Chapter 4
Chapter Four
My heart skipped two beats. I turned fully around.
Oh my God, it’s you.
“Oh my God, it’s you.” I realized too late that I said and thought the same thing in unison.
He gave me a whisper of a smile, his blue eyes moving over me: lips, neck, shoulders, chest, stomach, hips, thighs, legs, shoes. The slow deliberateness of his perusal made me shiver even as I felt a dismaying hot flush rise to my cheeks.
His gaze lingered on my shoes before it traveled upward again.
After a long pause, his blue stare met mine again, “Yep. It’s me.”
I was speechless; my usually cluttered brain was blank. I could only gape at him. Thankfully, Elizabeth spoke from behind me. “Hi, I’m Elizabeth.”
His eyes moved beyond me to where she stood. I took the opportunity to make some semblance of an attempt to gather my wits from where they lay scattered: on the floor, on the bar, on the ceiling, like blood from a gunshot victim.
“Hi, I’m Quinn.” He gave her a closed-lipped, socially acceptable for the situation, friendly enough smile, and I tried to think of something to say as Quinn and Elizabeth shook hands over the bar.
Quinn. His name is Quinn. I must remember to call him Quinn, not Sir Handsome McHotpants.
The best I could come up with was, “What are you doing here?” Then I tried not to cringe when I realized it sounded somewhat accusatory.
His attention moved back to me. “I’m working.”
“Are you a bouncer?” My brain, like a skipping record, seemed to be stuck on stream-of-consciousness questions.
“My company…” He paused for a moment as though considering something, and then he continued. “My company does the security for this place.”
“Oh—the same company that does the security for the Fairbanks Building.” I stated this rather than asked. The Fairbanks Building was where I used to work.
I started to feel marginally more relaxed in his company as his presence at the club made more sense. However, his presence at the bar, with us, was still a mystery. Before I could stop myself, I asked, “Are we in trouble?”
His eyebrows lifted. “Are you in trouble?”
I nodded. “What I mean is, did we do something wrong? Is that why you were sent over here?”
He shook his head, not answering right away; confusion and something akin to uncertainty flickered over his features. “No, no one sent me over here.”
“Oh,” I said, and my mind went blank again.
He was watching me in that measured way he’d employed in the elevator after my episode of verbal nonsense. A moment passed as we looked at each other. Then, he tipped his head toward our champagne glasses on the bar. “Are you two celebrating something?”
I looked to Elizabeth for help, but she was pretending to read the drink menu.
“No.” When I met his gaze again, I found him watching me with unveiled interest.
His attention was maddeningly distracting; my unresponsive brain felt covered in molasses.
My body, however, felt rigid and aware. I felt every stitch of clothing I was wearing touching me: my backless, strapless bra felt too tight; the caressing silky softness of the dress caused goose bumps to rise over my neck and arms; the friction of my lace undergarments and stockings burned my inner thighs.
I swallowed with a great deal of effort and forced myself to speak, not really paying attention to my words. “One of Elizabeth’s patients gave her the tickets, and she wanted to take me out because she thinks I need cheering up.”
“Because of your job?” He prompted, shifting closer to me, resting his hand on the bar between us.
His new proximity caused my heart to gallop, effectively kicking my brain into overdrive.
Words tumbled forth unchecked. “Yeah, that and I just broke up with my boyfriend. Although, I don’t know if broke up is the right term for it.
It’s hard to find words and phrases which really accurately reflect actions.
I find verbs in the English language to be lacking.
What I really like are collective nouns.
The nice thing about them is that you can use any word in the English language as a collective noun, which allows you to ascribe both features, as well as character traits to the collection or group.
Although, some collective nouns are well established.
As an example, do you know what a group of rhinoceroses is called? ”
He shook his head as he tilted it to the side, watching me.
“It’s called a crash. I like to make up my own collective nouns for things; like, take that group of women over there.
” I indicated across his shoulder, and he turned to see where I pointed.
“See the plastic-looking ones on the purple lily pad? I would call a group like that a latex of ladies, with the word latex being the collective noun. And those cages, with the monkeys and the couples—I would call them collectively a vulgar of cages, with the word vulgar being the collective noun.”
He lifted his hand to get the bartender’s attention as he spoke. “I would switch them. I would call the cages a latex of cages and the women a vulgar of women.”
I considered his comment before responding. “Why is that?”
He leveled his gaze on me and gifted me with a small smile. “Because that group of women over there are more vulgar than what is happening in the cages, and the couples in the cages are wearing latex.”
I watched him for a moment, my brow wrinkling, and then I moved my eyes to one of the cages to watch the couple.
I chewed on my lip as I studied them. “The women look completely naked, and the men are in monkey suits. Where is the... the—” I sucked in a breath, my wide eyes moving back to his.
“Are you saying... they’re, are they...? ”
He laughed and shook his head; a bright, full smile lit his eyes with amusement. “No, no. I guarantee they’re not engaging in any monkey business.” He laughed again as he watched me. “I know for a fact it’s all choreographed. It’s a show.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “It’s a show?”
His laugh was deep and open, and it was doing strange things to my insides, especially since I suspected he was laughing at me.
My stomach fluttered with a mixture of embarrassment and apprehension.
I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to ignore my body’s continuing hysterics.
“It’s still disconcerting. I mean, would you want one of those cages in your house? ”
He continued to grin at my incredulousness and answered, “Not with the monkey in it.”
“The man or the primate?” I countered.
“Neither.” His gaze narrowed, mimicking mine, and he leaned still closer.
I swallowed unevenly and managed to croak, “But you would want the woman?”
“Not that woman.” His voice was so low I almost didn’t hear his response.
His eyes moved from mine and traveled over my hair, forehead, nose, cheeks, then remained on my lips for longer than I felt was necessary.
.. or appropriate… I wasn’t sure which, but there had to be a word that adequately conveyed my discomfort at that moment.
“What do you need?” The bartender’s polite query sounded from my left, which, to my dual relief and disappointment, caused Quinn to move his attention from my lips.
“Hey, David, please put whatever these two are having tonight on my account,” Quinn said.
David shook his head slowly, his eyes flickering upward then back to Quinn. “I can’t do that, Mr. Sullivan.”
Quinn frowned. “Why not?”
“Someone else already volunteered to cover their tab.” The bartender grimaced, his shoulders stiffening.
“Who?” Quinn asked.
David’s voice was tinged with uncertainty when he responded. “I can’t tell you that.”
The bartender’s response surprised Quinn; I could tell by the narrowing of his eyes. I saw the muscle tick at his jaw before he murmured in a low voice, “Yes, you can.”
I turned to Elizabeth, but she was distracted by her pager. I didn’t notice until that moment, but it must have been going off. I gave her a questioning glance as I listened to Quinn and David’s discussion.
I heard David sigh. “Alright, listen, I’ll tell you, but don’t look at them, ok? They’ve been really great with the tips.”
“Who is it?” Quinn didn’t raise his voice, but his tone clearly betrayed impatience.
“It’s the guys on the second floor—don’t look up there—the ones in the Canopy Room.” David sighed again.
I sensed rather than saw Quinn step closer to me as I suppressed my urge to look up to the previously unnoticed second floor. I wondered where the Canopy Room was. Before I could give this much thought, I felt a shock as Quinn placed his hand on my arm above the elbow and turned me to face him.
His gaze was no longer warm and friendly; in fact, it almost looked hostile as he addressed me. “You need to leave.”
His touch, his closeness, the intensity of his stare all made my insides feel like lava. I couldn’t understand my erratic and completely unintentional reactions to him; it was as if I was someone else, some daft dimwit.
I resolved to pull myself together, and opened my mouth to respond but, before I could, Elizabeth chimed in from behind me.
“Yeah, actually, we do need to go.” She waved her pager, stepped to my side, and gave me an apologetic frown. “I just got paged. They need me to go in. I’m sorry, Janie.”
I looked between Elizabeth and Quinn, a confused frown securely in place. “Wait—why do I need to go?”
Quinn’s hand moved down my bare arm, causing me to immediately shiver, and engulfed my hand; his fingers linked through mine. He tugged impatiently and began leading me toward the entrance as he spoke.
“Because your friend is leaving, and it’s not safe to be in a club like this by yourself, looking the way you look.”