Chapter 8 #2
‘Clark, it’s ultimately your call. But for what it’s worth, I’d be tempted to pull out. I’ll run the figures in detail on Monday, but if you stay in the race, I think you have to stay under another half a mill, and I wouldn’t come close to that if I were you.’
‘You guys talking shop? Want me to disappear?’ Tim asks as he comes into the lounge fastening the cuff of his shirt, ready for the club.
‘No, you’re good. We’re done,’ I tell him.
‘Gin?’ Yvette calls from the kitchen counter, where she’s opening a bottle of Hendrick’s.
The others come downstairs, and God, am I pleased I’m wearing jeans.
I see Dayna’s legs, every fine inch of them, before I notice the rest of her.
Her tight-fitting black dress is about as short as I’ve ever seen her wear.
She looks different; her eyes look dark, smoky, smouldering.
Her hair is messed up, an intentional just-fucked look.
I follow her legs as she walks into the kitchen and picks up a gin.
The long sleeves and high neckline of the dress were deceiving; they didn’t give away the open back.
I’m transfixed by her bare skin, by her, as she takes a piece of cucumber from her glass and snacks on it.
‘Here,’ Spencer says, coming to stand next to me and offering me the small napkin he’s holding under his glass. ‘For the drool.’
‘You’re a twat. And take your fucking eyes off her.’
‘Ouch. She’s got your knickers in a twist, good and proper.’
I scowl at him as I head to the kitchen to pick up my own drink, purposely keeping my eyes off Dayna, mostly to avoid an embarrassing crotch issue.
Rachel hands me a Hendrick’s. ‘You scrub up well, Clarky.’
‘Thanks. You look hot, if you don’t mind me saying. On the pull?’
‘Oh, you know. Not looking, but if the right guy presents at ten to two…’
‘Home time!’
We chat in the kitchen while we finish our drinks, but I’m distracted by Matty’s vulture eyes on my— On Dayna. ‘What’s his story, Rach?’
She swallows the ice cube she’s been sucking. ‘Matty? Unsure, actually. Just an overprotective friend, I think. They dated for a while at uni, nothing serious. He was on the rugby team; she was a cheerleader.’
I cough as I inhale rather than swallow my drink. ‘Cross was a cheerleader? She can’t dance.’
Rachel jerks her head back mockingly. ‘Can’t dance? That lady has crazy hips on the dance floor. You must make her jittery.’
I look over at Dayna. ‘It seems fair that I have the same effect on her.’ I say it to myself, but Rachel pats my shoulder before declaring leaving time.
By the time we get to the club, I’m jittery for reasons that are less to do with Dayna and more to do with the minus-five air.
‘Christ, look at the queue. I’ll freeze,’ Amy says.
I walk right by the queue, which really isn’t too bad, maybe twenty or thirty deep, and offer a hand to the doorman.
‘Clark, it’s nice to see you. How’s the ski?’
‘It’s been good. How are you keeping, Georg?’
‘Not so bad.’ He steps to one side and gestures for me to head into the club. ‘Your table is ready for you. Neun, ja?’
‘Good man.’ I slide a note into his hand as we shake.
At the bottom of the staircase are two blondes, both in tight red dresses, fur coats and snow boots. ‘Clark, hello,’ one of them calls. I cannot remember that girl’s name.
‘Nice to see you again.’ She bats her eyelids in way that, not so long ago, would’ve had me coming back to see her at the end of her shift.
Instead, I climb the stairs. We’re received by a waitress and shown to our table, which is already stacked with bottles of gin, vodka, mixers and ice. ‘Could you bring a couple of bottles of Dom, too?’ I ask.
‘Sure, I’ll be right back.’
‘Tonight, Clarky, I love ya,’ Amy says, hugging me zealously and planting a kiss on my cheek.
I seat myself so I’m neither next to nor opposite Dayna. She’s given my member a mind of its own, and the last thing I need is temptation. Instead, I sandwich myself between Amy and Tim – a safe zone.
The waitress returns with the Dom Pérignon, and we toast Dayna’s actual birthday. After being hungover all day and having a good workout on the slopes, I really feel my second drink of the night, but it isn’t relaxing me. In fact, I’m increasingly wound up.
Some guy has joined our group, sidling into the booth next to Dayna and leaning in every time he speaks to her.
He eye-fucks her when she’s speaking to him, even when she’s looking over to me.
I think this is a show for me, actually.
Another example of her saying fuck you to me.
The creep strokes the skin of her back through the cut-out of her dress.
She seems oblivious, but that doesn’t make me feel any fucking better about the situation.
‘Did you catch any of the Rugby World Cup?’ Tim asks me, handing me a vodka. We chat about the England versus New Zealand game, but I can’t seem to shift the desire I have to tear the hands off this sleaze’s goddamn arm.
Multiple drinks later, Rachel leads the girls to the dance floor, and the rest of us spread out.
The tool who was all over Dayna has pitched himself up at the side of the show, focus still on Dayna, watching her move, and he knows he’s got me because the bastard keeps looking my way.
He’s so damn smug, I want to rip his head off every time he flashes me his fucking condescending grin.
Teddy slides another drink my way. ‘You need to relax,’ he says so only I can hear.
‘She’s not interested but if she was, she’s free to window shop, Clark.
It’s her birthday. She’s flirting and having fun.
I’ve seen that look on you before, and you don’t have a right to say who she speaks to.
Or who touches her and where. Calm down or you’ll ruin the night. ’
His words rile me further. He’s right. But I want to have that claim. I want to be able to tell the world to back off because she’s mine. I drain my vodka and head out to the dance floor.
I see her with the others, her head dropped back, her arms moving in time to the slow rhythm of Kygo’s ‘Firestone’. Her hips circle and her body is making shapes I’ve only seen women make in music videos. I stand on the edge of the dance floor and watch her move.
‘Hey, handsome.’ Two hands cover my eyes. Irritated, I pull them away, and Camilla Normen moves in front of me, pulling my shirt as she backs onto the dance floor. I move with her into the dancing crowd so I don’t lose the buttons of my shirt.
I end up in the middle of her group of girls, the last place I want to be. Camilla rams her arse into my pelvis and grinds against me. Despite the fact my cock has been raging from the second I saw Dayna in that torturous black dress, it’s not just any woman I want to feel there. It’s one woman.
Camilla tries to turn to face me. I don’t want it. I hold her hips to stop her from rotating. She takes the hint but continues to roll her arse against me, her back to me. She sings as she moves, or maybe she’s talking to me, I don’t care either way. I scour the floor for Dayna.
Rage courses through my blood when our eyes finally meet. She’s grinding back into that idiot who’s all over her. I nudge Camilla away as gently as I can while getting the point across and shove through the crowd, seething.
‘Get the fuck away from her,’ I growl to the dark-haired shit.
‘Who the hell are you to tell me to back off?’ he asks, only taking one hand off her.
I shove a hand against his chest, harder than I intend. ‘Keep your hand on her and you’ll find out.’
He holds up two palms and backs into the crowd.
‘What are you doing?’ Dayna yells at me.
‘Me? Who is that guy?’
She’s nudged in the back by a drunken dancer and falls towards me. I take advantage, grabbing her at the hip and the small of the back.
‘You have no business telling me who I can dance with. Just like I can’t tell you to stay away from Camilla Normen.’ She digs the balls of her hands into my chest, but I hold her too close to fight me.
‘That’s what you’re doing, trying to make me jealous? Well, it fucking worked.’
She pushes harder against my chest. ‘Get off me, Clark.’
I’m not holding her tightly; she could walk if she wanted. But she doesn’t. I soften my tone. ‘I don’t want to see you with anyone else, Dayna. I can’t. It drives me fucking crazy. You drive me crazy.’
Her breathing quickens. She relaxes into my hold, and her eyes shift from mine to my lips.
I lean forwards, my mouth so close to hers I can feel and taste her breath.
She’s said no, so I won’t make the first move, but as she watches me, she turns her back and pushes her tight arse into my stiffening cock.
God, her touch feels like everything, even through our clothes. I’ve craved it. I need it.
She moves with me, letting me bend her back towards the dance floor.
She drops her head, and I support her with one arm, my other hand drawing down her sternum, her stomach.
She moves one leg to the outside of mine, and her hips start to move, cautiously at first, then she lets go and we move together to the beat.
Her body fits mine and she feels fucking incredible grinding against me.