“If you need anything else, just ask the staff,” I reply in a strained tone. “They’ll look after you.”
He sits back down in the booth, cocking his head to one side, his eyes resting on my legs.
“I’ll do that, thank you, Jacqueline.”
I want to rip the name out of his throat, carry him up the atrium, and hurl him over it, listening to the satisfying crunch as his body hits the floor.
“Have a good night,” I say instead, and turn away, relieved that I’ll be able to avoid them for the rest of the evening.
“Tone down your expression,” I murmur, as I move toward Tyrel. “He might shoot you in a back street for looking at him that way. Observe but don’t intervene, and make sure he doesn’t touch any of my staff.”
“I’m not leaving this spot tonight,” he says darkly.
“Thanks.”
“Where’s Scott?” he asks.
“Upstairs. He won’t come down here. I’ve made sure of it.”
“Good.”
I squeeze his forearm gently before turning away, my stomach in knots as I walk back toward my office on the ground floor. I should be walking around, making sure we don’t have any trouble brewing, but I just need a second alone.
I can still feel Nick’s hand on my waist, the heat of it, the proprietary way he pressed his disgusting body against mine.
I’m angry that I didn’t push him off immediately, that I’m beginning to think of my own body as a commodity. I tug at my skirt, pulling my vest straight, and move through the crowds as the DJ begins to play a deep throbbing base that pulses through the floor, vibrating through the heels of my shoes.
Pink and red lights bathe the dancefloor as I move through swinging arms, flashing jewelry, shouts of excitement, and laughter filling the air around me.
I’m reaching the other side of the floor when I look up, stopping dead in my tracks.
A pair of very familiar, bright blue eyes are watching me from a booth in the corner of the club. As I stand there, frozen in place, they run over my body like a caress, and this time it sends a shiver right through me, erasing any hold Nick Monroe had on me in an instant.
Shuddering, I stare at Gray. He’s nursing a drink in front of him, a white, crisp shirt tucked into gray slacks and an impossibly casual stance. His broad chest is on full display through the tight fabric of the shirt.
He looks edible, and I can’t help the rush of heat that passes through me.
Fuck, did he see me with Monroe?
I manage to force my legs to move, wondering what the hell he’s doing here. Anger is easier than analyzing the other feelings settling in my gut at the sight of him.
I march toward him as I see the little spark of amusement in that impassive face of his. He continues to watch me as I reach the table, glaring down at him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I needed to blow off some steam,” he says, his fingers running around the rim of his glass and making my whole body ache. “It’s a nice place. A little small, but nice.”
I glower at him as he smiles slowly, watching me lose my temper with apparent relish.
“Jensons is the fourth biggest nightclub in the city,” I retort.
“Hmm, you’re right,” he says, sipping his drink. “Which ones are the top three, again? Oh yes. They’re all mine.”
“Fuck you.”
His eyes darken, and I suck in a breath as he stands up. “What a good idea,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear it over the music. “You have somewhere more private we can go?”
This time, the offer doesn’t repulse me; it sets a fire through my blood, and I’m moving before I even think it through, walking toward my office. Gray’s powerful steps move behind me as I try to keep the need coursing through my body under control.
