From the corner of my eye, I see her turn to stare at me, but I don’t bother to meet her gaze. I’m not even sure why I said anything. It’s none of my business if a woman wants to get drunk at a bar on her own. After all, I’m drinking alone.
My mind flashes back to today’s visit to see Dad in jail—the reason I’m here with a whiskey in my hand. Roman, Tate, and I, along with the King Group’s head lawyer, had gone to inform him of the company’s change in leadership. Seeing him sitting at the table in his orange jumpsuit had been a shock, yet any sympathy I might have felt for him had gone out the window a week ago when I learned the extent of what he’d done. And why.
It was bad enough he’d made money via inside info he received from his contacts within the defense industry, but then he’d used those profits to support at least three of his mistresses. He’d also passed his hot tips to several of his cronies. The stupidity—and selfishness—of his actions had stunned all of us, particularly considering how he’d spent our formative years drumming into our heads that loyalty to our family name and our company was the only thing that mattered.
But everything we’d learned from him also made it easy to do what we were there to do. Saying he was unhappy to hear what we had to say was an understatement. But considering his current situation, there was nothing he could do about it.
As soon as we’d finished our discussion with our team of lawyers, I’d headed home. Except, for the first time, the thought of being alone in my massive penthouse didn’t appeal to me.
I’d come here instead and spent the last hour nursing a couple of glasses of their most expensive whiskey, trying to figure out why the hell my father had done what he’d done. I’d been going around in circles and was about to leave when this woman had thrown herself onto the stool next to me.
Now I’m interfering in her plan to drown whatever sorrows she’s obviously suffering from, and instead of backing off like any self-respecting asshole, I double-down, turning to the bartender. “The next glass you give her should be full of water.”
I can almost sense the outrage pouring from her. “Excuse me?” she says. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me, so I’m pretty sure you don’t have a say in what I order or how much of it I drink.”
I finally tip my head in her direction to fully take her in, and fuck, she’s gorgeous. A tight black dress encompasses a petite but perfectly curved body. Hair almost as dark as my own tumbles around her shoulders in loose waves. But it’s her face I can’t tear my attention away from. The striking green of her eyes, and the way they tilt up at the corners, gives them an almost feline appearance. Her nose is small and straight, and her mouth makes me think of only one thing: how those lush, pink lips would look wrapped around my dick.
Normally, if a woman looking like her sat down next to me, I’d know immediately how the night would end, but there’s a glassiness to her gaze that doesn’t come solely from the whiskey she’s downed.
She blinks those cat-like eyes at me and turns away, looking down at her drink. I almost laugh as she visibly steels herself, picks it up, and throws it back. She reacts the same way she did the first time, with a gasp and a shudder. It sends a hot surge of lust through me when I imagine her making that same sound as I bury myself inside her.
She looks up at the apparently entranced bartender. “One more, please.”
His eyes dart toward me, but before I can shake my head at him, she raps her knuckles on the bar to get his attention. “Hey!” she says. “He’s not ordering. I am.”
“Another one of those is going to hit you like a Mac truck,” I say, and I still don’t know why I’m engaging in this. Far be it from me to dissuade anyone from drowning their sorrows. But there’s something about her that seems to trigger a protective instinct in me I didn’t know I had. Which is ridiculous. She looks young, but she’s an adult and can do whatever the hell she likes.
And yet, I keep going. “I’m going to guess the reason for your sudden need for hard alcohol is a man. Probably a man who’s recently broken your heart. And if I can tell that, so can every other man in here. Which means one more whiskey and every asshole that’s watching you right now will try to pick you up—particularly looking like that.” I let my eyes drift over her dress and back up again. I know what the other men in here are thinking, because I’m thinking exactly the same thing. Luckily for her, taking advantage of young, drunk, heartbroken women isn’t my thing, so I let her hear the amusement in my voice, just to make my point. “But hey, if you’re looking for a quick, dirty revenge fuck, drink away.”
She stares at me, pouty lips parted in shock, and I almost feel bad.
Almost.
“Wow,” she says, and those pretty eyes narrow. “First of all, I thought I was in a bad mood before, but you’re just the icing on the cake. And second, it doesn’t matter how much I drink or how many guys try to pick me up, I’m not really the quick, dirty revenge fuck kind of girl.”
She probably isn’t, but it would do her more good than getting wasted on whiskey. “Maybe you should be,” I say before I can stop myself. And do I really want to, anyway? This conversation is a distraction, and after the last week, I could use a distraction. Especially one as appealing as her.
She turns to face me. “Why? Do you think that will make me feel better tomorrow when I’m doing the walk of shame?”
“Why would there be any shame in it? Sex is about feeling good in the moment. Getting out of your own head by getting absorbed in someone else’s body for a few hours. It doesn’t need to be some deep, meaningful connection. You feel bad, sex feels good. Why not do it?”
Her eyes slide away from me, but they wander back a few seconds later. Her teeth press into her lower lip, and I can almost see her brain working overtime.
I smirk. “You’re considering it, aren’t you?”
Even in the bar’s dim light, the pink of her cheeks is visible. “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
She turns away, and I laugh quietly to myself. I should go home. I’ve got an early-morning video conference with the heads of our European offices. Instead, I gesture to the bartender for another whiskey. When it arrives, I take a sip, then turn to face her. “So what did he do?”
She cocks her head and frowns. “Who?”
Yeah, she’s definitely had too much whiskey if she’s already forgotten whoever screwed her over tonight.
“Your boyfriend,” I clarify.
She looks down at her empty glass. “Ex.”
“Well, that seems obvious, but I didn’t want to assume.”
She gestures a little too broadly with one hand. “Assume away.”
“You still haven’t told me what he did.” I signal to the bartender again, and he knows what I’m asking for. He pours some water from a pitcher, throws in a slice of lime, and places it in front of her. She doesn’t protest this time, just picks it up and takes a sip.
She steals a glance at me from the corner of her eye. “Don’t tell me you’re really interested in my sob story.”
“Normally I wouldn’t be. But I need a distraction right now. And you’re it.”
She turns to face me fully, those expressive eyes filling with what looks like sympathy. “I’m sorry. We’ve been talking about me. Is everything okay with you?”
Surprise flashes through me. When was the last time someone asked me if I was okay? I ignore her question, though. There’s no way I’m telling a random woman about the shit hitting the King Group thanks to my dear old Dad. “Tell me what this asshole did to make you contemplate having quick, dirty revenge sex with someone tonight.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You’re right. My apologies.” I hold my hands in the air and fight a smile.
She frowns. “Are you mocking me?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
She stares at me for a second before a laugh bubbles up from her throat. “I’m sure you would.”
She’s even more gorgeous when she laughs.
Over the top of her head, I catch a couple of suited businessmen watching her from the other end of the bar. Barely concealed hunger flashes like a warning light in their eyes, and I let the smile fall from my face, giving them the full weight of a stare that has intimidated far more powerful men than them. They take a sudden avid interest in the beers in front of them, and I turn my attention back to the woman sitting next to me.
“Do you really want to know?” she asks, and I take a moment to realize she’s responding to my question about her ex.
I don’t really have a burning desire to hear about what this guy did to disappoint her. “Disappointing” sums up most relationships, as far as I’m concerned. But I want to keep her talking, even if it’s only until those two assholes pay up and leave. Not to mention the other men in this place that have been eyeing her since she sat down. So I nod. “Might as well get it off your chest.” By some miracle, I stop my eyes from dropping to the swell of her breasts as I say it.
She takes another sip of water. “Okay. Well, I work with him.”
I raise a brow, and she grimaces.
“I know. Not the smartest move. But I interned there during my final year of college, and we got to know each other then. He’d flirt with me, and I was flattered because he’s handsome. And older.”
“Is that your type?” I ask with a smirk.
A small crease forms between her brows, and her gaze wanders slowly over my face. “Maybe.”
Her response isn’t what I expect. Heat surges through me, arousal creating an urgent pulse in my veins. I shove it down with more difficulty than I’m used to. I didn’t come here to pick up a woman. I came here to have a drink in a place where people probably wouldn’t recognize me. Not that I think she’s looking to be picked up—not seriously, anyway. She’s just a woman who’s sexy without even trying.
Her eyes drop and she traces a line of condensation on the glass in front of her. “Anyway, when my internship ended, Paul asked me out for a drink, one thing led to another, and we kissed.”
“Just kissed?” I ask. “How very Hallmark of you.”
This time, she glares at me. “Yes, just kissed. It was . . . nice. I liked him, but I was focused on finishing college, so that’s how we left it. After I graduated, I was offered a job back at the company. Paul was working temporarily in our London office when I started, but not long after he moved back, we started dating.”
“How long ago was that?” I ask.
“Three months.”
“So, it only took three months for your scintillating love affair to fizzle out?”
She offers me a cute little scowl. I shouldn’t make fun of her, but I enjoy seeing the sparks flashing in her green eyes when she gets offended. She reminds me of a little kitten when you rub its fur the wrong way—tiny, all fluffed out, and hissing and spitting as if her irritation might actually scare me away.
I bet she’d purr like a kitten if I stroked her the right way, too.
“I never said it was scintillating.”
“So the guy was boring.”
“I didn’t say that, either.” She shakes her head then laughs, her irritation already passed.
It’s fascinating to me how changeable her emotions are. And how easily she expresses them. It says something about the world I live in. Honest emotion is hard to come by. “What went wrong?”
She’s quiet for a beat, staring down at her glass of water. “He just said things weren’t working out.”
“Sounds pretty standard,” I say.
This time, her laugh is humorless. “I suppose it is. Nothing special about me or my story.”
I rake my eyes over her lush body. “I wouldn’t say that.”
A sharp indrawn breath proves she isn’t immune to me.
I rest my elbow on the bar. “So, what are you going to do?”
She drags her gaze away from me. “Nothing, I guess. My job is great and I love the company I work for, so it’s not as if I would leave. I just don’t like how I feel right now. I don’t like thinking it was something I did wrong. That I should have tried harder. That if I’d just . . .” She trails off, then takes another sip of water.
I lean back and study her. The water she’s been drinking has cleared the alcohol haze from her eyes. I linger on the length of her thighs, exposed by her short dress, and I make a decision. “You should forget quick, dirty revenge sex, then.”
“I should?” She sounds breathless after my slow perusal, and I can’t wait to hear her begging me to fuck her in that same breathy voice.
I nod, unable to tear my gaze away from her. Drinking alone wasn’t taking my mind off things. She might be exactly what I need to forget about everything I’ve got going on, and it will help to distract her, too. “I’m thinking you should go for downright filthy revenge sex that lasts for hours. And I think I should be the one you do it with.”
Her cheeks bloom with heat, and my dick is already half hard as I imagine pressing my lips against the warmth of her skin as I move inside her.
“Wh-Why you?” she asks.
I tilt my head toward her, a hint of her scent reaching me as I do—a heady mixture of wildflowers and something more sensual. “Because I can guarantee I’ll make it good for you. Because I think we can both do with getting out of our heads tonight. And because I haven’t stopped thinking about peeling that dress off you since the moment you sat down.”
She actually squirms on her stool, and I’ve officially gone from half hard to fully hard. How wet is she right now? I can’t fucking wait to find out.
She tucks some of her hair behind her ears and tries to pull herself together. “Wow, you work fast, don’t you?”
“I can go slow when I need to.” I cross my arms and lean back on my stool as I wait for her to answer.
“Well,” she says, her eyes dropping to my forearms, where my shirtsleeves are rolled up. “I might need you to go a bit slower right now.”
It’s not a yes. But it’s not a no, either.
I could just go back to drinking. I could pick up one of the other women in here, some of whom have already lingered next to me as they ordered drinks, casting hopeful glances my way. I could even give Jessica a call, although the last thing I want is to give her the impression I’m interested in expanding our arrangement. But when it comes down to it, this woman has caught my attention in a way few do these days. And after today’s shit show, the thought of losing myself in her body is a temptation I can’t resist.
“Let’s do slow then,” I say.
She’s silent for a moment, then her delicate jaw firms. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind.”
Disappointment hits me harder than it should, but before I can say anything, she surprises me again.
“I’m sick of going slow. For once, I don’t want to overthink everything.”
“So you’re saying . . .”
She takes a deep breath. “I’m saying, yes.”
