his face transforms from bored to interested with a certain wicked gleam. The blonde smiles that big million dollar grin that nearly melts Kara’s insides, absurdly. “Dietrich.” He winks at her, vivid eyes bright, magnetizing, dilated. One could almost ignore the half-naked woman sprawled across his lap, the woman whose tits he’d just snorted a line off of.
He omits his last name, but Kara has a very good idea on that little piece of absent info, because she’s already heard a few things about this man, even though she’s never met him or seen his face.
Dietrich. As in, Dietrich Bittinger, financial backer of Dark Mirage . His little side-gig and hobby, because he’s also the heir of a wealthy banking family who owns the vast majority of shares in shipping companies. She smiles at him weakly, vaguely feeling intimidated. As twisted up as she is inside, she loathes feeling afraid, but loves the adrenaline rush it provides. “Well. Next time I’m feeling cocaine and the need for unbearable heart palpitations, I’ll call you.”
He holds her gaze, peridot eyes twinkling with amusement. “Are you sure you don’t want to come over here and try some snow? I’m happy to make room for you.” His smile takes on a shark-like quality.
Alarm sirens are faint in Kara’s head, though she realizes they should be far louder.
Before he can push one of the girls beside him away to make space for Kara - because no way in hell is she getting near this devious womanizer, not with a ten foot pole - she quickly makes her excuse, which is mostly truthful, “No. Nonono. I’d probably get so amped up that I’d fight every last one of you.”
The way he laughs with full-throated appeal tells Kara that he doesn’t actually believe that she would. “You’re funny,” he says lightly. Then his voice changes a bit, dropping into that same flat command that he gave to the escorts. Even his eyes darken. “Now, get over here.”
An arm settles physically across her shoulders and instantly Kara is on guard, because Calais shouldn’t be touching her, the thought of him draping over her making her pulse skyrocket. She glances up nervously, but he isn’t looking at her.
Her eyes catch on his throat, just inches away; Kara swallows thickly.
“She’d punch you out, Dieter; how are you going to look with a black eye in your board meetings?”
“Hn. Where did you say you know her from?” Dietrich asks, now swapping back to his more pleasant tone. “If she isn’t a working girl. You’ve been holding out on me.”
“You’re a nosy prick tonight, aren’t you?” Calais chuckles, despite a warning edge in his voice. “Christ, Dieter, leave the girl alone.”
“Why?” His eyebrows rise in mocking intrigue. “Are you afraid I’ll come on too strong and scare her away?”
Looking unamused, Calais rebukes him once more and Kara isn’t sure she gets why he’s putting up such a stink about it. “Spare me the pleasure of this conversation. She’s not your type. She’s with me.”
“For now.” Oh, that ridiculously lovely man on the other end of the limo gives them both a look from under lowered lashes, “Why are you being such a cunt, Nick? It’s just a girl. How in the bag are you? You’re getting on my nerves.”
Mockingly, Calais replies, “Need a box wipe for your pussy?”
One of Dietrich’s eyes twitches at that, expression going flat, unfriendly. The air in the limo turns stifling, an aura of anger brewing like a distant storm.
Walter leans forward, breaking their line of sight to each other. “Guys, what the fuck? Stop being a bunch of fags.”
After a moment of intense staring, Dietrich lets his shoulders ease off the tension as he sits back, plastering a fake grin on his face. “All good, Walter. Just havin’ some fun.”
What is this, a fucking pissing contest? Kara vaguely wants to disappear. No one has asked her where she would rather sit, after all. Maybe she would prefer to be by the blonde…but not likely.
“Yeah, well, chill the fuck out.” Walter has his hand up Jade’s micro dress and her eyes look a little glazed. “You’re both being massive cock-blocks. And nothing pisses me off more than a couple fucking dweebs blocking my dick.”
Dietrich laughs and just like that, the air clears.
Calais makes an exasperated sound before taking an irritated drink from his glass, jawline tight, exhaling hard through his nose. Trying to shake off his tension, his face returning to its normal stoic state.
The blonde is letting one of his companions undo his tie, playfully wrapping it around his neck like a noose. The other escort tries to kiss him, but he averts his face, denying her. Adapting, she instead begins unbuttoning his black dress shirt, nibbling at his collarbone as he tilts his head back. Kara flushes, watching his lips as he bites back a sigh. She finds herself eyeing the sliver of teeth sinking into his lower lip, his eyes closed.
His legs are spread and Kara’s eyes can’t stop from walking down the line of his front, settling on his groin, the tightness of his slacks, his free hand relaxing on his thigh. She wonders what that hand feels like, gripping-
Her breathing become shallow as she fantasizes.
Embarrassed by herself and the way she feels like she’d love to watch him do…well, anything. With anyone . She feels her mouth dry, just staring at him, and Kara clutches her drink to her, looking away to take a large gulp from it.
She feels warm, way too warm. Her face must be red.
Uselessly, Kara fans herself with the hand not holding her franken-drink after looking away from the man at the other end. Slightly tipsy and way too warm, she mutters quietly to herself, luckily drowned out by the music, “He gets my heartrate way up, way up there.” He’s like cocaine. Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, you’re acting like one of those girls that’s caught sight of their favorite movie star.
But it’s like that. I don’t even know how to act. It’s absurd, I’ve never been this struck by a guy’s looks before.
Calais turns his head in her direction, scowling. Always scowling at her. What is he so goddamn upset about? “What’s wrong with your face?”
The limo takes a sharp turn, nearly throwing Kara into his lap. She luckily catches herself with her free hand on his thigh. Ack ! She rights herself and yanks her hand away. Looking up at Calais with a face going even more red, Kara says sarcastically, “Oh, nothing that would interest one such as you, my lord.”
He flushes an interesting shade of crimson. “Would you stop?”
Kara blinks at him blankly, despite being glad for the distraction. No, she will not stop being a thorn in his side; it’s what he deserves . Seeing her expression, he looks upward in exasperation, sighing heavily. “You have some serious balls, hopping in here again. You shouldn’t have come. Taking this risk, all because I put you straight? What are you, a spoiled child?”
Fucker, she’s never been spoiled in her life! She’s almost glad for the rush of irritation his accusation brings her, distracting her from everything else.
Sitting herself back into her seat, she extracts herself from under his arm, her leg still pressed against his, Kara scowls. The heat of his thigh is most definitely not shifting her awareness. She is most definitely not aware of every part of her body that he touches. “I told you! I want to set the record right about Wednesday night. My career is on the line. You threw me out like a naughty child when I was trying to explain-”
He sneers at her, mean and unpleasant now that he has her full attention. He leans down close, so close that his nose almost touches hers. Kara can hardly breathe, momentarily, and he’s hissing lowly, “You are a naughty child and there was nothing I needed to hear from you. I protect my interests.”
For a moment, Kara considers what to say. She whispers back the best she can, because she doesn’t want Bittinger to hear her up front, though he seems preoccupied once more. “I fucking swear, I didn’t learn anything that I can use against your client. I know you are fully capable of crushing my non-impressive career. I’d like to ask you to not ruin it.” Her voice softens, but damn, she doesn’t want to plead with him. “Please, just let the mistake slide. Like…the way I let your mistake slide.”
His eyes flash at that, because he knows she’s right. She could attempt coming after him for what he did to her, but she hasn’t. She’s let his awful, disgusting ‘mistake’ slide right by, even though she shouldn’t.
She swallows thickly, hating herself. Hating him. Hating how much influence Calais holds over her. Her fingers are aching to dig into his shoulders and shake some sense into him. When he doesn’t respond for a few uncomfortable moments, Kara’s voice cracks embarrassingly. “What do you want me to do? Beg you? Go down on my-”
He makes a noise that resembles a frustrated growl in the back of his throat. His hands clench, like he wants to grab her. Kara tenses, muscle memory making her heart jump, but he doesn’t follow through. Calais leans back in his seat, resting the back of his head against the leather. Calais looks down his nose at her, tropical eyes narrowed. “Someone else intervened on your behalf. You don’t need to worry about it anymore. This is completely unnecessary.”
Who spoke for her? Then, it comes to her in a wave of unease.
“Gale called you.” The words, accusing, tumble from her lips. “Gale, who is going to your firm.”
His only response is a grim smile.
It’s like the sole purpose for his existence is destroying her life. Absurdly, Kara feels like crying, but rationalizes that’s just her drunk, tired ass getting emotional. “You’re ruining everything . I liked working for Gale.” She hiccups sadly, reminiscing on all the times the admirable woman took her under her wing. Ugh, why are her eyes burning? She blinks hard, avoiding his gaze, gritting her teeth hatefully. “And you knew why she was leaving, didn’t you? That’s why you brought it up in court that day. To knife Derrick.”
It’s not fair. Of all the places Gale could have gone, why did she choose Calais, Vickers, she likes working with you. I said no, obviously, and told her what you did to deserve my refusal.”
Kara opens her mouth to hiss at him about refusals, anger in her eyes, but some loud shouts and laughter cut her off.
There’s a lot of noise in the limo, Walter of the Goatee and his playtoy, Jade, doing some extremely heavy petting horizontally across the seats. Kara can easily see the woman is practically jerking him off through his slacks, without a care who sees. Kara flushes, embarrassed. She’s not a prude, but she has a few limits. What is it with these men? Do they literally have no shame to fucking give?
On the far end, Bittinger is sandwiched between his girls, drinking up a storm as they paw at him, their tongues on his neck, hands running up his spread legs. Fingers at his gleaming belt buckle, playing, undoing.
His eyes occasionally cross over to Kara and Calais, with a singular sort of dark curiousness in his gaze.
Kara can feel the heat of his stare on her face as she turns to look up at the man practically on her, feeling lost, relieved, and slightly angry at herself. There is no use in arguing about why he doesn’t want her working at his firm; it isn’t like Kara wants to be anywhere near him. Right? She switches gears to something else. I came to this circus limo for nothing . “You…really weren’t going to lodge a complaint against me anymore? Gale talked you out of it?”
He’s almost done with his gin and tonic, which she can smell on his breath. She’s tipsy enough to not truly care about the scent, it’s almost overwhelmingly fresh. “She convinced me to let you be, if I wouldn’t hire you.” He rolls his eyes then. “What she sees in you, I’ll never know.”
You could, Kara finds herself thinking before she mentally scolds herself. She goes to sip from her drink, out of anxiousness more than thirst, but finds it empty. Huh. She really drank it all?
She pours a sliver more in her empty cup. Kara shouldn’t, but she needs to blot the embarrassment away of this whole situation. She’s well aware that this past week has completely ruined all the hard-earned progress she made with limiting alcohol. The stress, the mental anguish…it’s running the show again. The tequila is smooth Kara chooses to lose herself to it. If she’s going to burn, she may as well burn explosively.
Blearily, she tilts her head up to look at Calais, overwhelmingly close, and her eyes widen as she sees him staring at her intently, his eyes on her wet lips. His throat works and his eyes are a heavy weight on her skin.
Kara wonders if he wants her. He doesn’t have to like her, or even care about her, after all.
She whispers to him, “You’re an awful man.”
Oh, how beautiful his eyes are, hot and cold, with flecks of gold inside of the sea of blue. Sunlight and sea mixed together. His lips brush her ear as he leans down to rasp, “You’re right. And you should know better than to be here with me.”
Laughter and yelps, choked moans and gasps, white noise in the background. He’s all she can focus on, alcohol going straight to her head. She’s shaking and she doesn’t know why. Is it nerves? She shivers and shrinks against the side of the limo, as if she wants to become one with it.
She should be angry, but she’s not. The drink has mellowed her out and suffused her in vague feelings of excitement and nervousness. She’s lucky she’s not in an aggressive mood anymore; Calais is turned on by aggression. It wouldn’t be safe to rile him up, not with her in this state.
Fighting him is something she shouldn’t do right now. Don’t fuel the fire, girl. Stay calm, don’t get angry.
His voice is doing things to her, low and breathy as he takes notice of her shaking frame. “Are you scared of me?”
She looks up at him, letting her soft brown eyes meet his own. She wonders what he’s thinking, if he really doesn’t think she’s pretty; he’s used to getting whatever he wants and it can’t possibly be her.
Except, it was her, that one night.
“Isn’t that what you want?” Kara asks him in a hushed voice. “For me to be afraid?”
His eyes dilate, taking over the blue of his eyes and he smirks, lopsided and hungry. That’s all the answer she’ll ever need, feeling her gut clench and her heart race, veins sluggish with alcohol, yet filled with so many confusing things.
She shivers again, furious with herself.
“Are you cold?” He knows she’s not, the look in his eyes confirming that.
The limo hits a decent sized bump in the road and someone spills a drink by the sounds of the yelps and gasps. Dietrich’s voice coils through the space, low and dangerous, “You’d better lick that up. These slacks are worth more than you, slut.”
A flash of dyed hair, ducking down into his crotch. His hand, tightly holding her down.
There’s a sound of wet, slurping noises and it’s probably Long Leg Jade, on top of Walter.
This place is absolutely debauched, a voyeur’s dream, and if Kara felt strong enough, she’d claw them all to fucking shreds. Whatever happened to getting it on in private?
But, she’s not strong right now, she’s tired and weary. Instead, she feels like a little girl again, with no choice, and no options. She came here in vain; Calais had already decided on not crushing her job under his shoe.
The night is long. So, to Calais, Kara lies, a slight goad. “What do you fucking think? It’s cold in here.”
He’s gone through another gin, his glass empty again. His teeth press against her ear as he sneers unkindly, “Poor girl.”
Despite the disdain in his tone, meant to shame and humiliate her, he gathers her up and pulls her legs over one of his own, his arm around her tight. Warm and caged, a captive with no hope for escape.
She can almost pretend that she’s elsewhere, with someone far more safe.
The limo continues cutting through the night, music turning to deep, dark bass and beats. Kara hazily closes her eyes when she hears the crackle of a wrapper in the vehicle, the sounds of women giggling. Kara doesn’t want to see, so she buries her face in Calais’s shoulder. He makes no comment, likely watching whatever is occurring in the limo with a smirk on his stone-cut face.
His chest rumbles against her when he talks to his friends, a strange comfort to feel against her cheek and body. She’s fading fast, because she no longer has to take care of herself; that’s his job…
…Regardless of everything else, her father always takes care of her, even after the cruelty and the rage, he can flip the switch, because she’s always been his favorite (when he chooses) and she loves when he rewards her with any scrap of affection.
The short fuse of anger they both share takes the back seat, sometimes. When they are both exhausted of it.
Like the time he taught her how to dance, first her feet on his, then her feet following his across the room. She would have followed him anywhere, if he would just say he loved her.
But, he never did.
Suddenly, Kara jerks awake, surprised that she’d been dozing off. She sits up sharply, heart racing, but finds herself looking into familiar eyes. Kara’s stomach twists as she stares up at him, staring into those pupils that are staring straight down into her withered, sad soul. For a moment, she’s overwhelmed, feels terrified, like he can read her mind now that’s she’s off-guard. See what she’s made of. All her insecurities, all the nightmares of her past.
Anger burns faintly in her breast. She doesn’t like letting him see her weak. Did she crash and just…trust him to take care of her? Oh, shitting hell, Kara, you dull broad. How tired can you be?
Blearily, she looks around the limo, blinking away the darkness, trying to keep her emotions under control. She tries to push him away, uselessly. “Are w-we alone?”
Did…did she lose time? Shit. What happened? Did she miss something?
He shifts and she finds that she’s seated in his lap now, cradled against him like a small girl.
Charlie always held her like that when they watched tv. When she was younger, nicer. Not when she was fifteen and just as angry as he was.
The man holding her now settles back into the cushion, lounging lazily. He smells lovely. That rum and spice cologne that gives her nightmares and fantasies all rolled in one. “Just us,” he says lowly. “Dropped the others off already. You must have faded for a few minutes there when you were hiding from all the fun and games. You missed some pret-ty memorable things…”
Oh, thank God, she really didn’t want to see anything more than she already had. She’s seen enough dick and tit in this forsaken limo.
He gives her a self-depreciating smirk. “You’ve been with me the whole time. No one came near you.” Then, he tilts his head and pauses before saying. “Well, Dieter tried to take you with him when he left, but I declined to allow it. You’ll thank me for that, someday.”
Kara isn’t sure she understands, but she yawns widely, stretching like a cat in his lap. Too late, she realizes that it’s likely not an appropriate thing to do in the lap of one’s dire enemy. “What time is it?”
“About three in the morning.”
“Oh hell,” Kara mutters, eyelids still feeling heavy. She’s underwater, or in quicksand. It’s so hard to focus on anything. Sleepy. “You party hard for a bunch of old men.”
“Stop calling me old,” he says, giving her a slight bounce on his lap to jolt her. “I’m not even forty yet, little girl.”
“Watch yourself,” Kara growls weakly. She presses as an afterthought. “Old man.”
He snorts, amused and irritated in a mix.
He’s whispering in her ear now, low and breathy. “What?” Kara drawls sleepily, pushing at him, because he’s smothering her and she wants to curl up in her bed and sleep. “ What do you want ?”
“I said,” he repeats a little louder. “I’ll go home with you, if that’s what you’re really after.”
Oh. If Kara were more alert, she would be blushing in embarrassment. She’s too tired to want anything . Aside from sleep, of course.
Her head falls back on her shoulders, or at least it almost does. The back of her head bonks his forehead in the process, with him by her ear. She’s slurring now, sleep at the edges of her vision. “No. You sh..sh..shall not. You. Intolerable beast.”
She’s drank too much. You get what you deserve, stupid bint.
“That’s very Pride an awful man like him shouldn’t have eyes like that.
Hazily, Kara continues to take note of the long limo, the wet bar, the silent driver up front. “This. This is your limo, yes? You own it?”
His nose is in her hair and Kara distantly hopes she smells as good as he does. But that’s impossible, because he smells like money and she doesn’t. “A rental. I can take you wherever you want to go.”
“S-sounds bribe-y of you.”
“That’s not a word, sweetpea.” Oh, she loves the rumble of his chest against her cheek.
“Yesh, it is.”
She feels fine. Just a little exhausted. Her temple is starting to give warning of a headache. Hangover in the winds. Thank goodness it’s the weekend.
“Tell me where home is, Kara.” Soft, persuasive. “Let me take you home.”
The sober part of her, what little left there is, tells her no . Don’t tell him where you live. That’s not for him to know. That’s too dangerous. He’s a liar. He’s not safe.
Trouble.
Still slightly drunk, she presses her hand down between them and feels at his crotch artlessly. It’s like she’s touched an electric wire, the way he reacts and distantly, Kara realizes it’s rather rude to just grab a guy, but he’s no saint, he’s done worse. His arms tighten around her and a warning growl comes to his voice, “Kara.”
She sighs with a strange sort of relief at what she’s found. “Soft…” she replies barely, words fading into slumber.
Because he is, mostly. Half-mast from her squirming on his lap, but not a rock-hard erection by any means. He can’t hurt her with a soft appendage. He prefers some struggle, after all. He prefers it when she says ‘no’ and uses her teeth.
That’s the last thing she thinks before true sleep takes her.