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“Now, or we go back to Sublime. It’s past midnight. I assume you want to stay for another hour or so.” An icy cold voice, one she could not ignore. It ate into her, making her toes curl with both delight and annoyance. Unfortunately for her, the latter sentiment held sway.
Gemma transformed into a petulant schoolgirl. Grabbing the purse, she stomped off in a huff back to the bathroom with a puzzled Remy in tow again. Her brain fused into a state of annoyance. She had been in a good mood earlier leaving the restaurant.
Her agreeable mood deflated rapidly. Coming back from the bathroom, she tossed her purse down, ignoring him, and headed straight for the dance floor. Unable to contain her stroppy side, she made her mind up—she danced for herself now.
Why could he not trust her? She wasn’t going to flash her boobs at anyone. Already, she had returned to her state of discomfort and itchiness. Licking her lips, she had to rectify the dryness in her mouth. Heading for the bar, she ordered a drink and added it to his tab. She perched on a bar stool and waited for the waiter to bring her a tall gin and tonic with lots of ice to suck on. Another woman came and sat next to Gemma. A bleached blonde woman with a pale face, not the skin colour Gemma expected of a local. Another tourist, perhaps.
She spoke using the local language, and Gemma shook her head to indicate her lack of comprehension.
“English?” asked the blonde.
“Yes.”
“You’re American?” A thick accent with a familiar twang.
“Oh, no. British. On holiday. You?”
“Student. I’m German. Where are your friends?” she asked, peeping behind Gemma.
Gemma relaxed and welcomed the opportunity
to chat to somebody of her own age and gender. However, she couldn’t shift the sulkiness she felt towards Jason. The words spewed out of her mouth impulsively.
“Alone. I like to dance. My friends don’t, so they stayed away.” The lie came so easily.
She used to be good at lying, before she met Jason. Every attempt to lie to him failed dismally, disintegrating all her story-telling abilities in one piercing stare of his eyes. Ever since him, she hadn’t felt comfortable lying. He had certainly shredded her self-confidence when it came to fibbing.
“Sad. You should have friends when you dance. Dance with me?” she offered, cocking her head at the other dancers.
Gemma accepted gleefully and leapt to her feet. For the next half hour, she had a partner. It even took her mind off the irritating bra strap. They didn’t talk much. The loud music drowned out their voices, but Gemma had someone to smile at and show off her fancy footwork. Her nimbleness impressed the stranger. The tattoos certainly caught her eye, too. Gemma showed her the detailed pattern on the back of her hands.
“Pretty. Drink?”
She nodded in agreement as her thirst had returned with vengeance.
“What would you like?” The blonde propped her handbag on the bar.
Gemma hadn’t noticed the small bag strapped over her shoulders. The offer saved Gemma the embarrassment of explaining why she had a tab. She had no cash on her. Why would she, when Jason paid for everything?
“Orange juice please.”
The blonde raised an eyebrow, pointing at the rows of bottles.
“I don’t want to get drunk. I’m here to dance.”
The barman placed the drinks in front of her, and she took a moment to glance through the crowds to see Jason. Unmoved in posture, but his face told a different story. Furrowed eyebrows, folded arms across his chest, and his feet planted firmly on the ground. No light tapping along to the music. He wasn’t happy with her anymore. Gemma bit her lower lip, digging in her teeth, as if she needed a little pain to help her along. Perhaps she should give him her attention again. Mend the broken bridges before she lost all chance of being treated like a princess.
The nameless girl—why hadn’t she asked for her name?—stirred Gemma’s drink with a straw and handed it over. Gemma put it to her lips to take a tiny sip, to check the ice was freezing the liquid to her preferred chilly temperature. A masculine hand appeared next to her cheek. Not Jason’s. The fingers curled around her glass, wrenching it from her clasp.
“Don’t drink it, madam.” Remy’s voice.
Gemma spun round on the stool to find her bodyguard with a fierce expression. He put the drink back on the bar and turned to her dancing companion. The sallow face looked even paler. She went to stand up, but Remy pushed her back down onto her stool.
“Stay there,” he barked at her.
Gemma glanced back to Jason, now upright in his seat. Lubinsky leant over, talking urgently into his ear. The American gestured at Gemma, and Jason’s expression rapidly changed. Across the room, even with the obstacles of dancing bodies, she watched Jason rise up. His shoulders straightened, maximising his height, which easily went over six foot. His hands bunched into fists. She turned away, not wanting to see him unfurl his displeasure further.
Remy had waved over the barman and demanded to see the manager. He pinned the unknown girl down on her seat, using a large hand on her shoulder. The turn of events scared her. Her hands shook as she clutched her handbag. Suddenly, she started to jabber away in German, trying to make a fuss, to attract attention. Gemma was sure the girl hoped to force Remy into releasing his grip on her. However, he maintained it, standing guard over her with his hand clamped firmly in place.
