“Dance?”
I smile and take another sip of my drink. “Not much of a dancer. Besides, I’m waiting for someone.” I gesture with a head jerk to the guy. “Who is that?”
She doesn’t even have to look to know who I’m talking about. “That’s Mr. Benedict the Third.” She bites her lip.
“He important?” I query, and she frowns and fights a smirk.
“You could say that. Now, how about that dance?”
I take one last look at him, watching how his hands trail over the bare shoulders of the woman next to him. She’s young, so young, I’d think she was still in high school, but there’s no way if she’s working here. This club’s too important to make stupid mistakes like that. Still, it gives me an idea of this man’s particular tastes.
“How about I dance and you watch?” she offers.
I run a hand over my chin like I’m thinking about her offer, and she pouts. “Go ahead,” I reply with a flick of my hand.
The brunette starts to sway her hips in time to the beat of the music. She’s mesmerizing to watch. I put my drink down and let my heated gaze wash over her as she smiles at me and dances.
“Would you like a private room?” the waitress offers as she comes back over with the martini. “We have several available for your discretion.”
“I think that would be a good idea, don’t you?” the brunette says, her smooth as silk voice washing over me. “Oh, but you’re waiting for someone,” she pouts again, and I chuckle.
I’m waiting for someone. I just don’t know who. The invitation didn’t give me any clues as to who I was meeting, what was expected of me, or what time they’d be here. I look the brunette up and down. She’s stunning. The sort of stunning that tells me she’s here for my pleasure.
“I think a little privacy would be good,” I finally agree, deciding whoever I’m meeting can wait.
We pick up our drinks and follow the waitress through the crowd, passing the bar where a couple men my age stand, ordering drinks. I recognize them from the party the night before, but I don’t let on to them. This isn’t the time for niceties. Fuck, it’s not time for private lap dances, and I’m already making an exception for that. The waitress stops outside a large, ornate wooden door on the opposite side of the room.
“Room three is free. I’ll have a bottle of champagne sent in, but please help yourself to anything you’d like.” The waitress opens the door and gestures for us to go inside.
We walk into the lavish room, the muted lighting setting an atmosphere that seduces you just by being surrounded by it. I have another sip of my drink and unbutton my jacket with my other hand before turning back to look at the brunette.
“Well?” I say, taking a seat on the cream colored sofa that curves into a semi-circle. I drape my arms over the top as I stare at her. The drink and adrenaline is already going to my head. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night and things are going to get better as the night wears on.
“Well?” she replies, placing her martini on the small table next to the sofa.
“I thought I was going to see you dance.” I gesture with one hand to where she stands, and she lets out a flirty laugh. “So, dance.”
She lifts her drink in front of her, and I do the same with mine. “To tonight,” she says, then throws the drink to the back of her throat.
I grin, more than happy with the toast. “To tonight.” I swallow the rest of my drink and put down the glass. She turns the music up using a switch by the door, then turns back to me, taking slow steps forward. She sways her ass and hips as she runs her hands through her long hair, her gaze on mine the whole time.
My eyelids grow heavy as I watch the door open and the waitress come in with a bottle of champagne. The brunette doesn’t stop dancing, and the waitress pours me a glass before handing it to me. I think I say thanks, but I can’t be sure. I’m lost in the moment of watching the woman in front of me and the fuzzy feeling in my head.
Jesus, I’m hot. I reach up and loosen my tie before unbuttoning the top button on my dress shirt. The room is warm and blurry as I take a sip of the champagne, feeling the gold flecks slide down my throat and the bubbles fizz on my tongue. Fuck, this is good stuff.
The brunette leans in close to me, her breath warm on my face as her hands reach for my belt.
“Everything okay, Samuel?” she asks.
“Superb,” I slur.
Iwake up worrying I’m dead.
Going by the way I feel, I think I would have preferred to be, because death couldn’t have been this painful. My mouth is so dry, my tongue feels like sandpaper, and I’m pretty sure I must have rubbed sand in my eyes to make them this gritty and bloodshot.
My heads pounds with the pain of a hangover from hell, and my stomach heaves when I start to move to sit up. I clutch a hand to my head and wince as I force my eyes open. The world blurs and spins until it finally comes to a stop and settles.
“Fuck,” I grumble, and dive up from my bed. Tripping over my bedsheets and almost falling on my face, I stumble to the bathroom and throw the lid open of the toilet before hurling into it. The sound and smell of sick hitting the water makes me feel even worse. I flush as I continue to retch, drowning out the sound and smell of my own vomit.
