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THREE
malone
I shouldn’t play like this, but it’s too fucking delicious not to.
On the edge, touching her, taunting her.
Of course, the risk’s minimal. I’ve got what she wants, and the beautiful thing here is she doesn’t even know what it is she wants.
Apart from someone to help her dear old cocksucker dad.
She’s still standing, staring at me. Eric, the bartender, is trying not to pay attention. I happen to own this bar; it’s a slice of whatever I need it to be on occasion, but mostly it’s just a place where I come and drink. Other Knights come here when they’re using the property currently known as Orchid Lane, but I’m not sure if any of them know this place is mine.
I don’t hide it; I just don’t advertise the fact. It’s not important real estate.
There’s nothing here that screams Malone West. Anything with my actual name is high-end, on point with the well-heeled or rich.
But Rafe’s serves its purpose.
I let the beats play out silently between me and Scarlett.
She stares at me, her eyes an interesting gold-flecked amber, and the only makeup she’s wearing is the red lipstick on her mouth. Maybe a touch of mascara. But her skin’s clear and fresh. And she’s younger than her outfit suggests.
I think she’s innocent to a point, even though her pulse leaped and hammered when I touched the warm silk of her skin earlier.
“Sit,” I say, rubbing the tips of my fingers together like I can still feel her flesh on them and don’t want that sensation to dissipate.
She doesn’t. A long lock of her black hair curls down over her left breast. Her eyes are on me, full of anger, disdain, and the faintest hint of thinly veiled desire.
I know exactly what I look like, even in this expensive, flashy suit. Even with the rings.
“Fucking sit or I’ll get up and walk.”
“You’re JM?”
“James Malone, yes. And you’re Scarlett Hanlon. I expected your father.”
She swallows and slowly lowers herself, this time perching on the end of her chair. I wasn’t actually expecting him. His brother Grant is the one who reached out, sent a private email through the proper channels I’ve set up for JM.
Not that I’ve responded. If this was one of my aboveboard personas, Grant Hanlon would have tried to make an appointment through my receptionist. And Scarlett would have turned up, looking for me at my office or arranged an accidental meeting at some social engagement.
I guess the rules are the same.
But getting hold of JM isn’t as easy as harassing some receptionist for an appointment, and in this role, I don’t go anywhere close to someone as fresh-faced and innocent as Scarlett. I’m guessing she’s not the most experienced or she wouldn’t have walked into the sex club… either that, or there are other threats I’m not responsible for that are looming.
I wait, letting time stretch out. I flick a glance at Eric and hold up two fingers.
She doesn’t squirm, which I’m pretty fucking sure she’s doing internally, and she doesn’t glance at the door. She just keeps her lovely eyes on me. Which, I have to hand it to her, is ballsy.
Innocent doesn’t mean ignorant, and if she turned up at Orchid Lane, Scarlett’s got a damn clear idea of what JM does.
In another life, I could like her.
Pity I know who her father is.
All that corruption simmering below his respectable surface.
But I push those toxic thoughts away because getting angry isn’t going to do me any good here.
