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“Grant.” She looks at me with rounded eyes. “Your walls are all glass.”
“Observant,” I say with a smirk.
“How do you get any privacy?” She walks over the glass wall that separates the guest bathroom from the living room. “Grant.” Her voice has risen an octave as she looks back at me. “Even your bathtub is glass. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”
“Anything can be a thing if you have enough money and a big imagination.” I tuck my hands in my pockets and watch her take everything in. “There’s a way to make the glass turn opaque in every room.” I lead her to the bathroom and show her button next to the light switch. As soon as she presses it, the walls go from clear glass to frosted.
“Thank fuck.”
I show her the rest of the apartment and get her something to eat. Then I go back into my office to get some work done and make some phone calls. When I come out an hour later, she’s passed out on the bed in the guest room.
I walk in to fix the blanket she’s using, but I also stand there and watch over her for a few minutes. She’s sleeping deeply, shown by the way her chest rises and falls steadily and the tiny little snores she makes every few minutes. Her hair has haloed around her head, and the contrast of her black lashes against her ivory skin is beautiful.
I stand there, cataloging every inch of her and every sound she makes. If I wasn’t afraid of waking her, I’d lean down and sniff her. I can’t help but reach down and gently run my thumb along her lush lower lip. It’s so soft and pink and perfect.
* * *
“Okay,” Liv says as she walks into the living room. “I’m ready.”
I look up at her, letting my eyes greedily soak up the sight of her dressed for the night. She’s wearing a short black dress that drapes around her body in a way that accentuates her slim figure. The hem of the dress hits her above mid-thigh, and I’m already fighting the urge to glide my fingers up the smooth expanse of skin she’s showing.
“Smile.” I say softly as I hold my phone up to snap a picture. “I’ll send this to the guys.” Hopefully it’ll be a good reminder of why they need to stay aware.
She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear shyly before giving me a small smile. I know that Nolan would probably pull a full one from her, but I’m lucky to get anything at all. I try to convince myself that fact doesn’t hurt.
“Where are we going?” she asks from more than an arm’s length away.
“Seven. It’s my most secure club.” For one level you need to be a member, but I’m not sure if she could handle the things that go on there. I don’t want her triggered seeing people engaging in BDSM play. “It’s a burlesque club. I reserved one of our private tables.”
Her eyes sparkle with interest. “I’ve always wanted to go to one of those.”
I grab our coats from the closet. As I help her into the long, hooded coat that Sawyer bought for her I can’t help but be thankful for his eye for fashion. From a practicality standpoint it’s a solid choice, the hood covers her face in shadow. Beyond that though, the cut of the coat and the belted waist exaggerates her slight curves.
She keeps an arm’s length between us at all times. Every time I place my hand on her back, she shifts away. I clench my jaw so hard I think I might crack a tooth when she slides into the town car and plasters herself to the far side.
Logically, I know the blame for this lays in my hands but fuck logic. If she wants to play nasty, I can play fucking nasty. I move toward the middle of the seat and splay my knees out the side. My left thigh presses against hers while I open my phone and check texts and emails. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her look down at our legs before glancing up at me. When I don’t move, she huffs a tiny breath and jerks her leg away.
I pretend to ignore her, my eyes trained on my phone, but all my other senses hone in on her. She smells like vanilla and honey, an intoxicating combination that I’ve never forgotten. It’s another thing to thank Sawyer for, remembering the brands of toiletries she used. The car hits a large pothole and sends her careening into me. Her hand lands on my thigh and briefly squeezes me. Before I can fully appreciate the warmth of her hand on me, she has snatched it away and pushed right back to the opposite side of the bench seat.
I drag a harsh breath into my lungs. This is worse than I thought it would be. I need constant reminders as to why I don’t deserve her smiles, her loyalty, and her love.
Broken ribs.
Shattered soul.
Murdered parents.
My hands may not have been the ones abusing her the past few years, but they definitely aren’t clean of responsibility. I repeat those reasons like a mantra over and over until we pull up in front of the club. It’s an hour before we open, so no one is out front yet.
I exit and hold my hand out to help her, but she ignores my offer and exits without assistance. She looks at the facade of the building before turning back to me with a question in her eyes. Her confusion is understandable; when my business partner, Griff, and I designed and opened this club, it was built for discretion. The outside is unremarkable with no flashy lights or even a sign.
The upper level is where my office is, he has one here too, but his full-time job is running a media conglomerate from a midtown high-rise. The main level is where the burlesque club is. Then the level below is a BDSM dungeon that requires a membership. We cater to the upper echelons of society with deep discretion and strict rules. The lowest level is an illegal fighting ring where we hold unsanctioned fights and gambling. The clubs serve more nefarious purposes for us beyond allowing our members to exercise their dark sides, we gather intel that we use to gain favors throughout our syndicate.
I grab Liv’s hand and pull her inside with me. I lead her into the lounge, saying hello to the bartender who’s already setting up. A few of the dancers are running through their numbers on stage.
“This is our table for the night,” I tell her as I lead her to the table beside the stage. The half circle booth is partitioned off by tall screens, so it’s only visible from the stage. “I have to go upstairs for a couple minutes, but I’ll send Sammy, the bartender, over to get you a drink.”
After a brief discussion with Sammy about making sure no one approaches Liv, I head upstairs. I poke my head in Griff’s office to see if he’s here, but it’s empty. I go down the hall to see if our attorney is here, she has some contracts for a new restaurant I’m thinking about opening with an out-of-town investor. She’s not here either but has the contracts in a manilla folder on her desk with my name on a post-it.
