Chapter 2 #2
“That’s my brother Nate.” Locke leans in close as he says it, his breath grazing my neck. “His bark is worse than his bite,” he adds, leaning in closer so only I can hear it.
Nate gives me one stiff nod, eyes narrowed like he doesn’t fully trust me, though I haven’t given him a reason not to. I meet his stare, hold it for a moment, then give him a quick wink before moving on. His jaw tightens.
I let my eyes roam the group, noting the subtle differences in posture and attention. Sebastian leans forward slightly, still amused. Ashley giggles at nothing in particular, leaning against Seb as if he’s the only thing holding her up. Locke inches closer to me, lighting a fresh cigar.
“Well,” I say, leaning in. “What are we getting up to tonight, boys?”
Hours pass in a haze of warmth and rounds of cocktails.
The firelight flickers, casting soft shadows on the sharp features of the group.
We talk, but not about anything that matters.
Sebastian spends most of the time detailing his latest trip to Mexico on his father’s yacht.
Why am I not surprised? He’s the first to leave, with Ashley’s arm draped over his shoulder.
I have a feeling that’s out of necessity more than flirtation.
Nate follows soon after, mumbling something about a phone call he needs to make. I catch him shooting me and Locke an uneasy glance before disappearing into the crowd. As if he were trying to telepathically urge his brother not to do anything stupid.
But then, it’s just Locke and me.
He’s kept his distance all night, which is respectful, or maybe he’s uncomfortable? I’m not exactly used to either of those, so I decide to test the boundaries. I rest my hand near his on the bench as I turn my attention towards the glowing city skyline.
He doesn’t hesitate.
His fingers close around mine, warm and firm, as he tugs me closer, and his arm settles around me.
“Seb was right,” he murmurs, watching the fire. “I don’t usually invite guests out with us. But he’s always telling me to loosen up.” His eyes fall back to mine; his gaze is steady, and his dark lashes cast shadows over his sharp cheekbones.
The way my pulse skitters actually catches me by surprise. “And how are you feeling right now, Lochlan?”
For a moment, time seems to stand still, then he closes the short distance between us with a kiss, letting that be his answer. I pull back, breath caught in my throat, and whisper against his lips, “Do you have a room here?”
Locke’s fingers are firm against my wrist as he leads me through the halls of the hotel, moving with a kind of quiet confidence that makes my stomach tighten. The elevator dings open, and as soon as the doors close behind us, he turns, crowding me against the mirrored wall.
I press up onto my toes, brushing my lips against his, just enough to make him want to chase me. A flicker of something dark flashes in his eyes before he takes my jaw in his hand, tilting my chin up. Then he kisses me. Hard. Like he’s been holding back all night.
I feel him everywhere. His grip on my waist, the heat of his body, the way his other hand slides into my hair, tangling at the nape of my neck as he deepens the kiss. His tongue sweeps against mine, slow and controlled, like he has all the time in the world. Like he enjoys making me wait.
The elevator dings open again, and he pulls away just long enough to murmur, “This way.”
He walks with purpose, like a man used to being followed. And I do. The suite door unlocks with a wave of a keycard and a quick beep, and when he pushes it open, I barely have time to take in the space before my back hits the door.
But, fuck, it’s gorgeous.
Dim golden light spills from a chandelier hanging in the center of the room and reflects off a sleek bar and a mini-fridge stocked with top-shelf liquor.
An electric fireplace flickers, casting soft shadows over the plush mid-century modern seating area and polished tile floors.
I can make out the distant strip glowing against the night sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall.
Classic aesthetic, modern luxury. It suits him.
His mouth is on my neck before I can say a word, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my jaw, and a soft sound escapes before I can stop it. His chuckle is dark, almost smug, when he says, “Don’t hold back.”
I drag my nails over his suit, feeling the tension in his shoulders, the crisp fabric stretching to the max now. He presses closer, and I can feel just how much he’s enjoying this. “Maybe,” I murmur, my breath hitching as his hands slide up my thighs, “you should earn more.”
His lips part against my skin, exhaling as a wicked smile takes over his face.
Then, he lifts me in one smooth motion. My hands grip his shoulders, fingers digging in as he carries me through the suite.
Past the fireplace, the dining table I was already dreaming about bending over, and straight into the bedroom.
He lays me back on the mattress, lifting my dress and throwing it to the floor, but he doesn’t climb over me right away. He stands there for a moment, watching, letting the anticipation build between us.
When he finally leans in, his mouth trails down my sternum. He moves slowly, savoring every inch, and I arch up into him before I can even think about it.
“Impatient,” he whispers against me, his breath hot on my skin. “Relax. I don’t disappoint.”
His lips trail lower, and I can’t stop the shiver that rolls through me. My hands clutch his shoulders, breath hitching, pulse racing.
His eyes come back to mine, dark and unyielding, and that look tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
I let myself feel it all. The heat, the intensity of his gaze, the unmistakable pull.
But I haven’t forgotten why I’m really here.
I wake up with something warm and heavy against my chest. I open my eyes to see his tattooed arm trapping me beneath it. His breathing is slow and steady next to me. Deep enough that he might not stir if I’m careful.
Shit, what time is it?
It’s still dark, but dawn is creeping along the edges of the horizon outside the window. My pulse hammers in my ears as I test the weight on me, careful not to move too quickly. My leg feels like lead as I inch it over the side of the bed, toes finally brushing the cool tile.
I roll onto my side, sliding away just enough to get out from under him, muscles coiled with tension. Every breath, every tiny movement, risks waking him.
Sitting up, I let a soft exhale escape, staying as still as possible.
I let myself slip last night.
I glance down at Locke, still asleep. His arm is stretched lazily across the bed now. His breathing is deep and steady. The comforter drapes low around his hips, exposing more of his fully tattooed back than I need to see right now. Gorgeous and, thankfully, still oblivious.
It almost makes me feel bad for what I’m about to do. Almost.
I push that feeling aside and scan the room.
Spotting yesterday’s dress on the floor, I tug it on quickly.
On the dresser, I notice a few of his things, as if he’d emptied his pockets there before he went to bed.
A watch, a tarnished gold chain with a cross attached that looks ancient, and a small folding knife.
The watch catches my attention first. It has a red silicone band and a chaotic face displaying exposed gears, with ticking hands and numbers printed directly on the glass.
It looks more like something you’d get in a Happy Meal than at a high-end jeweler.
But the brand name makes my heart skip a beat.
Richard Mille. A watch worth more than most cars. Bingo.
I slip it into my bra along with the chain since I’m still in last night’s dress and, unfortunately, don’t have pockets. I palm the knife, just in case. Too easy. I didn’t even need to check the safe.
Shoes in hand, I exit the bedroom and move toward the suite’s exit, my bare feet silent against the tile. As I reach for the door handle, something catches my eye, stopping me dead. The entrance to another bedroom.
My body refuses to move an inch as I stare. Nate? Seb? Which one of them is in there? A flush creeps up my neck at the thought of what they might have heard last night.
I shake it off and carefully twist the handle, willing the hinges to stay silent as I slowly open the door. The moment I’m in the hallway, hearing the click of the door as it closes behind me, I run.
My heart pounds, but not from fear. It’s the rush. The thrill.
I slam the elevator button down, step inside, and press 1. The doors glide closed, sealing me off from the suite. From Locke. From last night.
I pause in front of the elevator mirror, smoothing my dress and attempting to finger-comb my hair into something more manageable. Then, I slip on my heels and straighten my posture as I prepare for my walk home.
My gaze travels downward, and I pull out the watch, just for a moment, to admire it. I can’t help but let a small smile creep across my lips.
Because this is what I do.