Page 12 of Lovely Venom

As a familiar figure steps outside, my gaze drifts over her, observing the way the moonlight reflects off her dark hair, creating a soft halo around her.

It’s an ironic depiction, considering there wasn’t a red-blooded male in attendance tonight who didn’t eye-fuck her from across the room.

The doorman also takes the opportunity, letting his eyes roam over her curves before they pause to linger on the soft swells of her breasts.

Chantel St. James has an hourglass figure and striking features that captivate attention in any setting. Her eyes are a hypnotic shade of emerald green that make men abandon reason. They shift depending on her mood, reflecting light like sea glass or darkening at the edges like a turbulent ocean.

Framed by long, dramatic lashes, high cheekbones, and full lips, she’s used to people staring. Marco invites her to these parties among a select group of his colleagues and friends, showing her off like a trophy in his collection. He wants them to envy him, and that’s why men like the one ogling her now think they can get away with it.

The doorman bids her goodnight, his eyes carving over her ass as she steps forward, peering into the darkness as she checks her surroundings.

It’s a familiar ritual for her, something she does when she thinks nobody’s paying attention. I’ve often wondered what kind of monster she’s looking for around every corner, or why she feels the need to arm herself in subtle ways.

The hairpin that doubles as a stiletto, the beaded mala bracelet, a spiked ring. Those are just the ones I know of, but I suspect there are more within close proximity, either in her purse or on her body.

As if she can sense the most imminent threat in her vicinity, she turns her head, and her gaze collides with mine.

A beat passes as her eyes shift to Jolie, her brows pinching together slightly. Then, without a word, she straightens her spine and takes a few ginger steps forward, limping her way toward the front gate.

Irritation flares as I stare after her. Not only did Marco let her leave alone without a ride, he let her do it while she’s injured.

I half-expected her to be upstairs with him by now, but it appears a drunken mauling isn’t on the agenda tonight.

“Cristian?”

The sound of Jolie’s voice drags my attention back to her, and I catch a crack in her composure as displeasure tightens her features. It’s the first indication that she may not be as business-minded as her father says, and now I suspect she’s out here to fulfill her own agenda, rather than his.

“Will you stay for a drink?” she asks again.

“I can’t tonight. I’m on my way out.”

She casts another glance at Chantel and frowns.

“You should go back inside and enjoy the party,” I suggest. “Tell your father I’ll be in touch.”

She hesitates as if she wants to argue, but I don’t wait around to hear it. I head for Chantel, observing her as she stares down at her phone in frustration. As I get closer, I can see she’s waiting for a driver to accept her Uber request.

“Not likely to find one of those out here this time of night.”

She glances up at me, then behind me, where Jolie is certainly watching us.

“I’m fine. It just takes a while sometimes.” A chill runs over her, and she shivers. “You can go back to your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Well, you might want to tell her that because she looks like she’s contemplating my murder right now.”

“I’ll give you a ride home.”

“I’m okay, but thanks.” She crosses her arms as goosebumps ripple over her skin.

I unbutton my suit jacket and hold it out in offer. She snares her lip between her teeth as she stares at it.

“Are you always this stubborn, or is this aversion reserved specifically for me?”

A soft laugh escapes her. “You give yourself too much credit. I’m notoriously difficult.”

Without letting her overthink it, I drape the jacket over her shoulders and nod at her phone.