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“I’m not showing you my ID. I got into the club, that’s proof enough I’m legal.”
“IDs can be faked. You must have a fake ID. Now, if you don’t show me your ID, I’ll have to escort you out.”
“You can’t escort me out.”
“I’m security,” he said lightly. “So either show me your ID or I take you outside and put your underage ass in a cab home.”
I glared at him, but his body was alert, ready to move.
It wasn’t fair that I found him attractive.
“I’m waiting.”
With a sigh, I pulled my license out from the slit in my phone case and handed it to him. Our fingers brushed when he took it from me.
I inhaled sharply, but otherwise made no sound.
He studied my ID and then lifted his eyes to mine. “Hayden Spencer. Twenty-five years old. I stand corrected. You’re not jailbait. You’re not jailbait at all.”
Suddenly he smiled.
Danger, abort mission, fall back.
With a frown, I focused on the man in front of me and filched my license from his fingers and shoved it back into my phone case slit.
“You know what? Winning the bet isn’t worth it,” I said.
“Bet? What bet?” he asked.
“My best friend bet me I wouldn’t talk to you for five minutes. But no amount of winning is worth this. You’re insufferable, arrogant?—”
“Your eyes are gorgeous.”
The way he was looking at me made my stomach flutter and my long dormant libido crackle to life.
He held up two fingers and I turned around to see who he was gesturing to. The bartender inclined his head and began making drinks.
“I don’t need a drink,” I told him.
He flashed another libertine grin. “You’re right. You need a few. Relax, Duchess, let me take care of you. You’ll like it, I promise.”
My brows snapped together. “Duchess?”
“You’ve got that expensive look about you.”
Before I was able to stutter a reply, the music cut off and so did the lights. Darkness swamped the club. A murmur of collective confusion swelled throughout the room.
Panic swirled in my belly, a breath of terror escaping from between my lips.
A large hand settled on my hip and pulled me forward until my chest was flush against Bad Decision’s leather vest. Another hand came out of nowhere and gently clasped the back of my neck and before I knew it, his lips covered mine.
My alarm immediately receded as I was consumed by the man kissing me. He wasn’t forceful, nor was he tender. He was an expert kisser. He sipped at my lips, a connoisseur of pleasure. The flutters in my stomach quickly turned into a swarm of excitement.
My free hand had a mind of its own and pressed against the solid warm chest of the man whose real name I didn’t know.
The overhead lights flared to life—not the dim, sensual glow of club lights, but the garish, everyday fluorescent bulbs.
With the illumination of the club, my senses returned.
