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This guy is one of those head-turners. Heads turn everywhere he goes, I’m sure of it. My body tingles as my spine straightens.
He’s tall, built, somewhere in his thirties, dressed in an impeccable suit with a navy-blue shirt. His inky-dark hair looks soft, tousled in that stylish way that screams rich guy who doesn’t give a shit if he needs a haircut. His lips are full. His jawline is chiseled. He looks like he belongs either on a soap opera or a red carpet with a supermodel in a designer dress as arm candy. He’s a walking, talking thirst trap.
“Sweet baby Jesus,” Coraline says from behind me. “Five movie star hotties had an orgy thirty-odd years ago and made a pretty baby.”
“I’m sorry about that,” the club owner says to me, and I suspect he had to have heard Coraline, but he doesn’t visibly react. “We endeavor to ensure guests feel safe here at Downtown and all our establishments. I regret that you were harassed.” His hand is pressed to his chest with what looks like sincerity as he stares straight into my eyes.
“I…” I swallow and shake my head. “Actually, he just asked me to dance. Nothing bad happened. If he had plans to harass me, he didn’t have time because your security was here quickly.”
The man’s eyes are on my mouth as I speak. And it’s making my face burn hot.
He hands me a business card. “Glad to hear Shep’s doing his job. I’m Derek Steele.”
I look at the card in my hand, not seeing anything on it because my eyes are bouncing quickly up to meet his again.
“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.”
