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The door opens and we’re greeted by a man in a waistcoat. He has a full beard and glasses, and leads us to a table right at the front, on my request. There’s a stage before us, and a beautiful woman with flowing red hair, amazing breasts and the most sparkling lingerie I’ve ever seen proceeds to perform a burlesque routine that’s halfway between rhythmic gymnastics and sex. She holds a ball that’s made to look like a pearl.
“Now I know why they call it the Oyster Room,” Sebastian says in my ear as we’re seated.
There’s a little velvet couch, so we can sit together, and a low round table with a cocktail menu that’s as thick as an encyclopedia. The music is loud enough that it complements the burlesque show, but soft enough that it’s possible to hear the person next to you if they lean in.
My leg brushes Sebastian’s as he sits next to me, not bothering to keep much space between us. Tonight he’s devastating as ever—dark hair a little wind-blown, stubble lining his jaw, eyes like rich espresso. He’s sharply dressed in dark denim jeans that fit like a dream, and a shirt with a blazer. He’d be clean-cut if it wasn’t for the stubble, and I love that contradiction.
I press my thighs together, trying to stem the insistent feeling there. The neediness. I’ll be honest, I’m not the kind of woman who’s ever had an out-of-control sexual appetite. Don’t get me wrong, Ilikesex as much as the next person. I even have a fancy vibrator that I bust out on occasion. But I’ve never beenconsumedby desire. I’ve never wanted someone so much that it made it hard to think, hard to breathe. Not even with the two men I thought I might marry.
But I feel that way now.
Maybe this is some kind of rebound symptom—a diversion tactic to keep you worrying about your broken heart.
But is my heart broken, really? Or is it more shame that I almost led myself into a lackluster life? Shame that I let myself be convinced I was in love for all the wrong reasons?
Even when deep down I’dknownsomething wasn’t right.
Sebastian stretches his arm along the back of the velvet couch and I shuffle closer, comforted by the broadness of his body and the easiness of his touch.
“Surprised?” I ask.
“Very.” He turns and a smile infuses his hard-edged features with warmth. “Not at all what I thought you had planned when you suggested dinner and drinks.”
“Do you like it?” My eyes flick to the stage, where the performer undulates in time with the music, the pearlescent globe in her hands catching the stage lights and shimmering. She holds the audience ensnared, captivating them with her saucy smile and liquid movement—her body curvy and enticing.
But Sebastian’s eyes are still on me. I feel the weight of his gaze and it’s like standing at the edge of a fire pit, entranced by flickering flames and soothed by heat. My whole damn life I’ve wanted a man to look at me like that—like I’m the only woman in the room. Like I’m all he can think about. All he wants. His hand brushes the back of my neck and I shiver.
“I don’t think I should like it,” he says eventually.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t help wondering what you’d look like up there.” He shakes his head, a frown creasing his dark brows. “And that isnotsomething I should be thinking about.”
My breath is a bubble in the back of my throat and my heart matches the rhythm of the music. “Why not?”
“Because you were about to marry my stepbrother two days ago.”
Hearing the truth is like having a bucket of ice water dumped on me. I don’t want to think about Mike and Sebastian’s relationship—shaky as it is. I don’t want to think about the fact that they’re connected, that they’refamily.
They’re not actually related, and they hate each other. What’s the big deal?
I most definitely don’t want to think that if by some Sliding Doors–type scenario Ihadn’tdecided to vanish out of the bridal dressing room, I might be married right now to a man who would never love me.
“Are you worried about where your loyalties lie?” I ask softly.
“Theydon’tlie with Mike, I know that much.” He still hasn’t looked at the dancer, even as she begins stripping off her stockings and swinging her hips in time to the music’s heavy bass. “But I don’t want to ruin things with Dad. And...”
“And what?”
“Maybe there’s part of me that wonders if you’re only interested as a means of revenge.”
If him bringing up the wedding is a bucket of ice water being dumped over my head, then this is like being slapped with a wet fish.
“You think I’m only here because I want to give a big ‘fuck you’ to Mike?”
Maybe that’sexactlywhat a bad girl would do, use sex not only for pleasure but as a weapon. The thing is, however, revenge was never part of my plan. Not even for the most fleeting second. My attraction to Sebastian is as pure and natural as it comes—his relationship to Mike is a downside, not a plus.
Why is it a downside if you’re only looking for a one-night stand to tick off your list? It’s no one’s business who you sleep with.
