Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
RIAN
Heat rips up my spine as fury detonates through every inch of me.
Anthony’s infidelity is a public execution of Rebekka’s dignity—in my club, of all places.
He’s leaning on my bar like he owns the place, one hand cupping Sorcha’s backside while the other cradles a flute of champagne.
The flashbulbs love it—photographers circle like sharks, glossy-mag hacks snapping away.
She knows he’s unfaithful, but she shouldn’t have to witness the shitshow of her marriage making the headlines for all the wrong reasons.
The urge to protect her pummels my chest.
I need to get her out of here.
And dispose of every single one of those cameras.
She deserves so much better.
My molars clench as I look back at her. She’s frozen, but even with the horror flickering across her features, she still looks utterly stunning. My mouth goes dry. My pulse thunders in my ears. Desire courses through me, battling for dominance over my disgust with her husband.
Her jade coloured eyes flick back to meet mine. Something shifts, subtle but fierce. Her horror seems to harden into steel. She tips her chin a fraction higher. Her eyes light with an unwavering determination I’ve only glimpsed before.
Not defeat.
Not shame.
Something closer to done.
Fuck, she’s so beautiful. The red clings to her curves, low cowl neck skimming the soft line of her collarbone, the hem brushing elegant calves above gold straps. Her skin glows against the satin. The mere sight of her lights a fuse low in my gut, and I know I’m in trouble.
I push through the crowd, eyes locked on hers, every muscle coiled to get her out of there, away from the jackals and her horrific husband.
‘Rebekka.’ I stand in front of her, blocking her view of the bastard by the bar.
Her perfume seeps into my nostrils. It’s not her usual scent, but I like it.
Then again, I like every single thing about this woman.
‘Come with me,’ I say quietly when I reach her, pitching my voice low enough for only her to hear.
‘There’s a private lounge upstairs. You don’t have to stay out here. ’
She shakes her head, calm now, voice steady despite the storm around us. ‘No. Take me to the bar.’ She peers around my shoulder.
I blink. ‘The bar?’
‘Yes.’ Her lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. ‘This is war. If my husband wants to make a spectacle, let’s give him a better one.’
For a beat, I stare, caught between admiration and alarm. She’s choosing to stand her ground, and I’m damned if I’m going to leave her alone in it.
‘Alright,’ I say at last. I guide her with a hand at the small of her back and steer her through the crowd. Heads turn as we pass, conversations dip, but she keeps her gaze forward, poised as a queen.
At the bar, I signal to the barman. ‘Two glasses of Beckett’s Black Label.’
I keep my hand on her spine, offering silent support.
‘You look stunning, Bekka.’ I drink her in from head to toe. ‘Your husband is a fucking fool.’
‘The problem is, he’s making a fool of me too.’ She shrugs, and her eyes meet mine. That familiar, fatal energy pulses promisingly between us.
The barman places our drinks on the bar. I hand one to her. She takes it, fingers brushing mine, sending shockwaves soaring over my skin.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Rian. And congratulations on this place.’
Then—very slowly, deliberately—she raises her hand to catch her husband’s attention.
Across the room, he freezes mid-laugh. His smile falters. His eyes narrow as he registers his wife standing beside me, calm and radiant, a crystal flute in her hand. His mistress is utterly oblivious as she reaches for her drink.
Rebekka raises her champagne glass in a silent toast—to what, I have no idea.
His face darkens—horror first, then fury—and, for the first time in a long while, I watch Anthony De Courcy sweat.
Rebekka turns her attention back to me then. ‘Let’s hope Okay magazine got a hold of that shot.’
‘I’ll make sure they do, if that’s what you want.’ I stroke a thumb over her spine. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go somewhere quieter?’
She looks up at me from huge, kohl-lined eyes. Her lips part into a wolfish grin; they’re painted the same vivid shade as her dress. ‘That depends on what you’re going to do with me somewhere “quiet”.’ Her voice is low and weighted with want.
Getting involved with Rebekka De Courcy is the worst thing I could do right now.
Apart from the fact her husband is supposed to be my friend, she’s on the warpath and she wants to use me to get her revenge.
It’s a bad idea for a hundred reasons, the biggest one being that I’m in love with her and there’s a good chance she’s going to shatter my heart into a trillion pieces, but tell that to my delinquent dick, which is straining in my pants.
‘Sweetheart, I will do anything you want me to do to you,’ I murmur over the music.
‘I’m done being a good girl.’ She drains her champagne and places the empty flute on the bar. ‘I’m ready to do something really bad. Show me this private lounge of yours.’
I glance at Anthony. He’s staring at me like he’s only really seeing me for the first time. If he grimaces any harder, he’s going to need emergency dental treatment. A vein pulses furiously at his temple.
Fuck him.
He’s gone too far this time.
I fire him the filthiest look I can manage, then take Rebekka’s small hand in mine and lace my fingers around hers. The contact sets molten lava straight through my bloodstream.
‘Come on,’ I murmur, tugging her through the crush of bodies. The bass pumps beneath my feet, mimicking the thundering of my racing heart.
Heads swivel as we pass. Women in sequins and satin drink me in with hungry eyes.
Several tilt their champagne flutes in an obvious invitation.
Men call my name, reaching to clasp my hand, to congratulate me on Elixir’s rebirth.
I offer them polite nods, nothing more. The only thing I’m interested in, is the woman moving beside me, and the way the silk of her dress sways like liquid over her sultry hips. And what lies beneath it.
We pass by the VIP booths where my brothers sprawl with their partners. Five suited security guards surround them, including my driver, Callaghan. Ivy’s face lights up when she spots us.
‘Bekka! You made it!’ she calls, patting the space beside her.
‘Come join us!’ Avery waves us over, her engagement ring glinting beneath the lighting.
Rebekka’s eyes flick towards them, then back to me. For a heartbeat, I think she’ll peel away, change her mind, retreat to the safety of their circle. Instead, she threads her fingers tighter through mine and squeezes.
‘I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes,’ she calls over the music.
Avery arches a brow, amusement glittering in her eyes. She smiles knowingly and clinks her glass against Ivy’s.
I tighten my hold on Rebekka’s hand, guiding her past the velvet booths towards the discreet staircase at the rear. Every instinct I have is fixated on getting her somewhere quiet, somewhere away from prying eyes—before I do something neither of us can take back in the middle of the room.