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"I know you said you didn’t want to share me with anyone else, but I really want to go to a nightclub."
"A nightclub?" He blinks.
"When was the last time you went dancing, Mr. Lord-of-all-he-surveys?"
"I don’t dance." He picks up his fork and digs into his risotto.
I glance from the food on his plate to his face.
"Did you order a non-meat dish because of me?"
His shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn’t say anything.
“And did you call ahead to tell the chef that both of our dishes should be made with vegan ingredients?”
He flushes.
"Oh, my god, you did call ahead to instruct the chef, and then you ordered a vegan dish because of me. You didn’t have to do that. I may be vegan, but I don’t impose my beliefs on others."
He fixes those deep gray eyes of his on me. "I wanted to do it for you. I want to experience what you do."
My heartbeat grows faster. It feels like my insides are turning to jelly. Why is that the most erotic thing ever? Also, how far will he go for me, I wonder? I peek up at him from under my eyelashes. "So will you also come to the nightclub?"
17
Liam
Theboom-boom-boomof the beats reverberates through my body. It seems to echo the pounding of my heart in my chest. I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t dance. I also don’t like nightclubs or crowded dance floors. Two girls giggle next to me at the bar. One of them brushes my arm, and I scowl at her. She blinks, then looks away. Good. The last thing I want is to engage in extraneous chatter with anyone else. A bead of sweat slides down my back. The blood thumps at my temples. Why is it so hot in here? I undo the buttons on my shirt, but that doesn’t seem to help.
"Who sent you?" The man asks.
"N-no one. I came here on m-my own," I stutter.
"Liar." He laughs then flips a switch. Instantly the beats from the trash metal track pump through the earphones I’m wearing. The sound sears through my brain. It feels like someone stuck a hot dagger through my head. I squeeze my fingers into fists. I will not give up. I will get through this. I must.
I squeeze my fingers around my glass of whiskey and peer through the crush of bodies on the dance floor. There in the center, with the laser lights crisscrossing her body, is my LadyBird. The red highlights of her hair glint as she moves. Her dress twirls about her knees. She thrusts out her leg and a strip of her thigh flashes. What the bloody hell? I should have gone onto the floor when she’d asked me, but the thought of being stuck in the middle of that heaving mass had made my insides crawling. I contented myself with sticking to the bar, where I could source liquid sustenance and ensure I don’t let her out of my sight.
She turns her head and her gaze clashes with mine. She widens the space between her legs, bends her knees, and begins to grind her hips as she lowers down. Heat coils under my skin. My cock hardens. My mind insists I need to get out into fresh air, but my body and my heart insist I not take my gaze off of her. Still swaying, she runs her hands up her torso, over her breasts and splays her fingers across her clavicles. The blood drains to my groin. My heart has turned into the goddamn rotors of a chopper. If I continue this way, I’m going to have a coronary, no doubt about it. The vixen must sense how close to the breaking point I am, for she slides her forefinger into her mouth and sucks on it. My balls tighten. Holy fuck, I think I just came in my pants without having touched her. Without breaking the connection, I throw back the rest of my whiskey and slam the glass back on the counter.
That’s when the man dancing behind her clamps his palms on her hips. Anger flushes my blood. Before I realize it, I’m moving. I plow through the dance floor, elbowing people aside, and then I’m at her. I grab the shoulder of the man who still has his paws on her. I yank him off of her and throw him aside. He hits the man next to him and they go down in a tangle of arms and legs. I bend down, grab the man by his collar, and haul him to his feet, then grip his wrist. I twist his arm and the man yells… At least, he opens his mouth. The sound is lost in the decibels that blast through the air.
Someone pounds on my shoulder. I turn to find Isla yelling at me. "Let him go, Liam. You’re going to break his arm." I jerk my head back to find the man no longer screaming. He’s panting; his chest rises and falls, his shoulders bent forward. I release him, and he slumps to the floor. I turn, lock my fingers around her wrist, and stalk out. The crowd parts in front of us, and in minutes, I’m at the front door. I step outside and take big gasps of the cool night air.
"What was that?" Isla pants. "Why did you do that? We were only dancing, we—"
I glare at her. Some of the color leaches from her cheeks. She looks between my eyes, and I’m sure she’s going to tug her hand away. Instead, she steps closer.
"Liam, I’m okay. It was innocent."
My heart still slams into my ribcage, my pulse rate sky-high. My breath comes in pants like I’ve run a marathon.
"He touched you," I say through gritted teeth. "He had his hands all over you."
"That’s what happens when you go to a nightclub. You dance, Liam."
"And I don’t."
She sighs. "I don’t want to condone the violence, but Liam, that was—" She swallows. "I shouldn’t find it hot. But... Oh, god, I do." She cups my cheek. "Who are you, Liam Kincaid? The thoughtful dinner companion who turns vegetarian for the meal because he wants me to be comfortable. The billionaire with so much money he can buy and sell corporations around the world. The man who wants to marry to secure his inheritance. The son who doesn’t want to upset his mother. The possessive alphahole who can’t stand to see another man touch me. The dominating, controlling, morally gray man who only has to look at me to turn me on. The—"
