Page 10

Chapter ten

~ROWAN~

The whiskey burns just right as it slides down my throat. From up here, the club is a sea of chaos, flashing lights, pounding bass, and bodies grinding together. The team is spread out across the VIP lounge, laughing and drinking.

Damien’s somewhere downstairs with Avery, whom we somehow managed to drag to the club tonight. And I’m leaning against the private bar, my back to the leather couches, elbows resting on the counter.

But tonight, no matter how good the whiskey or loud the music, I can’t shake this edge.

It’s her.

I see her the second she steps through the double doors, her blonde hair catching the pulsing lights like it was spun to trap every man’s attention in the room, including mine.

My eyes drag from her black heels, up her bare legs, to the little black dress that stops just below her upper thigh. The V-cut of her dress is low, leaving her sternum exposed. The swell of her full breasts is visible enough to make a man go crazy. By the time my eyes reach her smoky eyes, blood is already rushing to my cock.

Fuck, she looks devastating.

When our eyes meet, it feels like someone’s cranked the temperature up a few degrees. She looks away almost immediately, but I don’t. I keep my gaze locked on her, unapologetic, daring her to look back.

She stops at the base of the stairs, looking back at me like she’s deciding whether to come closer or turn and hide.

For one wild second, I think maybe she should. Hide. Get the hell away from me before I ruin her.

But I know she won’t. Livia doesn’t run.

And I can’t stop watching.

That dress should come with a warning. The thin straps, the slight overflow of her breasts that makes it impossible not to imagine pulling it off her, the slit up the side that’s one wrong move away from baring her soul, it’s enough to make my blood pound harder than the bass shaking the walls.

She’s a walking contradiction. Fire and frost. Strong enough to take me on but still flustered when I get too close. I hate what she’s doing to me.

No. I hate that I like it.

I’m a determined son of a bitch. And right now, Livia Moody is my goal. Get her to give in. Break the moral clause and remove her from my team and my life. That’s the only reason she’s under my skin. That’s the only reason I can’t stop thinking about her.

Except, I know that’s bullshit.

And judging by the way my pulse kicks up when she starts walking up the stairs, slow and deliberate, I’m completely fucked.

The second her heel hits the final step, the guys notice her.

“Livia!” someone shouts, followed by a chorus of cheers.

The idiots are loud enough for their voices to be heard over the music for a second. Livia doesn’t flinch. She just keeps walking, her chin up, that black satin dress begging for attention and getting every fucking ounce of it.

I don’t join in. Neither does Ares, who’s brooding a few feet away, a tumbler in his hand and murder in his eyes.

The rest of the team? They’re all over her.

“Damn, you clean up nice!” one of the rookies calls out, earning him a raised brow from Livia.

“Glad to see all the puppies showed up,” she shouts over the music, her hips swaying like she owns the whole damn club.

It’s the kind of confidence that’s designed to level a man.

And fuck me if it isn’t working.

She makes the rounds, saying hi to the guys. But she doesn’t stay long. She’s got a purpose, and it becomes painfully clear when she turns and heads straight for the bar.

Straight for me.

I don’t move. I just lean back, arms crossed over my chest, watching her approach like she’s walking into my trap.

But when she finally reaches me, I’m the one who feels trapped.

“Hey.” Her voice is tight, barely audible over the music, but it’s enough to make my pulse hammer against my ribs.

“Hello.” I keep my tone deliberately flat, but it doesn’t stop her from shifting on her heels, glancing away before turning to the bartender.

“Vodka Red Bull, please,” she says and watches the boy behind the bar get to work.

Her voice is steadier now like she’s gaining control, and I hate how much I want to break it again.

The bartender slides her drink across the counter, and I don’t miss the way his gaze drops to her cleavage. I’ll let this one slide because I get him. Fuck, do I get him. Her breasts could make a priest sin. But that doesn’t mean the bastard gets a second free pass. If I catch him looking again, I’ll make sure he won’t be able to look at anything for a long time.

She lifts the glass to her lips, taking a small, deliberate sip.

I smirk, letting my eyes drop to the hem of her dress, lingering for just a second too long before dragging them back up to her face.

“Don’t.” Her voice is a low warning, but there’s a tremor in it that she can’t quite hide.

“Don’t what?” I ask, my smile widening. “Tell you how good you look in that dress?”

Her cheeks flush—the first crack in her armor—and it’s like a hit of adrenaline straight into my bloodstream.

“Go mess with someone else,” she says after recovering.

“Why would I do that?” I say, my voice dropping lower. “When you’re so easy to mess with.”

Her breath catches just for a second, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.

“Fuck you,” she says, her voice quiet but laced with heat. I’ve never heard her curse before. Her words travel straight to my dick.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” I grin.

She glares at me, her cheeks flushing again, and it’s too damn satisfying.

Before she can fire back, a syrupy voice cuts through the air.

“Gentlemen,” it purrs.

I turn just in time to see a bleached blonde in a skin-tight red dress, all curves and confidence, sliding up between Ares and me.

She leans against the bar, her fake nails tapping on the counter, her smile loaded with too much invitation.

I don’t even bother pretending to be interested. My eyes flick to Livia, whose jaw tightens as she takes a long sip of her drink.

Blondie doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“I was hoping I’d run into you tonight.” She steps closer, her hand brushing Ares’ arm.

“Don’t touch me.” His voice is quiet and calm but laced with enough menace to make her freeze.

She glances at him, falters, and then quickly spins on her heel, muttering something under her breath. She turns to me, her eyes lighting up like she just found gold.

“Rowan!” she squeals, throwing herself into my personal space. “You’re even hotter in person.”

She plants her hand on my chest, her nails dragging lightly over the fabric of my shirt. Her fake tits are threatening to spill out of the skin-tight dress she’s wearing.

Livia stiffens next to me, and my grin deepens. Is my little hellcat jealous?

“Sorry, doll,” I say, my voice flat, my eyes still on Livia. “Not available.”

Her painted smile falters, and she follows my gaze, her eyes narrowing when she lands on Livia.

Livia’s doing a damn good job of looking completely unbothered as she stares straight ahead, her fingers drumming lightly on her glass.

Blondie tilts her head, her tone turning sharp. “Oh. I didn’t realize you were…busy.” She looks at Livia, sizing her up.

“He’s not.” Livia’s voice is smooth and detached like she’s above this whole thing.

But I know better. I see how her grip tightens on her glass and her shoulders are just a little too stiff.

“Why don’t you talk with some of the other guys.” I turn to blondie, pointing my chin toward the others. “I’m sure they’d love to play.”

The girl pouts but doesn’t press, spinning away to latch onto some other poor bastard on the team.

Livia throws back her drink and sets her glass down with a little more force than necessary.

“Something wrong?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“Not at all. See you around,” she says, throwing me a glare before turning and walking away, her hips swaying in that fucking dress like she’s trying to kill me.

And maybe she is.

I watch her head down to the ground floor, nodding to the bouncer at the top of the stairs.

From up here, I’ve got the perfect view.

The club stretches out below me like a stage. People are dancing, grinding, laughing, but all I see is her.

Livia’s on the dancefloor, moving like she doesn’t give a damn who’s watching, her body swaying to the beat, her hands in her hair, her head tilted back. The lights catch the sheen of her skin, the shimmer of her dress, and for a second, I forget to fucking breathe.

My fingers tighten around the glass in my hand as my eyes trace every curve of her body. The way that dress clings to her, barely there straps, a slit that’s a tease and a threat, it’s enough to drive a man insane.

And the way she moves…Fuck.

I should look away.

But I can’t.

Because all I can think about is dragging her out of here, ripping that dress off her, and seeing that smoky makeup run down her gorgeous face.

My thoughts are interrupted by some guy in a blue suit and too much hair gel. He sidles up to her like he’s got a right to. She steps back just slightly, but he follows, leaning in closer, his hand brushing her arm.

My jaw tightens, my fingers curling around the glass as jealousy spreads through me.

But then his hand moves lower, his fingers grazing her hip, his other hand reaching for her ass. Livia tries to step away, her movements sharp, her smile tight, her hand pushing at his chest, but the prick doesn’t get the message.

Something hot and sharp explodes in my chest, burning through my veins like acid as jealousy morphs into anger.

It’s ugly, feral, and about to explode.

I slam my glass down on the bar, the sound shattering through the VIP lounge like a warning shot.

Ares looks over, but I’m already moving, my boots thudding against the stairs, my vision narrowing to one thing: my hellcat.

By the time I hit the floor, my blood’s roaring, the bass from the music barely cutting through it.

The guy’s still there, his hand now gripping her wrist, his body angled like he thinks he’s got a chance.

Not tonight. Not fucking ever.

I reach them in a few long strides.

“Let go,” I growl, my voice low and lethal.

The guy looks up at me, confused for half a second. His confusion melts into something cocky like he’s stupid enough to think he can stand his ground.

“Who the fuck are you?” he sneers.

“Her boyfriend.” I step closer, towering over him, my voice dropping another octave so I know he’s the only one who heard me. “And I’m going to break every bone in your hand if you don’t take it off her right fucking now.”

He falters, his grip loosening, but not fast enough.

Livia pulls her arm free, stepping back, but I’m not done.

I grab the guy by the front of his shirt, yanking him closer.

“Rowan,” I hear Livia shout over the music.

“Touch her again,” I say, my voice deadly calm, “and I’ll bury you so deep they’ll need a fucking map to find you.”

“Alright, man. Chill.” His face pales, his bravado crumbling. “I didn’t know she was your girl.”

“Walk,” I snap, shoving him back hard enough to send him stumbling into the crowd. A few heads turn, but people are too hammered to pay attention for more than a couple of seconds.

The asshole doesn’t need to be told twice.

I turn to Livia, my chest still heaving, the adrenaline still pumping. She’s staring at me, wide-eyed, her lips parted. The way she looks at me like she’s seeing something in me she didn’t want to, makes me wonder if I’ve just made this better or worse.

I look around, and a few more bastards are looking at her, waiting for an opening. Not a fucking chance.

I don’t say anything. I just take her wrist gently but firmly enough that they know they don’t have a choice and lead her toward the stairs.

“Rowan,” she protests, her voice sharp, trying to tug her arm free. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking you back upstairs,” I say, glancing over my shoulder.

She plants her feet, forcing me to stop, and pulls her wrist from my grip. Her blue eyes blaze as she steps closer, tilting her head back to glare at me.

“I didn’t need your help,” she snaps. “I had it under control.”

“Sure you did,” I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Looked real controlled when he had his hand on your ass.”

“I don’t need you to play protector. I can handle myself.”

I step closer, crowding her space, and she doesn’t back up. Of course, she doesn’t. Livia doesn’t run.

“I know you can,” I say, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “That doesn’t mean I’m gonna stand back and watch some asshole put his hands all over you.”

“Well, I don’t want to go upstairs. I came here to dance.” She places her hands on her hips, making sure I know she means it.

“Dance? Very well, then.”

Her lips part like she’s about to reply, but I don’t give her the chance.

My hand slides to her waist, pulling her closer, and my other hand catches hers.

“What are you—” she says, so breathy that I have to read her lips to understand her over the music.

“You said you want to dance,” I say, cutting her off.

She stares at me, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths, her body stiff in my arms. But she doesn’t pull away.

“Rowan,” she says, her voice louder now but still holding that edge. “This isn’t—”

I lean down, my lips brushing against her ear, and her breath hitches.

“Dance with me,” I murmur, my voice low and rough, “and I’ll do the second interview without a single complaint.”

Her body goes still, her eyes narrowing as she looks up at me. I can see the wheels turning in her head, weighing her options, trying to decide if this is worth it.

Finally, she exhales sharply, her shoulders relaxing just enough.

“No complaints, and you’ll behave?” she asks, still deciding if she should give in.

“Yes, ma’am.” I nod, leaning down until my mouth is leveled with her ear. “I’ll be a good boy.”

Her lips part, and she sucks in a breath at my words, goosebumps appearing on her skin.

Before she can say anything, I guide her further into the crowd, where the music is louder, the lights darker, and the bodies closer.

The beat shifts, wrapping around us like a pulse. I pull her against me, my hand splayed across her lower back, keeping her there.

She’s stiff at first, her movements hesitant, but then the music takes over, and she starts to relax. Her hips sway, her hands tentatively finding my shoulders, and I feel her breath hitch when my fingers skim the bare skin of her back.

“Relax,” I say, leaning down so my lips are just above her ear. “Do I look like I bite?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” she asks, her lips close to my ear. I can hear the nerves in her voice, and I can feel what I am doing to her. And it only makes me want to push further.

I tighten my grip on her waist, pulling her even tighter, and she gasps softly, her hands curling into the fabric of my shirt.

“Do you want me to bite?” I say, my mouth curving into a smug grin. “Is that what you’re into, little hellcat?”

Her head tilts up, her eyes meeting mine, and I see it. I see the fire, the fight, and underneath it all, the way her pupils dilate, the way her lips part ever so slightly.

She hates this.

She hates me.

But she can’t stop herself, just like I can’t stop myself.

“I told you to stop messing with me,” she says, trying to mask the effect I have on her.

“I’m not messing with you, Livia.” I lean down, my lips brushing against her ear again. “I want to make a mess of you.”

Her breath catches as she looks at me, her eyes threatening to pop out of her pretty face.

But the damage is done. I know it, and she feels it.

Livia thinks she hates me. But hate has a way of burning close to something else. And I see it every time her lips part, her breath catches, and her body leans into mine before her pride pulls it back.

The plan is working.

She’ll break that goddamn moral clause, and she’ll break it with me. Because once she does, she’s out. Out of my hair, out of my life, out of every waking thought that she’s been invading like a goddamn parasite.

That was the plan.

But now…now, I’m not so sure.

Because when I look at her—wild, proud, and determined—I don’t just want to ruin her anymore.

I want to keep her. I want to protect her.

And that’s the most dangerous thought I’ve ever had.