Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
“Of course you are,” I hear muttered. Cor again.
He not only looks like a soap opera star; he’s got a soap opera star name.
“For legal reasons, we write up a report whenever we bar somebody,” Derek Steele goes on, “so would you come with me to the office, please? I’ll get all the details so I can write this up.” His hand lands on the small of my back and my eyes hit Alannah’s briefly while on the move. She’s nodding with a positively delighted look in her eyes.
“The bar or a table out here should do,” Jeffy pipes up. “Unless I’m coming with.”
Derek Steele smiles wide at me. “Protective friends. Good stuff. The bar it is.”
Although that hand on my lower back should feel fairly benign, it’s not. Because although my dress has spaghetti straps on top in front, it’s also crisscrossed over most of my back, which means his hand is touching plenty of bare skin. I’m exceedingly aware of its presence and grateful for the fact that the dress is velvet because hopefully the thick fabric is hiding that my nipples are now erect. He doesn’t let go until we’re at the bar in front of the two empty seats Alannah and I sat in earlier.
“You’re on break,” Derek Steele says to the bartender without looking at him as he removes his hand from my back and reaches out to take my hand as if I need help climbing up onto the barstool.
I don’t take the extended hand; instead I climb up without assistance, eyes bouncing between the club owner and the confused-looking bartender, who asks, “I’m… on break, Mr. Steele?”
“Take your break in my office,” Derek says without looking at the frowning bartender whose expression changes to one of alarm. “Right now would be ideal,” he adds.
The bartender sidesteps past him and slips out of the opening at the side of the bar as Derek gestures with his left hand. I see a suited guy by the front door look our way and then he’s on the move, approaching us.
“Escort Alex to my office, Mel, and ask Tamara to come look after the bar, please,” Derek says to the man approaching who’s obviously another security guy.
Mel nods and quickly moves past us, disappearing down a hallway that presumably leads to the office.
My eyes bounce back to Derek as he takes his jacket off, lays it across the bar beside me, fiddles with his sleeves, then rolls them halfway up his well-veined forearms. His eyes are on me the entire time, though mine have been rather… bouncy. His shirt showcases his muscles quite well. I tear my eyes away from his defined shoulders and the ink that crawls up one of his arms. Heat creeps from my neck upwards as I try to behave as if I’m not checking him out.
“What can I get you, Miss…” He lets that hang.
“Chloe.”
“Miss Chloe what?” he inquires and gestures to a passing waiter. “Can you take Tamara’s section while she runs the bar the rest of the night? Alex has been relieved.”
“Sure, boss,” the young guy says. “I’ll bus that table and be right back.”
Derek jerks his chin at me.
“Chloe Turner,” I reply. “And again, that guy in the red shirt wasn’t bothering me. He asked me to dance, and your security got there immediately, before he even had a chance to misbehave.”
“Did you have plans to dance with him?” Derek asks. “Did my head of security ruin your night by giving him the boot?”
His dark eyes feel like they burn into me. And it makes me feel strange. Exposed. That was probably meant to be a lighthearted comment, but the way he delivered it – with what felt like accusation – I’m a little flummoxed.
“No,” I advise. “I invited him to dance with the group of us, making it clear I’m here to spend the evening with my friends dancing. And then I told him I’m engaged.”
“Hm,” he responds, grabbing an empty glass from the mirrored shelf behind himself. “What to drink, Chloe Turner?”
He pulls his phone out and is doing something on it as I answer.
“Rum and Coke with lime in a tall glass, thanks.” I reach into the slit pocket along the side seam of my dress, which has enough room to keep my phone, some cash, and my keys at my mid-torso, which is another reason why I bought it. I pull out my wad of twenties, fives, and tens and pass him a ten.
“On the house. For the trouble,” Derek lifts a hand.
“There was no trouble,” I advise with a smile. “Your security guard got it wrong, so maybe you should be inviting the guy in the red shirt back in and giving him the complimentary drink.”
Derek looks surprised for a beat and then leans forward. “You want him back in here?”