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“Fine.” I peel my leather-covered elbow from the bar and try not to check for any residue. “Where to? Actually, I don’t care where we’re going because I don’t need a plan. Lead the way.”
CHAPTER SIX
Sebastian
PRESLEYSLIDESOFFher bar stool, her body brushing mine on the way down. In the cramped bar, we’re so close I could almost kiss her. For a second, she stands between my open legs, the inside of my knees grazing her hips.
Her silvery-blue eyes are cold and hot at the same time, wild with feeling. There’s an air of defiance about her, of rebelliousness and restlessness and resistance. What the hell was my stepbrother thinking? This woman is majestic. She’s a force of nature, and so beautiful it’s like staring into the sun.
Someone pushes behind me, eager to grab our stools, and I keep Presley close to me as we weave our way toward the door. She smells like vanilla and citrus and something wonderful. I want to take her someplace quieter, where I can get to know her better. I almost don’t want to ruin the night by pressuring her to give me information on Mike. But I’m home in Melbourne for one reason only and I can’t let my grandfather’s creation die without a fight. Withoutallmy fight.
The cool night air is bliss on my heated skin and it pushes away the heady pink clouds created by Presley’s thick lashes and full lips. Out here, I can think more clearly. I can remind myself that lusting over her is only going to bring me trouble. Gorgeous and fascinating as she is, I can’t let attraction get the best of me.
I walk to the edge of the road, pulling her along with me, her giggle and the click of her heels floating on the night’s air. I stick my hand out, hailing a taxi and soon we’re driving away from South Melbourne, into the heart of the city. One of my friends here runs a private club. It’s one of those places with an unmarked door, down a dark alley and around a corner that creeps out of nowhere. All the best bars are like that in Melbourne, and The Easy is no different.
Presley hesitates as I lead her down the small, poorly lit street. There’s a dumpster to one side and the back door of a famous restaurant, where two kitchen staff members stand around, talking.
“I draw the line at dark alleys.” Presley shoots me a look.
“My friend has a place down here,” I explain.
“I’m sure that line’s been used before. You know that whole thing about never getting in cars with strangers? Same goes double for creepy streets at nighttime.”
Good point. I pull out my phone and plug The Easy into my map application. It shows the location pin right at the end of this alley. “See? It’s here.”
She nods, but I can see she’s still a little unsure.
“Tell you what, take this.” I twist off the ring I wear on my right hand. It’s a simple gold band with a single black stone hammered into it—and I never take it off. It was my grandfather’s and the wordsNever Settleare engraved on the inside with both my grandparents’ initials. “This is very special to me and I won’t be going anywhere without it.”
“And if you murder me, it could be used to identify my killer.” She slides the ring onto her thumb and looks at the small stone. “Pretty.”
“You could always text a friend, let them know where you are,” I suggest.
She stares at me a moment longer. “My gut tells me you’re good people.”
We walk down the alley and take a sharp corner. There we find a door painted an innocuous shade of brown—no sign, no number. There’s a single, old-fashioned knocker in the middle; a lion’s head with a ring through the mouth.
“If you’re taking me to some kind of sacrificial cult gathering, I’m going to be pissed,” Presley says.
I take her hand and guide it to the knocker, curling her fingers around the brass and sealing her hand with my own. Then I bring the knocker down in three sharp knocks—one, two, three. Pause, counting to five. One more knock.
A second later, the door swings open and a woman in all black with lipstick as bright and glittering as a Christmas ornament beckons us inside. “Welcome to The Easy.” She looks at me a little closer. “Seb?”
“Nice to see you, Charlotte.”
She reaches in and gives me a warm hug. “I’m sorry, I almost didn’t recognise you without the long hair.”
“They made me clean up in Sydney,” I joke. “This is Presley. We’re hoping to grab a table and get a quiet drink.”
“Of course. I’ll take you up to the lounge.” She smiles at Presley and then motions for us to follow her up a tight flight of stairs. The Easy is three levels and was the house of a rich politician in the early 1900s. Now it’s a private club where members come to drink, network and meet like minds, all while making my friend Lark very,veryrich.
“This place isamazing,” Presley croons as we walk up the stairs. She’s ahead of me, ass wiggling enticingly in her miniskirt with each step. She trails a hand along the flocked wallpaper, which starts in a shade of rich wine-red and moves to an inky navy in a smooth ombré as we ascend. “I’m going to besodisappointed if it’s a cult.”
I laugh. “You haven’t seen any pig’s blood or people wearing cloaks yet, have you?”
“No, thank God.” She turns to look at me over her shoulder, and the sight is enough to make my knees buckle—tousled hair, smudgy eyes and the most wicked curve to her lips. “I’m starting to think I should have let you pick our drinking spot from the beginning.”
Charlotte takes us to a hallway at the top of the stairs. There are two main rooms up here, a boardroom for members to have discreet, private business meetings and one of the three bars in this place. There’s a bar on the first floor, for all members to access, as well as a rooftop terrace with a dance floor and cocktail bar. The level we’re going to is reserved for a limited of number of members per night, so it’s never too crowded. Never too loud.
