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I force myself to look away, while my body stands there like it has no better place to be. A lingering scent of spice and sex tickles my nose, and I will myself not to react. It works, until a hardcore-looking guy with platinum hair and ear gauges the size of quarters calls out to me in the voice I recognize from before.
“You lost, Little Blue Riding Hood?” He sneers, eyeing my aqua-colored dress.
Laughter erupts around the table as another bearded guy, with long brown hair, crosses his arms and stares at me. However, my attention is still being pummeled by a pair of steely green eyes trying to crawl inside my mind and ninja all my dirty thoughts.
“Nope, just wandering in the woods,” I counter, breaking the connection and turning my attention back to the blond guy. “I mean, I have to pee.”
Way to go, Forrest Gump. That was smooth.
“Downstairs,” he mouths, pointing toward the lower level.
The table breaks into howls of laughter again.
My cheeks burns with mortification. Unfortunately, my body refuses listen to reason and go back downstairs. Mainly, because the sex god is still having his visual wicked way with me.
With silent stares growing awkward, I take a few small steps, determined to gain distance. Almost past my visual seduction, I gasp as a large Hulk-like man comes barreling toward the stairs from the back.
“Sorry, this is a private VIP party,” he says, pushing his passive arm out and blocking my path. “You need to leave.”
I blink up at him. VIP? Who the hell is so important they need an entire floor and an enforcer?
“Excuse me?”
“Look, lady, you need to go before I make you.” Hulk flexes both tree-trunk arms, ready to manhandle me.
“Back off.”
Every head turns toward the sex god, including mine.
“Come again?” Hulk’s brows knot.
The sex god gestures toward me. “I said, back off. For fuck’s sake, this isn’t high school. Move it.”
Then it hits me. VIP. Entourage. Shit! Narnia has to be Heath Vaughn’s private party.
Hedonistic-slut Phoebe stomps off in anger at the loss.
Did I honestly think he helped me earlier out of the kindness of his heart? What was I, some sort of Heath Vaughn hand-off prize?
Obviously, I’ve been played, and I need to get the hell downstairs before I ruin what little chance I have left to salvage my career.
Fidgeting with the hemline from hell, I clear my throat and nod toward the sex god. “I don’t suppose Heath is around…”
The table falls silent, and each eye studies me before laughter explodes. I hate being on the outside of an inside joke. The former debutante in me desperately wants to find a hole to crawl in and die, but the reformed New Yorker bitch-slaps her and opens her mouth to tell them all to suck a bag of dicks.
Luckily, the sex god disarms my fury with a chuckle and a crooked smile. “I’m sorry...Heath?”
Something is off. “Vaughn,” I add, fidgeting. “Isn’t this his party?”
“No, it’s not Vaughn’s party, but that’s the best laugh I’ve had in weeks.” The corners of his eyes wrinkle, and the damn ghost dimple sinks deeper.
I’ve dodged a bullet. He’s just some random guy, and I’m a moron. I’ll offer a quick apology, and my bladder and I will relieve ourselves of the torture that has us in a panty-twist.
With strengthened resolve, I turn to say goodbye, when my eyes land to his right, and my heart drops to my heels.
She’s gorgeous.
She’s also staring me down as if narrowing her eyes to just the right slit will burst me into flames. I don’t know her, but I don’t like her. At all. I can tell the stylish, angled cut of her short blonde hair hides her horns, while that long sweep of bangs covers one devil eye.
