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“What do you do?” Elissa asked the friend.
I watched them as they flirted, her flicking her hair and fluttering her eyelashes and him puffing out the crisp white shirt that covered his broad chest.
Her natural beauty shone through as she laughed, the tinkling sound a reminder of the carefree childhood she'd experienced. Surely I could be less serious? Maybe Joseph would appreciate it if I learnt to be a little better at the art of flirtation.
“A drink for the lady,” my new friend announced, handing me a glass of white wine.
I didn't want to tell him that wine made me extremely drunk and stupid. Instead, I smiled up at him coyly – or so I hoped – and purred a thank you before taking a dainty sip. The bubbles burst on my tongue, adding to the sweetness of the delicious beverage. I’d have to let Joe know that there was a wine I actually liked.
“I'm not much of a wine drinker,” I said, leaning over when he sat next to me, “but this will convert me.”
He smirked and raised one eyebrow. “It's a fairly affordable champagne. Most of my friends only buy the most expensive alcohol, but I prefer the taste to the price. Some think I like slumming it.”
“Well,” I said, running a finger down his arm.
My unintentional touch made him shift closer to me. I'd only meant to test the quality of his suit jacket, just to see if he was speaking the truth. Alas, no, the material was expensive. “I'm pretty sure your cheap champagne would pay my rent for one whole month.”
Both eyebrows rose and he licked his lips. The heat that rolled from his eyes caressed my skin, making my cheeks warm. I wasn't used to the attention, but I liked it.
“Do you rent in London?” He eyed me as he downed his whiskey in one smooth swift flick of the wrist.
Sophistication was his middle name, it literally dripped from him.
Nodding my head slowly, I glanced over at Elissa. She was deep in conversation with her man – my brain swirled too much to even attempt to remember whether he had a name or not. Her eyes sparkled as she chattered, telling him of her wonderful childhood experiences. She really had a way with men. Glancing at her man, I paused... he wasn't staring at her, all googly eyes. In fact, he was staring off, occasionally glancing at her as she rabbited on. In the years I'd known my friend, I had never seen a man grow bored of her, certainly not within the space of a few minutes.
“If you're able to rent in London,” Finley interrupted my thoughts, “you're rich in my eyes.”
Blinking, I returned my attention to him, noticing the soft quality of his skin and the strength of his jaw.
“It is very expensive,” I muttered, trying to focus as the room spun around me.
He leaned closer and stroked my thumb. A shock made me pull away before I looked down at my now empty glass.
“I didn't mean rich monetary wise,” he said, reaching for my hand, “More like the experience of living in such an amazing city.”
“Oh, yeah,” I replied, waving my hand in an attempt to stop him from touching me. “I was abandoned at birth so every day I'm alive, I’m rich, if I'm being philosophical.”
His eyes flared with heat before he dropped his gaze to the table.
“Your drink needs refilling.” His statement was accompanied by a gentle stroke of my thigh under the table.
Jerking away, I grabbed the glass up, clinging on as if my life depended on it.
He glanced at me, frowning when he saw how tightly I held the fragile material. What was wrong with me? He was giving me all the signs of a flirtation, and yet, my whole body shook, as if I'd had an electric shock.
Relaxing my shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension within me, I reached my hand forward. Setting the glass down, I watched in slow motion as it missed the table and smashed on the floor around my feet.
“Sorry,” I murmured, so mesmerised by the shattering glass that I didn't feel the sharp pricks of pain as it embedded into my bare ankles.
My eyes widened when Finley jumped to his feet and pulled me up into a stand. His arms came around my waist and he lifted me, holding me awkwardly against his chest. Elissa and her man were also on their feet, looking down at the floor.
“I'll clean her up,” Finley shouted over the music.
Elissa glanced at the spots of blood that were forming on my ankles. “Bloody hell, woman,” she said worriedly, “You're going to bleed all over those cute sandals.”
Before I could protest, I was being jostled through the crowd on the dancefloor, rather unceremoniously. I clung to Finley, trying to still my spinning head. If I wasn't careful, my brain would go down the vortex of my drunkenness.
My stomach started to churn as the alcohol sloshed around, trying to escape up my oesophagus. Finley was still marching, taking me straight into the men's bathroom. I froze as he placed me on the ground and left me to go into a stall. When he emerged with a wad of tissue, I frowned, wondering what he was about to do with the scrunched up white material.
