Chapter Nineteen
Seraphina
Dirty Thoughts – Chloe Adams
Music pulses across the dance floor in a steady rhythm, vibrating up through the soles of my heels. The low thrum of bass weaves through the crowd, threading itself between bodies and the constant murmur of voices.
Zouk is wild—filled to capacity, people moving shoulder to shoulder. Lasers cut through the air, lights flashing, fog spilling across the room. It feels like no one is holding back. Everyone has their hair down.
There is one word for it.
Only one that comes close to capturing it.
Freedom.
The word feels fragile, almost too big to hold, but it settles around me anyway as I lift the slender flute of champagne to my lips and take another careful sip.
Beside me, Mac leans comfortably against the curved edge of the bar, her blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she watches the casino floor with the amused patience of someone who has spent years observing the chaos the men in our lives inevitably create.
The bartender keeps our glasses filled without us even asking, and I suspect that has far less to do with his generosity and far more to do with the men sitting twenty feet away, taking a break from the press of people and apparent realizations of their celebrity status.
Our men.
The thought sends a quiet thrill of warmth through me, and I tuck one leg over the other on the tall stool, smoothing my hand over the black lace of the dress Trey gave me earlier.
The fabric hugs every curve of my body, soft and daring all at once. It’s shorter than anything I’ve ever owned, the hem brushing mid-thigh when I move, and every time I catch my reflection in the mirrored pillars around the room, I feel a strange, almost dizzying sense of disbelief.
It’s wholly improper. It’s indecent. It’s too extravagant. It’s beautiful.
I feel like I don’t belong in a place like this.
Back in my dismal room, hidden sheathes of paper, basic pencil, sketches scattered across old service guides from years ago…
But then my eyes drift back across the room, and the doubt melts away almost instantly.
Because Trey is there.
And when I am with him, belonging suddenly feels effortless.
He stands at the edge of the table with the loose, dangerous ease of a man who knows exactly who he is and has no interest in pretending otherwise.
The black shirt he chose tonight fits him perfectly, the sleeves rolled to his elbows so the ink on his forearms coils and twists beneath the casino lights.
Dark tattoos creep up the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar, and when he tilts his head to speak to the others, the small silver ring in his lower lip catches the light.
His arms wave and flounder around in his retelling, I have no idea of what, but it brings a smile to my face. My heart softens my worries fade away.
His hair is longer on top tonight, pushed back carelessly, the sides shaved clean, and the sharp line of his jaw is shadowed with the beginnings of stubble that somehow makes him look even more dangerously handsome.
Even from across the room, I can see the bright green of his eyes.
He pauses, hesitant, surely feeling my attention on him, as he cranes his neck—and then he finds me.
Every time.
Women hover near them already, dressed in silk and diamonds, their laughter too bright, their smiles lingering a little too long.
I should probably feel threatened.
But the feelings he evokes from me; it’s anything and everything but.
There is some invisible thread that runs between us no matter how crowded the room becomes.
And every time he finds me watching him, the corner of his mouth lifts.
Mine.
Mac nudges my arm lightly with her elbow, following my gaze across the room.
“Well,” she says, lifting her champagne glass thoughtfully as she studies the roulette table, “how long do you think it’ll take before someone tries to throw themselves at your husband?”
I laugh softly into my drink.
“That depends,” I reply. “Are we counting the ones who are already trying?”
Mac snorts under her breath.
“Fair point.”
Her eyes shift from Trey to the rest of the guys.
Sam is beside him, broad and solid like a wall, his shaved head gleaming slightly under the overhead lights. He has strong shoulders, a powerful build, the quiet kind of presence that makes people instinctively step aside when he moves.
Logan leans against the edge of the table opposite them, his inky black hair falling loosely across his forehead, his bright blue eyes scanning the room in quick, sharp glances that miss absolutely nothing.
Even here, in a room full of expensive suits and polished strangers, the three of them stand out.
Mac sighs dramatically beside me.
“Honestly, it’s almost unfair.”
I glance at her. “What is?”
She gestures lazily toward the table.
“All of that.”
I follow her hand.
Trey throws his head back in laughter at something Sam says, the sound carries between lulls in the beat of the music, carrying to us, my chest tightens with quiet affection.
“He’s ridiculous,” Mac continues. “He’s always been a little wild—and an annoying little shit at times—but he’s also ridiculously good looking.
It shouldn’t be possible. For a man to look like he does and have a personality…
a lethal combination. Trey’s always been guarded. Never lets anyone get close.”
She glances at me, something softer threading through her expression.
“But you, Sera…he looks at you like you’re his salvation. It goes both ways, right?”
My cheeks warm slightly, and I duck my head.
“He doesn’t look at anyone the way he looks at you. Well, sometimes Logan and my brother once or twice…”
Mac grins wickedly.
“I’m really glad you guys found one another, Sera.”
“Me too”
Her gaze flicks back toward them just as one of the elegantly dressed women finally gathers the courage to step closer to Trey, her hand brushing lightly along his arm as she leans in to say something.
Mac’s eyebrows rise.
“And there it is,” she murmurs. “Three minutes. I win.”
I lift my champagne glass, watching the interaction unfold with curious calm.
Trey glances down at the woman politely.
Listens.
Then, without missing a beat, his eyes lift again—and lock straight onto mine across the room.
The corner of his mouth curves slowly, deliberately, and he says something to the woman that makes her blink in surprise before she turns and walks away.
Mac lets out a low whistle.
“Well,” she says, sounding thoroughly impressed, “that was efficient.”
I smile softly into my champagne. I am definitely feeling the buzz of the drinks now, but I just feel so content to watch him. I could watch him forever. I will.
“Champagne?” a familiar voice says smoothly.
I turn just as Chace slides onto the stool beside Mac.
He signals the bartender with a small flick of his fingers.
“Macallan 25,” he says calmly. “Neat.”
When the bartender nods and moves away, Chace leans one elbow on the bar.
Up close, he is a beautiful, formidable presence.
Golden skin like he’s spent half his life under foreign suns. His blond hair is tied back in a loose man bun at the base of his neck, a few strands falling forward in a way that somehow looks deliberate rather than messy.
Sharp cheekbones.
Cool gray-blue eyes that always seem to be alert.
There’s an ease to the way he sits there—relaxed, composed—but beneath it is something unmistakably dangerous. Like he owns the room.
The kind of quiet authority people instinctively move around.
“Seraphina,” he says, inclining his head slightly. “Sorry for my departure earlier. I had to set a few things right.”
Mac grins beside me.
“Well, look who finally finished his mysterious ‘business,’” Mac teases.
Chace’s mouth curves faintly.
“I was unable to postpone; everything comes at a cost.” He says with a sigh.
His drink arrives.
“Everything alright?” Mac asks. He nods, as he lifts the glass, amber liquid catching the casino lights as he takes a slow sip.
Then his gaze drifts toward the others.
To Trey.
Chace watches the roulette table for another moment, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as Trey drags another pile of chips toward himself.
Then he glances at me.
“So,” he says mildly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, “They all danced out?”
Mac lets out a quiet laugh.
I blink at him. “For the moment, they were talking about going across the road to the Encore.”
For a split second, Chace just stares at me.
Then he throws his head back and laughs.
Not a polite chuckle.
“One night on the town, and you are going to let him bet all his fortune, huh? Maybe you are not the good influence we thought you were?” He says, still laughing, serious demeanor gone.
Mac immediately swats him across the head.
“Sorry. Sorry. Jesus, Mac, you know I don’t mean it.”
“It’s not like he will be unsupervised.” Mac chirps.
“Sweethearts,” he says, his voice warm with amusement, “if you think those idiots can control anything Trey does…”
He exhales slowly, leaning back against the bar.
“Sometimes my best friend is a fucking idiot,” he continues, almost fondly. “Sometimes he lets me talk sense into him—just like I allow him to do the same to me.”
His eyes flick toward the roulette table again.
“But neither of us relinquish control… well, maybe to you Seraphina. But you don’t seem the type to tell him no if he gives you the puppy eyes.” I let out a little giggle and nod. “And how could you?” Chace laughs, Mac joining in.
“It’s a good thing he’s got all of us…”
He finishes the last of his drink in one smooth swallow before setting the glass down on the bar with a soft clink.
Then he pushes off the stool and straightens his jacket.
“Well,” he says, extending both arms toward us with effortless confidence, “come on then, ladies.”
Mac immediately hooks her arm through one of his.
I hesitate only a second before taking the other.
“Allow me to be your escort.”
Together, the three of us step away from the bar and move across the floor.
The noise grows louder as we approach them people cheering,
“Of course, the real problem soon becomes this,” he mutters. “If we’re watching out for him, then who’s watching out for us? Him?”
I consider that for a moment.
Then Trey spots us moving toward him—Chace between Mac and me—and his entire face lights up. He immediately shoves Logan and Sam to get their attention, while Logan is already locked onto Mac, one brow slightly raised.
“Welcome back, beautiful. You were gone too long,” Trey says, his eyes roving over me.
He is always watching out for me.