Chapter 14 #2
He takes my hand, and we weave through the dance floor. I assume he’s taking us back upstairs, but instead, we head in the opposite direction toward a curtained entrance where a bear of a man in a suit stands.
“Good evening, Mr. Creed.” He knows his name? “Just the two of you?”
Hendrix just nods.
“Right this way.”
I have no idea what’s going on. But I blindly follow anyway.
The big guy escorts us down a hallway. The lighting is dim, but there are expensive-looking chandeliers and artwork that likely cost more than my car. More velvet curtains adorn the space. Some are closed while others remain open, which provides my first clue about where he’s taken me.
It’s another VIP lounge. Only this one is far more intimate.
Instead of expanding the entire top floor, these spaces have been sectioned off into small rooms with walls separating them. They’re big enough to fit three or four people, maybe?
Or perhaps just two.
There are maybe eight in total, four on each side, and I can’t figure out why we keep passing empty rooms until we reach the end of the hallway.
But then it dawns on me. The way he addressed Hendrix by name.
The guys are being treated like royalty tonight, and he’s making sure we’re giving as much privacy as possible from the other guests.
My cheeks flame. What does he think we’re going to do in here?
Oh my god. Is that what these are for? Little pleasure dens for the club’s guests to use for a quick fuck?
Hendrix and I enter the small space. In the middle is a sleek black marble table, surrounded by supple leather club chairs and a stylish sofa.
“There is champagne chilling just over there.” The man gestures to one side of the sofa, where an ornate silver champagne bucket, complete with its own pedestal, is located.
“But if you need anything else, there is a call button on the small table beside the sofa. Otherwise, you will be undisturbed.”
He quietly exits. The curtain draws shut and then…we are alone.
I can still hear the deep, pulsing rhythm of the club music, but in here, it’s muted. It seems to be at just the right volume to allow conversation while also providing a blanket of privacy from those around us.
We both find our way to the sofa, and I look up to find Hendrix staring at me.
“Do you want any champagne?” he asks. “Or I can call back Lurch and get you something else.”
I snort out a laugh. “Did you just call him Lurch? Like from the Addams Family?”
“He’s certainly built like him, and seriously, what was that guy’s last job? Guard at Buckingham Palace? He didn’t crack a single smile.”
“Well, can you blame him? Look at what he does all night. Waiting on a bunch of entitled assholes while they do all sorts of kinky things in these little sin bins, and he stands out there keeping watch. I’d be a sourpuss too.”
Hendrix blanches a little. “You don’t think that’s why I brought you here, do you? I mean, that is what most people do. You’re right. But I just wanted to get you off that dance floor and away from—” His breath shudders.
“No, I didn’t think that.” I did, sort of. “And you’re right. I did need a breather after—” My voice trails off.
“What happened?” he asks. “Where did Darius go? Did he ditch you?”
Now, this part will be difficult to explain. I chew on my bottom lip, trying to find the right words. “Not exactly, no.”
“What exactly does that mean? Because one minute he was all over you—” He stops mid-sentence, as if he can barely stomach the words coming out of his mouth. “And the next, he’s over by the bar surrounded by a bunch of women.”
“When did you—”
“Just before we walked off the dance floor, I looked over and there he was, completely oblivious to what had just happened to you.”
“It’s not his fault,” I explain, quickly continuing before he can argue. “He saw you at the top of the stairs. He knew you were coming.”
“So he did ditch you, then?”
“No.” I let out a sigh. I am not explaining this well.
Mostly because I don’t want to explain it at all.
I was sort of hoping there would be no words involved.
Just some dirty dancing that might lead to perhaps something even dirtier in a dark corner or an empty supply closet.
That happens outside of romance novels, right?
“He was trying to make you jealous. For me.”
“For…you?”
I give a slow nod as he stares at me intently. “I wanted to make you jealous.”
“Why?”
I throw up my hands. “I don’t know,” I tell him.
“Nothing I do when I’m around you makes any sense.
Do you know how many one-night stands I’ve had?
One. The occasional fuck buddy in college, sure.
But I’ve never been spontaneous enough to throw caution to the wind like that.
And now here I am in a swanky nightclub while touring the country with a—”
He silences me with a kiss.
I gasp in surprise at the feel of his lips on mine, but before I have a chance to react, he’s pulling back. “Is this okay? I should have asked first.”
“Yes!” I grip the front of his shirt and yank him closer. “God, yes.”
He lets out a brief chuckle just before his mouth slams against mine, and shit.
I forgot what it’s like to kiss Hendrick Creed.
Some men see kissing as a stepping stone to the main event.
But not him. Not Hendrix. For him, kissing is a full-body experience.
And you had better be ready because this man likes to take his time.
He kisses me until my lips feel swollen. Until I’m breathless and my heart is pounding wildly in my chest. He kisses me like I’m his last dying wish, and when he leaves this world, all he wants is the taste of my lips on his.
One hand grips the back of my neck, while the other curves around my waist, pulling me onto his lap.
My sequin skirt rides all the way up. Never breaking our kiss, he starts to explore my body.
He drags the tips of his fingers over my thighs and then slips them under my skirt to cup my ass. He stills.
Slightly breathless, he asks, “Are you not wearing any underwear?”
“Lace thong.”
I feel his fingers find the edge of the delicate lace, and I watch his eyes darken. “I want to rip these off you and stuff them in my pocket as a souvenir.”
“And then what?”
The hand that was around my neck settles around my waist, while the other starts to wander from my backside, over my hip, and toward…
I suck in a breath.
His thumb grazes the center of my thighs. It’s barely a whisper of a touch over the now soaking wet lace of my thong, and I’m already trembling in anticipation.
“And then—” My phone starts ringing in my purse.
Are you seriously fucking kidding me right now?
I’m staring at him. He’s staring at me.
His hand is still right there.
I swallow nervously. “I…” Fuck, this is all suddenly so very awkward. “It might be an emergency.”
He double-blinks as the lust haze begins to lift. He’s looking at me like he just remembered all the reasons why he didn’t want to start this up again.
Yup, reality is a cold-hearted bitch. “Right. Shit.”
It gets even more awkward as I try to shift myself off him, avoiding his very obvious and large erection.
This better not be a telemarketer.
I quickly dig through my purse, pull out my phone, and look at the caller ID. Shit. Definitely not a telemarketer.
“Elena?” I don’t even bother saying hello. I see the look of concern on Hendrix’s face. “What’s up?”
“It’s Marisa. Can you meet me at the side entrance? There is a car waiting. We need to head back.”
“I’m on my way.”
Duty calls.