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As pickup lines went, it was inventive. There was the necessary compliment. An ego boost. And even an unexpected double entendre thrown in for good measure.
"If we were out in the street, I’d swear you were the ticket because you are so fine."
The top-heavy, bottle-ginger had curves straight off the racetrack. Looking her up and down made Omar carsick even though he was standing on the parquet floors of his nightclub. He caught the woman's hand before she could fondle the buttons of his shirt.
The Marquis of Navarre was used to this treatment. Even before becoming a world renowned entertainment producer, women had approached him like he had the checkered pattern of a winning racing flag as a target on his back. When the opposite sex saw him coming, they’d press the pedal with their heels all the way to the metal, not bothering to stay in their own lanes, crashing into one another, and cutting each other off to gain an advantage.
When he was younger, Omar hadn't realized that people were after him for his money and connections. Even though he'd been born into wealth and privilege, he had never learned to take any of it as his due. The blood of his conquering ancestors demanded he create his own empire himself.
So, he did. He assumed everyone else had the same calling. It didn't take too long to realize the fallacy of that belief.
Omar slipped the woman a drink and a dinner voucher and moved on. The fake redhead huffed but slipped the card into her pocket and moved on down the tide. There were a lot of nobles and upper-class crust in his club tonight. The king and soon-to-be-queen were in attendance for one of many parties celebrating their impending nuptials.
Leo and Esme danced close even though the song was upbeat. The monarch’s arms were wrapped around his fiancée’s torso. Esme’s head rested on his chest with her chin tilted up so that Leo could come down for a kiss. With his bride in his arms, Leo looked relaxed. His shoulders were down, and the weight of the kingdom was off his back.
Nearby Alex stood beside his brother. The prince spun Jan around and around until she was an unsteady, giggly thing. Her eyes stayed closed as her world went off kilter. There was complete trust in her posture and movements as though she knew Alex would never let her fall.
DJ Spin was at the turntables mixing in a sick beat. She threw her hands in the air. There was no need for her to tell the crowd to follow suit. They were already worked up into a frenzy. There was only one still body in the crowd.
Zhi leaned against the stage gazing up at the woman he loved as though she were the sun and the moon and the stars rolled in one. Omar was certain the man was hearing wedding bells instead of the pulsing electronic music. Love was definitely in the air around the club.
The spotlight swept across the dance floor, illuminating newcomers. Omar grimaced and took a step back when he saw his ex prowling into the open doors. Another encounter with Summer was the last thing he wanted.
It was his lucky night. She didn't head in his direction. She veered off course aiming for Daniel.
It was a rare outing for the reclusive bookworm. The Earl of Larida sat off to the side at a table near the exit. He nursed a scotch when he wasn't looking around the room and grimacing at the modern moves and music of today's ton.
Summer slid into the seat next to Daniel. He didn't lift a brow at her presence. Her lips curled and puckered as she spoke to him, close to his ear. Omar could hear her suggested tones from across the crowded room.
She’d had a different tactic when she’d come after Omar. He had fallen for the doe-eyed ingénue act. He’d wanted to not only make Summer a star but to shine as her armored knight.
Daniel wasn't interested in any woman who wasn't on the page. After five minutes of him not uttering a single word or even looking her way, Summer finally dropped the act. She huffed and rose from the table. Dusting off her barely-there cocktail dress, she continued on her prowl.
She must be desperate. The royal wedding was a hot ticket. Every citizen wanted a front row seat to the exclusive invite-only event. Omar was surprised she hadn’t finagled an invite with her current boss. Maybe he’d peeped her true colors earlier than Omar had?
Omar ducked out of sight as Summer turned his way. Not that he'd ever get back with her. He was just tired of fighting off unwanted advances for the night. Looking back across the dance floor, he saw that he wasn't the only one disinterested in a partner for the night.
The moment he spotted her, Omar forgot he was being hunted on the most wanted l
ist. As she moved on the dance floor, he moved out of hiding and headed directly into the open arena.
Lark’s arms were over her head, fingers splayed in that fan like motion. Her lithe body swayed to the beat in such a way he believed the notes were chasing her and anticipating her moves. Her eyes were closed and her head thrown back as she let the beat catch and carry her away.
He couldn't blame the men eyeing her like hungry wolves. He was doing it too. In fact, he found himself standing a few feet from her not having remembered taking the first step. Unfortunately, another man beat him to the prize.
It was Lord Panek. A scrawny wastrel with deep pockets and enough mistresses to fill an apartment complex. Omar spied a spot of drool at the corner of the man’s mouth as he eyed his latest catch. Panek’s hands slid towards Lark’s waist, but she was gone from the space before his grubby fingers made contact.
Omar watched transfixed as it happened two more times. Lord Romero tried to come up behind her, but she twirled out of his reach. Sir Gottshall aimed for a side approach, mirroring her dance moves. But she did a two-step and shuffled away.
Lark easily evaded all of their advances. And she never once opened her eyes. The woman was magic.
Omar felt he was in a trance just watching her. The sway of her hips, the shimmy of her shoulders, the twirls she performed on light feet. He decided to try his luck at approaching her. Before he could take a step toward her, he was plucked away.
"Why are you hiding?" asked Esme. "Come dance with us."
She pulled him into the circle of his friends. He came willingly because Lark danced on the fringes. Esme pulled Lark into the circle as well. Lark made no move to evade the future queen.
Esme, Jan, and Lark huddled together. The women moved in time to the fast beat. The three men, the king, the prince, and the marquis, now stood on the fringes watching the women, ensuring no unwanted visitors breached their territory.
