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“Massage?”
“They’ll be here in an hour.” She gave him a wink and shut the door before he could protest.
* * *
Several hours later, her belly was full and every muscle relaxed and loose. She’d taken a long, luxurious bath. She’d primped and pressed. Her makeup was flawless, close to what she did for shows—smoky eyes with black and silver shadow, drawing out the blue in her sapphire orbs. Emma had curled her hair and then teased it to get that tousled she’d-just-snuck-into-the-closet-and-had-a-quickie look. Puckering her bloodred lips, she blew herself a kiss in the mirror.
Emma pulled the zipper up on the side of her little black dress. The corset top made her breasts look bigger than they actually were, and the lace bottom came just below the globes of her ass. Adding a pair of fishnet stockings and leather boots that laced up and reached under her knees made her look like a real-life rock goddess.
Her body buzzed from the bottle of champagne she’d already finished; she was ready for a good time out on the town. Hopefully Link would relax a little and they could have fun.
Knock. Knock.
Emma gave herself one more glance before she made her way to the door and opened it.
Link stood there. His sandalwood scent drifted into her space, wrapping around her and winding her up. His obsidian eyes raked over her body slowly. She took in the fitted black dress shirt that hugged his large, muscled torso to perfection. It tapered in at his waist and was tucked into a pair of dark washed jeans held up by a black belt. His black and red Converse were the perfect addition.
“Go change.”
Her smiled dropped. “Wh-what?”
He shook his head. “You can’t go out wearing that.”
Gritting her teeth, she said, “There is nothing wrong with my outfit. You’re not my daddy, and I’m not a child. I’ll wear whatever the fuck I want. Sexist much?”
His jaw clenched. “Can’t you just listen to me one goddamned time without argument?”
“There is only one place I submit to anyone, and you’ve made it clear we are never going there again.” She stood straighter, meeting his eyes in challenge.
“Fuck.” He swore under his breath. “Here.” He dug his wallet out of his pocket and handed her a couple of twenties in cash.
“What’s this for?” she asked, confused.
“In case we get separated, or if we don’t come back to the hotel together tonight. You need cash for a cab.” Link looked away as he said it.
Meaning he was planning to go home with someone else. Or bring someone back to his room. Pain tore at her already shredded heart. She’d had to endure Link with other women for years, but that had been before. Before she’d had him to herself. Even if it was only for one drunken night of intoxicated pleasure that still had black spots from unrecovered memory.
A violent sickness churned in her belly. Jealousy reared its ugly head like a dragon spewing green fire through her veins. He wanted to fuck someone else? Fine. She could too. She’d show him she’d moved on as well. And maybe one day it would be true.
18
Link
Link tipped the glass to his lips, taking another sip of the dark, expensive whiskey. Loud, pulsing music pounded through the speakers below the VIP area cordoned off for Emma and her guests, along with a few other high rollers. Women sat on either side of him on the blue velvet couch. His gaze flicked through the glass balcony to the pulsing bodies and the two dancers in the cages on either side of the stage, one male and one female.
“Do you need another drink, handsome?” the waitress in a barely there pink cocktail dress asked.
He nodded.
“Shots!” Emma yelled over the music. “Tequila!”
The waitress turned to go back through the velvet rope and down the stairs to the main bar.
The women next to him were wearing some pretty powerful perfume, neither of which complemented the other.
“So, what is it you do?” the blonde to his right asked. Carla? Carly? Carol?
“Mechanic.”
