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Briar’s head jerked. “What?”
Inaya smiled, dropping back to sidle up to her. “They watch you. A lot. They’re discreet about it, but I see all.”
Flushing, Briar glanced away. “I have an arrangement with Grover.”
“Who you hardly ever see, since he’s always away for work. Yeah, I know you two are only exclusiveinsidethe club so you can still get laid elsewhere, but that’s not the point.”
Briar edged up her chin, defensive. “I like him.”
Cat snorted. “You like solitude, so it suits you that he’s not around much—that’s not the same thing.”
Briar shrugged. “He gives good head.”
Cat gave her a droll look. “And that’s what’s important.” Reaching the dome, she pushed one door open. The interior was as dark as any bar, but it wasnothinglike an average bar. More like a large, fancy, sensual ballroom.
Dome shaped—hence its name—it had black marble walls and a shiny checkered floor. There were fluted columns, long mirrors, tiered chandeliers, and also French windows that were framed by red velvet drapes. A door on the opposite side of the space led to more private themed rooms.
Also, there were some recent additions near the rear of the dome. Five tall, boxes with mirrored walls. Boxes that were big enough to fit two people. And while said people would be able to lookoutat the dance floor, no one from the outside could see what was happening within the boxes.
As usual, the dome was packed with people dancing, talking, drinking, and even getting up to some raunchy stuff. Some of the latter was taking place in the arched hollows, giving people a little privacy but not much.
“So who’s getting the drinks while the rest of us go hit the dance floor?” asked Cat.
“I’ll get the first round,” I offered. “Who wants what?” Once I had their orders, I headed to the long bar.
I didn’t make it there.
Because a bunch of people moved aside, and suddenly another person was in my line of sight. One I recognized. One I’d had very filthy thoughts about on several occasions. One who right then pinned me with a predatory gaze that seemed to plant my feet to the floor.
Well now. Things were looking up.
Chapter Two
Ultra-blue eyes raked over every inch of me in a slow, bold perusal. They heated. Darkened. Lookednothinglike they did when he was in a boxing ring. No, at those moments his eyes made me think of blue ice. They were cold, focused, and hyper intense.
He was tall. Broad. Tattooed. His close-cropped hair was the color of unburnished gold—the top layer had a little more length, not quite spiky but unkempt like short wild grass.
Having seen him in little more than boxing shorts, I knew he was a specimen of superbly defined muscle. His build spoke of his discipline, strength, and power; told the story of how he’d come to be an undefeated world champion.
Call me weird, but I had a weakness for his back. It was sleek and sculpted, and I honestly didn’t know what to do with myself when all those muscles started bunching and rippling.
As we stared at each other, my pulse began to quicken and my feminine parts got somewhat flustered. Well, how could they not? He was an incredible sight to behold, his stance as dominant as the vibe he so unabashedly gave off.
Everything happening around us seemed to melt away. With his concentration so intensely fixed on me like nothing else existed, I felt warm. Keyed up. Hyperaware of myself.
No wallflower, I didn’t shy away from his scrutiny. I didn’t blush or swallow nervously. I held his gaze just as boldly. The space between us swiftly began to hum with a tension so thick and sexual it made my skin prickle.
His eyelids dropping slightly, he pointed at me. “I know you. You once covered one of my fights. You took a real good picture of me holding all my belts. That picture sold many times over.”
I blinked, surprised. People more often said something like, “You’re Jaxxon and Connor’s daughter.” It was rare that I was recognized on sight due to my profession. “Youhave a good memory.” The particular event he’d referred to had taken place yearsago, and he’d been in more fights than I could count.
One corner of his mouth tipped up. “A man does not forget a woman who looks like you.” He took a step closer and held out his hand. “Cole Delaney.”
“I know.” I shook his hand—it was warm and big and calloused. And I should probably spend some time in a church confessional, given the many not-so-innocent things I was imagining that hand doing to me. “Izzy McKenzie.”
“I know. I made a point of asking who you were that night. You’d left the arena by then.”
Well he was forward. I liked forward.
