Page 27 of One Night Wager
“Ladies.” He nods with a smirk so devilish, it’d have any woman’s panties on fire. I hope that’s enough to convince them we’re not together, which technically, we aren’t. So why do I suddenly feel this slam of jealousy from the way they look at him? “I’m Patrick. Nice to meet you.”
We never discussed why he has two names, but I have a feeling whatever the reason, it’s got danger written all over it.
There’s an air to him, both civility and madness, draped like a mask over his face. He may be gentle with me, but I’ve found the monster lurking behind the softness of his gaze.
The girls peer up at him, eyes practically falling out of their sockets. He looks like an ad for a fashion magazine. A long wool coat falls to his upper thigh, his hair slicked back. As he smiles, his cheekbones appear more angled. I’m not at all surprised by their reaction. We don’t normally get men as hot as he is.
“As much as I’d love for Joelle to be my girlfriend, she’s not. I came back here so I can get that dance I paid for.” Picking up each of their hands, he kisses the top of it, then strolls back to me. “It was nice meeting you both, but we have to go now.”
“Bye.” Sienna practically sighs.
“Lucky bitch,” Paulina mutters under her breath, loud enough for me to hear it. She’s never liked me. I don’t know if it’s jealousy due to the amount of attention I get from customers, but she can’t stand me.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper to Enzo as we walk side by side to one of the private spaces. “How did you even get back here by yourself?”
I undrape the curtain and we enter one of the empty rooms. With my back to him, I head straight for the liquor, grabbing a bottle of vodka and pouring myself a much-needed shot to calm my nerves.
If Paulina says something… Oh God.
He lowers himself onto the sofa, leaning forward, legs spread, elbows braced on the top of his thighs. I try hard not to stare but fail miserably. His eyes flick to mine.
“The bodyguards were too busy kicking some guy out to notice me sneaking back here,” he explains, cracking a smirk. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
The way he asks, it’s as though he already knows the answer. “Of course, I am. But you don’t understand what could happen if they find out about us.”
I lift the glass to my mouth and let the burn roll into my throat, savoring the hum of heat coasting down the length of me.
“Come here,” he beckons, that deep, throaty echo increasing the pace of my heartbeats.
I pop a brow in challenge, staying exactly where I am, pouring another shot. This will definitely be the last one if I plan to dance without falling on my ass later.
He rises to his feet, his fingers falling to the buttons of his coat, undoing them one by one, before gently placing the coat down on the sofa. As he treks closer, his eyes tangled with mine, he rolls the sleeves of his black button-down all the way to his elbows, the veins trapped within his skin on full display.
“Are you going to be mad the whole entire hour?” He’s in front of me now, the drink forgotten. “Or could I convince you to forgive me?” His voice curls with a deep rasp, a palm enveloping the back of my neck, pulling me harshly to him, close enough for my heartbeats to echo with his. I go willingly. I always do. Because he’s the only safety I’ve ever known.
His breathing rolls like a deep wave over my lips. The hardness of his chest, the smell of his woodsy cologne, it all causes my core to tighten, wanting something I didn’t think I’d ever be capable of.
He’s a life force to the wrecking of my soul, a trigger shooting me up with hunger—with a craving so raw that for a moment, I forget who I am.
Sex has been nothing but a job, a complication in my life that I’ve come to hate. But he’s not them, those men. Maybe that means I can be with a guy without allowing the abuse to define me. Maybe one day, he and I could be together like he said.
But that hope is doused by the sudden realization that I’ll probably never get out, that my son will be theirs. Forever.
My throat goes dry, and my breathing turns shallow. Reaching for the shot glass, I squeeze it between us, downing every drop.
He watches me drink it all, taking the glass once I’m done and placing it on the bar. His hand finds my jaw, cupping it possessively, a thumb brushing over my lips.
My brows squeeze as I relish in the tender touch of a man I’ve never known. And not just a man but Enzo.
“I’m sorry for coming to find you,” he admits in a whisper. “When I didn’t see you out there, I…” His words are lost before he finds them again. “I was afraid something happened to you. That’s the only reason I went back there.”
My pulse jumps a beat.
“You were worried about me?”
“Of course I was, baby.”
“Thank you.” Tears fight to fill my eyes, aching to show their face. No one worries about me anymore. I forgot how good it felt.