CHAPTER 4 #2
Declan cleared his throat again, clearly irritated with how things were going. I flexed my fingers over my chips and met his stare.
“Deal,” I said calmly.
It was time to give him his warning . . . so I could get to what I wanted to do this evening.
Her.
I stepped out into the main bar just as she was loading fresh glasses onto her tray, breathing like she’d run a mile instead of walked twenty feet. The lighting was brighter out here, less smoky, and it did absolutely nothing to dull her. If anything, it made her even more attractive.
She was clearly trying to collect herself, and it was adorable.
“Hi,” I murmured as I made sure to step unreasonably close to her.
She startled, and a soft gasp slipped out, and I had to bite back a grin as she turned and found me there.
For a second her brain clearly short-circuited.
Fuck, she was stunning up close. In a sort of ruin-your-life kind of way, which my dick had no problem with, judging by the precum gushing into my briefs.
“Sorry,” I said, not remotely sorry. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine,” she murmured, and that breathy edge in her voice did things to me that probably violated several state laws.
I let my gaze dip to the tray and then back to her face, because I am nothing if not generous with my attention. “You okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. It’s just another day.”
Sure it was, and Mrs. Bentley didn’t make the world’s best breakfast food, either.
The silence stretched, and I watched, enthralled, as a rush of emotions crossed her features. She shifted her weight, probably debating whether she should run. “What . . . what are you staring at?” she demanded finally.
I smiled like she’d just handed me a present. “I’m trying to decide,” I said easily, “whether you look at every man like he’s a bad decision . . . or if I’m just getting special treatment.”
The flush that hit her cheeks was immediate and devastating. “Excuse me?”
“Have you decided if I’m worth the trouble yet?” I continued, because once I started, I committed. “Because I’m hoping I am.”
She swallowed. “I’m married.”
There it was. The line. What was supposed to be a ring-shaped shield . . . and in my defense, I did wait for half a second to see whether it mattered to me.
Unfortunately for her husband . . . it didn’t. Not in the slightest.
My brows lifted in mild interest, the sort of reaction you’d give someone who’d just said they preferred sparkling water over still.
“Lucky man,” I said smoothly, and I did mean that.
Based on the fact that she was working in the casino at midnight, though, instead of home in bed with him .
. . I was confident he didn’t deserve her.
She let out this nervous little laugh that did nothing to hide the fact that she was rattled. “You should probably move.”
“Probably,” I agreed.
I didn’t move, of course. Instead, I leaned in just enough that my words brushed her ear, proud that I didn’t pass out from how good she smelled.
“Marriages aren’t always . . . permanent arrangements, though.
Don’t you think? Sometimes people outgrow them.
Sometimes husbands are misplaced. Especially when someone’s unhappy. ”
Her breath caught. “I didn’t say I was unhappy.”
“I didn’t say you were,” I replied, grinning because this was fun, and if she wasn’t unhappy with her husband right now, I was going to change that very soon. “I’m just very pro-discussion. Open communication. Exploring possibilities.”
She looked at me like I was either insane or irresistible . . . I was definitely both.
I stepped back then, finally giving her room—not because she’d told me to, but because I liked the way her body reacted when I did. Like she missed the pressure already.
“I guess I’ve distracted you from your job long enough,” I said, adjusting myself without breaking eye contact.
Her gaze dropped, and her eyes widened as she took in the thick outline straining against my suit pants. The fabric pulled so tight it left very little to the imagination. Her lips parted on a soft, involuntary breath.
When her eyes snapped back up, horrified at being caught, I laughed softly. This was going to be so much fun.
She brushed past me, and every nerve in my body lit up. Unfortunately for me, the backside of her was just as good as the front . . . and that was all I could take.
I darted across the casino and shoved open the first door I saw—an empty staff bathroom, thank fuck—and slammed it shut behind me. The lock clicked, and I stumbled forward, one hand braced on the sink, the other already tearing at my zipper.
I didn’t make it to the toilet.
There was a potted plant on the counter, some kind of fake fern, and that was as far as I got.
I yanked my cock free, and with one rough stroke I was coming.
Hot pulses spilled over my fist, splattering onto the leaves of the plant like I was an animal marking territory.
My hips jerked forward again and again, my vision whiting out at the edges, and a broken groan ripped out of my throat as extreme pleasure tore through me.
What. The. Fuck.
I’d never come like this . . . and certainly not involuntarily into greenery. Bracing both hands on the counter, my breath ragged, and my cock still twitching as cum dripped down the fake leaves onto the marble, I stared at my wrecked reflection.
And then I started laughing.
Because this woman, this quiet little cocktail waitress with sad eyes and a mouth I wanted to stuff, was going to destroy me.
I was already forming a plan.
Married wasn’t a red light. It was a mild inconvenience.
And I had never, in my life, respected mild inconveniences.