His back was to me as he poured. “I bet it’s something likeJane Eyre. Some down-on-her-luck heroine makes her way through a vicious world against all odds to find exactly where she belongs.”
In fact it wasJane Eyre, but I didn’t want to talk about books. My brain swam with thoughts of Seven, of the humiliation I’d endured, of my small pixie life and how this might be the only time I’d ever be in the penthouse of this hotel. I didn’t say another word. I simply stripped out of my dress and stood naked in front of the fire.
He turned from the cart, drinks in hand, and froze at the sight of me. For a second, I wondered if I’d be rejected for the second time in less than a day. But then his eyes grew dark and a muscle in his jaw twitched. I watched his resolve melt under blazing heat and desire. He set the drinks down.
When he approached me again, we collided. His mouth on mine was a brand. It took no time at all for his clothes to hit the floor, some of them stripped off by his hands, some of them by mine. He lowered me to the floor and slid into me on the rug in front of the fire. He was a generous lover who made me feel cherished, alive, and wanted. And he delivered more pleasure than I ever expected for my first time. In his arms, I pushed all thoughts of that lying, cheating Seven from my mind.
I didn’t regret a moment of it. I’d wanted my first time to be with Seven, but now, after everything, losing myself to the feeling of this man’s touch was... a relief.
When I woke, Dark Stranger had gone but Kiko rested on the nightstand. A note under her read,I want you to have her. She’s supposed to bring luck. Worked for me. Luckiest night of my life.
No signature. No name. Just how I’d wanted it.
I gave that human stranger my virginity, and in return he gave me Arden.
ChapterSixteen
Luck is not chance, it's toil; fortune's expensive smile is earned. −Emily Dickinson
“Hey.” Seven nudges me from my reverie, and I shake off the memory, mentally brushing away spiderwebs. “You okay?”
We’ve reached the VIP lounge, a quiet corner of the second level overlooking the dance floor. I nod. “Just remembering the last time I was here.”
He sneers. “That’s right, your humantryst.”
I lift my chin a little and raise an eyebrow. I’m not ashamed of what happened. Honestly, everything about it felt right at the time, and even now the memory of Dark Stranger comes to me in a rosy hue. “I have no regrets. Not only was it a night to remember, I got Arden out of it. One of the best nights of my life actually.”
“I bet you’re tempted to search the crowd for his face,” Seven snips.
In answer, I lift up on my toes to get a better view of the dance floor.
“Gods, will you just…” He hooks a hand through my elbow and tugs me toward the blue velvet sofa behind us. I sit. He sinks onto the cushion beside me, managing to convey both grace and displeasure in the descent. The way he looks at me, I sense he’s going to say more about his disapproval of my personal choices, but we’re interrupted when a server pops out of nowhere.
“Your usual, Seven?” she asks, her smile directed only at him.
His eyes flick over her. Clearly he has no idea who she is, and his expression remains serious as he rattles off, “Yes, and she’ll have a blackberry martini.” Without a glance in my direction, the server prances off to retrieve our drinks.
“I’m capable of ordering for myself,” I snap. Just like Seven to take it upon himself to order for me.
He narrows his gaze on me. “You don’t want a blackberry martini?”
Actually I do, but he doesn’t need to know that. “No.”
He tilts his head. “Yes, you do.”
I scoff. “Now you think you know what I want better than I do?”
“I don’t have to know. I’m lucky, and the luck says that’s what you want.” He flips a hand in the air derisively.
“Well, you’re wrong. Next time ask me.”
“Fine. I’ll call her back and order something else.” He raises his hand, searching the floor for our server.
I pull his arm down between us. “Never mind. I’ll drink it. We’re here to work anyway.”
The withering look he gives me relays that he knows I’ve lied about not wanting it. Luck is rarely wrong, especially when someone like Seven is wielding it.
“That’s right,” he says. “We have work to do.” He throws one arm around my shoulder and runs his opposite hand up my leg to squeeze my inner thigh. His firm grip on my skin, the scent of his cologne filling my nose—honestly, what is that magic?—and the closeness of his body are all so overwhelming. Something low within me clenches. I try to shift away, but between his hold on me and the dip of the couch, I’m not going anywhere.
