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CHAPTER THREE
“I can’t believe Conor got us VIP tickets to Illusion. It’s like the most exclusive club in all of Boston,” Carla says, practically bouncing in her sky-high heels as she applies her lipstick on Saturday night.
It’s been a week since my first date with Conor, and we’ve been out several times since. Thankfully, all of our other dates have been more low-key, and I smile at the thought of seeing him again tonight.
Damn, I have it bad.
Every day, I fall a little harder. I’ve never felt like this before. Never fallen so hard or fast for a man, but it’s impossible not to when he makes me laugh and pays me endless compliments. Not to mention how he looks at me, like I’m the only woman in the room. It’s intoxicating.
“I guess that’s one of the perks of managing the place,” I say with a shrug. I haven’t told Carla that he essentially owns the clubs, although I did ask if she had heard of O’Shea Corps. Other than knowing they were some big-ass Fortune 500 company, she had no idea what they did.
When we’re finished getting ready, we order a cab and head to the club. I admit it feels good to skip the long queue and walk straight up to the bouncer. I give him my name when he asks for it, and once he’s checked his list he ushers us inside.
It’s like walking into an entirely new world as we leave the hustle and bustle of the street behind us and step into the darkened interior. Loud music washes over me as I take in the walls covered in soft-looking drapes that make the otherwise large room feel intimate. The club is packed, with people on the dancefloor or occupying tables or booths. The high ceiling is composed of one giant mirror, reflecting everyone in the room and making it feel even larger than it is. The whole vibe is soft and sensual yet upscale and classy.
“Come on,” Carla says, grabbing my hand and dragging me through the crowd toward the bar. She orders two shots of tequila, which we knock back before heading out onto the dancefloor. When I’m not caught up in the music, I look around the room for Conor. He should be here somewhere, but I’m guessing he’s still working since he hasn’t come to find us.
After several more drinks and countless songs, I tell Carla that I have to go to the bathroom and push my way through the crowd to the edge of the dancefloor. Joining the line, it takes forever before I reach the front and can finally get into a stall.
Doing my business, I wash my hands and head back into the club. However, as I’m skirting around the outside of the room, trying to avoid being jostled by the throng, I notice what looks like two men arguing not too far from me.
Squinting through the dim light, I gasp when I realize one of them is Conor. My eyes flick to the other man, but his face is cloaked in shadows. All I can make out are the tattoos covering every inch of skin, from where the sleeve of his shirt is rolled up to the tips of his fingers where they dangle at his side, along his arm which is slightly flexed as though ready to coil into a fist to be driven into Conor’s face at any moment.
The two of them are tucked into the corner of the room, their argument going unnoticed by everyone else. However, I can’t seem to tear my eyes away as the tattooed man says something to Conor that incenses him further. I can only make out Conor’s profile, yet I can visibly see the furious curl of his lips as he jams his pointer finger into the other man’s chest, saying something that I can’t hear from this distance.
More words are exchanged before the other man stomps off, and before Conor can turn and catch me watching, I blend into the crowd.
I paste a smile on my face as I join Carla, and with another round of drinks and dancing, all thoughts of Conor and whomever he was arguing with are pushed to the back of my mind.
It’s only when strong arms wrap around me later that night that I remember his fight. Turning in his embrace, I lace my arms around his neck and stare up at him. Shadows are dancing in his eyes that I haven’t seen before.
“Are you okay?” I yell over the loud music.
His only response is to pull me in tighter. “Come back to my place tonight.”
It isn’t really a question, but as my eyes dart back and forth between his, I sense that he needs me, even if he can’t or won’t explain why.
I slowly nod my head. “Okay.”
A dirty smile brightens his face, chasing away those shadows.
His hands slide slower along my hips, before they graze my ass as he leans in to kiss me. It’s hot and filthy, and I’m quickly consumed by the taste of his tongue in my mouth, the heat of his skin against mine as he practically lays claim to me in the middle of the dancefloor.
We haven’t gone any further than kissing yet, but my libido has been screaming at me to fuck his brains out all week, and tonight, I plan to do exactly that.
“We’re leaving,” he says, a little breathless when we pull apart. “Now.”
“I just need to find Carla.”
He shakes his head, wrapping his hand around mine and pulling me away. “You can text her in the car.”
A zing of excitement rushes through my body. I’ve never had a man so eager to have me, and it’s a huge fucking turn-on.
I have to practically run in my heels to keep up with him as he drags me through the club and out a side door leading to a small staff parking lot.
Pulling a key fob from his pocket, he presses a button, and the lights on a luxury sedan come to life. “Get in.”
I hurry around to the passenger side door, feeling all sorts of exhilarated and turned-on as I slide into the car. The cool leather feels fantastic against my clammy skin, and I sigh, relaxing into my seat as he starts the engine and peels out of the lot like he’s in a getaway car and the cops are on our ass.
