Chapter 9
LANTANA
Ishould have stayed home.
The thought had repeated itself inside my head every fifteen minutes since I stepped into the club nearly an hour ago, and now, halfway through my lavender gin cocktail, while my feet throbbed inside four-inch heels and my bra threatened to become an instrument of torture beneath my dress, I was beginning to seriously reconsider every friendship decision I had made involving Black Obsidian.
The woman had sounded devastated earlier.
Some idiot she’d been sleeping with for the last three weeks apparently decided he needed space.
Which roughly translated to, he found new pussy.
Obsidian had called me, sounding pissed enough to hack into three government databases and financially ruin him for stress relief, so naturally I did what any decent friend would do.
I got dressed against my better judgment.
Against my desire to remain buried beneath my comfy oversized hoodie inside my apartment while avoiding humanity entirely.
Now, here I sat inside one of Manhattan’s trendiest underground clubs wearing enough leather and lace to qualify as a public distraction while Black Obsidian apparently vanished into the night with whatever new emotional support penis caught her attention.
Typical.
I leaned back deeper into the curved white leather couch tucked inside the private lounge section overlooking the dance floor.
Pulsing music vibrated through the room hard enough to vibrate beneath my heels.
Violet lights swept lazily across the crowded dance floor, where smoke machines hid any sinful touches.
The entire club screamed money. From its gold light fixtures to the glass chandeliers dripping from black painted ceilings, I wondered how much this place would cost if we put an offer on it.
My lavender cocktail tasted cold and floral against my tongue while I crossed one leg slowly over the other beneath the tiny black leather dress currently trying to suffocate me.
The dress hugged every one of my curves tightly enough to make breathing optional, the neckline dipped low enough to guarantee attention, and the thin straps crossing over my shoulders did absolutely nothing to support the weight of my breasts, which meant my bra had become the true unsung villain of the evening.
The heels weren’t any better. Tall black stilettos laced around my ankles that made my legs look incredible while simultaneously convincing me that women throughout history deserved reparations for beauty standards.
I tugged one curl away from my mouth before glancing down at my phone again.
Still nothing.
Then the screen lit up with Obsidian’s name. Opening her message I sighed.
Sorry babe, can’t make it tonight. Something came up.
I owe you drinks and emotional damage compensation later.
I stared at the message flatly.
“Of course you can’t,” I muttered beneath my breath.
A second text appeared immediately.
Don’t murder me. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.
I snorted softly despite myself before tossing the phone onto the couch beside me. At least one of us would probably get laid tonight.
Knowing Obsidian, she had already emotionally recovered and was halfway through climbing some tattooed stranger built entirely out of bad decisions.
Meanwhile I sat alone in a club surrounded by drunk finance bros and models pretending not to hate each other.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
I finished the rest of my drink slowly while letting my attention drift lazily across the room.
That was when I noticed him.
My entire body stilled before I could stop it.
The man walked through the crowded entrance wearing a black leather jacket over a dark henley stretched tightly across a chest broad enough to make people move instinctively out of his path.
Blonde hair brushed the collar of his jacket carelessly while pale eyes swept through the room once without lingering on anybody long enough to invite conversation.
He towered over most men, broad shouldered and rugged.
He looked out of place inside the polished glamour of the club, and somehow that only made him stand out more.
Women noticed him instantly. I watched two brunettes near the bar practically straighten in their seats when he passed while another woman openly tracked him with hungry eyes from the dance floor.
Interestingly enough, he ignored all of them.
He reached the bar and ordered a whiskey without smiling once, then checked something briefly on his phone before moving toward one of the darker corners near the back lounge.
He settled into a seat directly in my line of sight and didn't even look my way. Not once, and this immediately annoyed me. Not because I needed attention, I received that on a daily basis. But because he was the kind of man who didn’t give a fuck about anyone around him, and I wanted him to give a fuck about me.
I narrowed my eyes slightly while taking another sip from the fresh cocktail the waitress dropped off minutes earlier.
Maybe he was waiting for somebody or maybe he preferred blondes. Then again, maybe he was gay, I contemplated as I took another sip of my cocktail.
I watched as one redhead actually approached him near the corner lounge, leaned down toward his ear, and smiled slowly enough to suggest whatever she whispered involved very few clothes.
He declined her politely and she walked away looking both flustered and shocked.
Who the hell turned women down in Manhattan? Especially a red head, hell, I would have slept with her.
The mystery deepened.
I shifted, crossing my legs and letting the slit of my dress slide upward. I took a slow sip of the lavender drink, narrowing my eyes. He was a gorgeous anomaly in this room of curated perfection. He looked like he belonged in a fight, or on a motorcycle, not this lounge.
A one-night stand.
That was the thought that surfaced. I didn't want a relationship, and I certainly didn't want to go home feeling like a fool for dressing up for a ghost. I wanted something visceral. And why not, a woman had every right to fuck without any attachments or consequences.
As if sensing my gaze, he turned. His eyes locked onto mine. He didn't smile at me, he just simply gave a single, slow nod of acknowledgment, then looked away as if I were merely a detail in the room.
My pulse quickened. The rejection sparked a fuse and refusing to waste my time, I drained the rest of my glass and set it on the small marble table.
I was getting ready to leave when the waiter appeared. He held a fresh glass of the same lavender gin and tonic I had been drinking.
"I'm sorry, I didn't ask for another," I said, my voice cutting through the music.
"I thought maybe you'd like to have another with me."
The voice came from behind the waiter. It was a deep, resonant baritone that seemed to vibrate in the air between us. I leaned over, my gaze traveling up from the polished black shoes to the icy eyes of the man in the leather jacket.
He stepped closer, the scent of cedar, expensive cologne, and leather hit me all at once. He didn't wait for an invitation. He slid into the seat beside me, his thigh brushing against mine. The heat of him radiated through the silk of my dress.
"You make a habit out of buying things for strangers?" I asked, arching a brow.
"Only the ones who look at me with that much hunger," he replied.
I felt a flush creep up my neck. I took a sip of the new drink, the gin hitting my tongue.
"Hunger? I was wondering if you were actually a person or just a very well-dressed statue of Adonis."
He let out a low, dry chuckle.
"I don’t think Adonis wouldn't be thinking about how much that dress is struggling to hold you in."
I leaned in, the scent of him filling my lungs. I let my voice drop to a whisper.
"Maybe I like the struggle. It adds tension."
"Tension is a dangerous thing to play with in a place this crowded," he said, his eyes dropping to my lips.
Up close, the man looked even more unfairly attractive. He had a strong jaw line, light stubble shadowing his mouth, and broad shoulders that strained against his shirt. His hands looked rough enough to belong wrapped around handlebars or throats. Specifically my throat.
"Are you afraid of a little danger?" I teased as I shifted in my seat.
"I'm not afraid of it. I usually know how to manage it."
He reached out, his fingers grazing the skin of my forearm. His touch was electric, a sharp contrast to the cool air of the club. He didn't pull away, letting his fingertips linger, tracing a slow, deliberate line from my wrist to my elbow.
"You're not here with anyone," he noted.
"I was. My friend decided her emergency was more important than my company."
"A tragedy. I'm Ben."
"Lantana."
"Lantana," he repeated, the name sounding like a secret in his voice. "A flower that smells like citrus and warns people to stay away. Fitting."
"You know your flowers."
"I know a lot of things. And I pay attention to the details. For instance, you've been shifting your weight every two minutes. Those shoes are killing you."
I laughed. "You caught me. I'm one drink away from kicking them off and walking home barefoot."
"Why suffer for a friend who didn't show?"
"Because I like the way I look in them. Vanity is a powerful motivator."
He shifted closer, his hand moving from my arm to the small of my back. He didn't grip; he simply rested his palm there, the warmth of his hand searing through the fabric. The gesture was possessive yet restrained.
"Vanity is fine. But I prefer the version of you that isn't in pain."
I turned my body toward him, my knee brushing his leg. The music shifted, the DJ dropping a heavy, rhythmic beat that seemed to sync with the pounding of my heart.
"So, Benjamin. What does a man like you do when he's not buying drinks for lonely women in Manhattan?"
He paused, his gaze intensifying.
"I solve problems and you can call me Ben."
"That's a very convenient answer, Ben. It could mean anything from corporate law to professional hitman."
"Does the distinction matter to you?"
"It might. I have a thing about people who leave a mess."
He smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. "I'm a perfectionist. I don't leave messes. I erase them."
I felt a shiver run down my spine, and it wasn't from the air conditioning. I reached out, my fingers grazing the leather of his jacket, feeling the grain of the material. I let my hand slide upward, stopping just at the base of his throat. I could feel his pulse, steady and strong.
"And what problem are you solving tonight?"
"Right now? I'm deciding if you're as bold as you look, or if this is all a performance for the crowd."
"You think I'm performing?"
"I think you're testing me. Seeing if I'll bite."
"And will you?"
Legion leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. The proximity was intoxicating.
"I don't bite," he whispered. "I devour."
I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. The ice had melted into something dark and demanding. I felt the urge to pull him closer, to forget the dress and the heels and the fact that Obsidian had dumped me, and just lose myself in the sheer physicality of him.
I let my hand slide down his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath the white shirt. He caught my wrist, his grip firm but not bruising. He didn't pull my hand away; he held it there, pinning it against his heart.
"You're very direct, Lantana."
"Life is too short for subtitles, Ben."
"I agree. Which is why I'm wondering why you're still sitting on this couch instead of telling me where you live."
The bluntness of it made my breath hitch. He wasn't playing the long game; he was cutting straight to the chase.
"You're very confident. Do you always get what you want?"
"Usually. Because I know exactly what I want the moment I see it."
He released my wrist, but his hand didn't travel far. He let his fingers trail down my thigh, a light, teasing touch that made my toes curl inside those miserable shoes. He stopped just at the edge of the silk, his thumb grazing the skin of my leg.
"You're trembling," he observed.
"It's the gin."
"It's not the gin."
He leaned closer, his lips inches from mine. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, a sharp, masculine scent that mingled with the lavender of my drink. I closed my eyes for a second, imagining the feel of him, the weight of him, the way he would sound if he stopped being so respectful.
"I could take you home right now," he murmured. "I could spend the next few hours making you forget that you ever wore these shoes."
The heat in my stomach flared into a bonfire. I opened my eyes, my gaze locked on his.
"What's stopping you?"
Legion stared at me for a long moment. The tension was a cord stretched to the breaking point. I expected him to lean in, to claim my mouth, to lead me out of the club and into the New York night.
Instead, he pulled back.
He didn't move away, but the intensity shifted from raw hunger to something more calculated. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, then looked at me.
"Your phone. Give it to me."
I blinked, confused by the sudden change in tempo. I reached into my clutch and handed him my device. He tapped in his number with a few quick motions and handed it back.
"If you're interested in having dinner, I'm available," he said.
I stared at the phone, then at him.
"Dinner? I thought we were skipping straight to dessert."
He stood up, the movement sudden and and as he looked down at me, his expression was unreadable but his eyes were burning.
"I like dessert. But I prefer to earn it. Thought maybe I’d learn your last name before I ruined your lipstick.”
I felt a surge of frustration mixed with an intense attraction. He was playing with me, denying me the immediate gratification I’d been craving. It was a power move, and it worked.
"Are you leaving?" I asked, my voice sounding smaller than I wanted.
He leaned down, his face inches from mine. He didn't kiss me on the lips. Instead, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my cheek. The contrast of his rough stubble against my skin sent a jolt of electricity through my entire body.
He lingered there for a second, his voice a low growl against my skin.
"Believe me, resisting you is the hardest thing I've ever done."
He pulled back, giving me one last, searing look that promised everything and guaranteed nothing.
"Call me, Lantana."
He turned and walked away, his silhouette merging with the crowd and I sat there, my skin still tingling where he’d touched me. I looked down at my drink, then at the phone in my hand.
I leaned back and sighed, the tension in my body replaced by a humming anticipation. I looked at my heels and realized I didn't mind them as much anymore. They had gotten me a date with a very elusive and very attractive man.