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She scoffs. “Cash Fox doesn’t have a heart to break. At least not one like you and I have.”
If that’s true, then I’m going to have to be even more careful with mine.
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Chapter fourteen
Reservation for Two
Cash
Myheartispumpingso loud I can hear the beat hollow in my ears.Can she hear it too?The angry bitterness I harbored earlier today has dissipated after I spent myself in the Vault and I’m left with only this edgy excitability.
The last time I remember feeling this way was when I aimed my gun at the first person I would ever kill. There are some lines that when you cross them, there’s no going back. I reach across the center console of my car to place a hand on Harlow’s thigh.
Just the feel of her makes my breathing accelerate. She hasn’t said a word since she got in the car, and I’m not sure what to make of that. But I take the fact that she doesn’t remove my hand as a good sign. Especially given that when I saw her last, it was on her knees covered in my spunk.
I needed to get myself under control, so I left and spent a few rounds at the range with Lochlan. And when I came home—Christ. There she was, standing in my living room looking like a fucking goddess in a simple, black dress. I’m not a religious man, but goddamn if she didn’t make me want to drop to my knees in worship.
When she rests her pinky on top of my hand on her thigh, I decide that the silence is absolutely fine. A few minutes later, we are pulling up to the back entrance of my club. We park in the underground private garage, and I rush around to open her door.
“So, is this where you take all your victims?” She takes my hand as she steps out, leaning forward enough to reveal a line of sight down her cleavage.Fuck, she has perfect tits. And when she’s not wearing a bra, like right now, it takes all my strength to not rip down her dress and suck a nipple into my mouth. I know just how I’d do it too. Soft and teasing at first with a swipe of my tongue, but then I’d bite down with my teeth. I’ve rewatched the footage of her masturbating a dozen times, and I know the exact look of pained euphoria that crests on her face when she pinches her nipple.
And fuck, do I want to be the one to put that look on her face.
“Jesus Christ, Cash.” She scoffs, and I know I’ve been caught staring. “For someone with so much objection to being eye-fucked, you sure know how to do it yourself.”
“Oh baby, I don’t object.” I wrap my arm loosely around her waist and lead her toward the club door. Leaning in, I graze my lips across the hickey on her neck—I like to think she wore her hair up tonight to show it off. “But I also don’t need permission to look at what’s already mine.”
She huffs indignantly and tries to pull away, but I only yank her closer to my side.
I lead her through the staff corridors, enjoying the slight shudder she gets when I stroke my thumb over the swell of her hip or glide my hand down just a tad to brush against her ass. Usually the Phantom would be buzzing as guests transition from happy hour to nightlife, but I have the whole place closed tonight.
Phantom Nightclub is a decommissioned opera house. When I bought it, it had been sitting unused for fifteen years, and I spent the good part of a year renovating it back to its original glory. Everything is still all gold and red velvet, but the ground-floor seating has been replaced with a dance floor. I wanted to maintain the classy experience, so all the staff wear classic black tuxedos. Instead of smoke machines and flashing neon lights, the space is lit with a complex system to create the perfect balance between luxury ambiance and high-energy nightlife.
As we step out of the hallway and onto the main floor, I drink in every inch of Harlow’s face as she takes in the scene.
Most of the lights are off, except for a few dimly lit ones trained on the center of the empty dance floor where a table for two sits. A single red rose and candle rest on the white, cloth-covered table. Simple and elegant. Just like my angel.
She bites her lip and looks to me, eyes wide, I can tell she is pleased but confused. I check my watch. “Just on time.” I wink and guide her by the hand to the table, pulling her chair out before sitting myself.
“On time for what?” She rocks in her seat, straightening her silky dress.
“It’s Thursday at eight.” She looks at me through her lashes, as if she’s embarrassed that she forgot something important. “Remember at the Den when I asked you to get dinner with me?”
I can see in her face the moment the memory clicks, and she smirks. “When I was leaving you asked if Thursday at eight worked. And I replied—”
“‘Fuck you, Cash.’” She fights back a bigger smile and looks down to her plate of food. I didn’t want to be bothered with servers interrupting us for different courses or hovering to refill barely drunk water glasses, so the entire meal was plated before we arrived. “How was your visit with Stella? You look—I can’t even put it into words,a chuisle.”
“It was nice. She ate all your cheese,” she laughs.
“Good, it’s for her anyway.” I’m sure Stella’s figured that out by now.
“I tried—and failed—to get into your computer today.” I nod along like I’m surprised. I’m not. Even if I didn’t watch the footage of her home alone, I get an alert every time an incorrect password is entered. “I wanted to see more footage from the baseball game.”
“Okay.”
