Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“It’s not a good night until blood is spilled, Tams.”
“Ladies.”
“Whoa.” Tamsin’s eyes widen to comedic levels before I whip around in the direction of the deep voice. I look up, then up again. Dark suit. Dark hair. A head the size of a soccer ball. His nose seems the kind of crooked that comes courtesy of a pummeling of fists, but more distracting is the fact that he has one and a half cauliflower ears. Probably less. This seems much more worrying than a full two cauliflower ears because it seems to suggest someone has taken a bite out of each. Dragging my gaze away, I smile brightly, guessing we’ve been accosted by security.
“She was obviously joking,” I say with a staccato titter.
“You’re the one who mentioned spilling blood,” Tamsin unhelpfully offers.
“Bloody Marys,” I say quickly. “We’ve more than enough money to buy our own drinks without committing back street surgery.” Credit cards, anyway.
“Come with me,” the man intones in a heavy Eastern European accent, before adding, “Please,” as an apparent afterthought.
“What did you do?” I accuse, turning to Tamsin. We can’t be getting thrown out for a bit of gallows humor. She did once get us ejected from a pub for slipping a fancy cocktail glass in her purse.
“What could I have done?” she protests. “We’ve only been here an hour.”
In other words, give her time.
“Ladies,” the man begins again, “Mr. Vanyin requests your company in VIP area.” An arrhythmic flash of lights from the dance floor washes the man’s face puce, briefly turning him into a gargoyle. It doesn’t stop my insides from somersault pleasantly. I read once that when you’re looking for signs, you see them everywhere. Is this a sign? Or could it be a red flag?
“Mr. who?” Tamsin’s nose scrunches, mainly because she doesn’t have her glasses on, like leaving her specs at home has also turned her slightly deaf.
“Mr. cheekbones and fancy suit,” I say with a sigh. A car, a puppy, and now an invite to the VIP area by proxy.
“Oh, Niko! Your friend.”
I snort indelicately. Not even close, Tam. “Where are you going?” I ask as she turns.
“With him?” Confusion flickers across her brow.
Honestly, Ted Bundy could’ve extended the invitation, and she’d be in for free champagne. “You don’t even know Niko.”
“No, but you do. The universe has intervened, sweetie,” she says, making a gesture that would make a fairy godmother proud. “Organ harvesting is unnecessary tonight. Unless you want to find what Niko’s organ may yield, of course.”
Curling my fingers over her forearm, I turn back to the man in the suit. “Please tell Mr. Vanyin that if he wants the pleasure of our company, he’ll have to come and get us himself.”
“What?” Tamsin protests as the bouncer opens his mouth, but I’ve already grabbed her hand and am dragging her to the dance floor.
“But… free champagne!” she whines as we reach the steps down to the retro dance floor.
“Drink up!” Without letting go of her, I place my glass on a nearby shelf as I tamp down a wash of giddiness.
He’s here! my mind whispers as music pulses through the soles of my feet. And he wants you. Or maybe he just wants me to thank him for Gertie the golden Labrador. And maybe I could thank him—offer him a helping hand for that hard problem he mentioned.
Or maybe my mouth.
I give my head a little shake, but neither the nonsense filling it or the smile on it budges.
“I can’t believe you’re making us dance,” Tamsin complains over the music. “We can dance on the opposite side of the rope too, you know.”
“It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s not. It’s free champagne! Unless. Is this one of those reverse psychology moves? Treat him mean, keep him keen?”
“Of course not.” And absolutely.
The crowd swallows us like a whale, the music rising through my body like a wave. I can’t remember the last time I danced in a club, but tonight is suddenly brimming with promise, and I feel so alive and so vital.
“Look out.” Tamsin laughs as her gaze dips comically to her hips, where manly hands are curled. “Roaming hands,” she mouths, moving closer. “What about the face?”
“Not bad,” I call back, taking stock of the man dancing behind her.
A shrug signals her decision. “I’m not giving up on hobnobbing with the elite. Come and find me when it’s time.”
“Fairweather friend,” I call back, taking her face in my hands. A moment later, her new dance partner spins her to face him, and I find myself dancing alone. Only I’m not alone because this crowd, this sea of humanity, we’re all here for the same thing. To let go. To succumb. To give in to the beat.
I dance as though he’s watching me, imagining my hands are his as I trail them over my hips, the back of my fingers coasting the sides of my breasts as I feed my fingertips into my hair. Heat courses my skin, the beat of the music throbbing through my veins. God, I want his hands on me, his mouth on my neck, and the feel of him over me.