“No,” I cut him off, stepping closer so only he can hear. “You don’t get to fuck me against your wall and then play daddy now. Not with me. Not when your daughter is downstairs waiting for us.”
His nostrils flare, his whole body coiled like he’s about to snap. For a moment, I almost want him to. Almost want him to drag me back upstairs and show me just how much he cares that I’m wearing this for other men to see.
But Kate calls from the doorway, “Come on, Brook!”
I flash him a smile, vicious and sweet. “Guess you’ll just have to sit here and think about it.”
And then I walk out the door on unsteady legs, his gaze scorching every inch of my bare skin, daring him to stop me.
Paradise
The door slams, and I’m left with nothing but silence.
Her perfume still hangs in the air—sweet, sinful, clinging to me like a bruise. That dress clung to her tighter than my hands ever have, and now she’s out there flaunting herself for every bastard with a wallet and a pulse.
I told her to change. She smirked and walked out, anyway.
She thinks this is a game.
My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it. The banister groans under my grip, wood splintering against my palm. She has no fucking idea what she just started.
Brooklyn Lane doesn’t walk out of my house dressed like that and leave me behind. Not after the way she looked at me. Not after the way her lips trembled when I told her to be mine.
She wants to test me? Fine. Let her.
But she won’t last the night without me reminding her who she belongs to.
I pour a bourbon and down it in one swallow, the burn doing nothing to douse the fire in my chest. Images of her crawl through my mind—the way she moaned my name against the wall, the way she smirked tonight just to spite me.
Defiant little thing.
She thinks she can provoke me in front of Kate, that I’ll keep my hands tied because my daughter’s in the room.
She doesn’t understand. I don’t tie my own hands.
By the time I set the glass down, I’ve already made my decision.
Paradise. That’s where she said they were going. Of course I know the club. I own half of it.
Brooklyn wants to play in my world? Wants to taunt me in front of strangers, let men stare at what’s mine?
Then I’ll be there.
And when I take her home tonight, she’ll learn the hard way—there are no games with me. Only rules. Only consequences.
And Brooklyn Lane is about to choke on both.
The drive is a blur. Red lights. Horns. The city stretched out in front of me like a neon jungle. None of it matters. All I can see is her—bare legs crossed, drink in her hand, laughing too loud at something she doesn’t find funny, some bastard leaning too close because she walked out of my house dressed to be devoured.
By the time I pull up outside Paradise, my blood is already running hot.
The line is long, but I don’t wait. I never wait. The bouncer stiffens when he sees me, moves aside without a word. I don’t bother acknowledging him. My eyes are already adjusting to the dim glow of the club, the bass rattling through the floor like a second heartbeat.
I find her instantly.
She’s on the dance floor with Kate, the crowd swallowing them whole, but Brooklyn stands out like a flame in the dark. That dress—black, indecent, the plunge exposing skin I’ve tasted but no one else ever will. My hands twitch. My jaw grinds.
And then I see it.
