Page 1 of Unbreakable Bonds (The Boston Romance #2)

COLE

Another fucking Friday night at Six-Pack, and the bass vibrates through my bones like a jackhammer.

The dance floor's a sea of sweating bodies, hands raised to a beat that does nothing to quiet the deal calculations still running through my head.

Seven figures, three contracts, and a merger that's threatening to fall apart – and here I am, watching strangers grind against each other like it's their last night on earth.

I shoulder my way through the crowd, my height giving me the advantage of seeing over most heads. The silk of my tie feels like a noose after fourteen hours of boardroom warfare, and I yank it loose as I claim my usual spot at the corner of the bar.

Darius, the ever-present bartender with his knowing grin, catches my eye. "The usual, Cole?"

"Make it a double."

"Rough week?" He's already reaching for the top-shelf whiskey, the one he keeps specifically for nights like these.

"The kind that makes me question why I didn't become a fucking gardener instead." My neck crackles when I roll it – a reminder that I've missed every gym session this week. The built-up tension feels like concrete settling between my shoulder blades.

"Here's your liquid therapy." Darius slides the glass across the polished wood. "Speaking of therapy, your best friend seems to have found his in Emma. Never seen Nick so... domesticated."

I knock back a mouthful of whiskey, letting it burn. "Yeah, he's disgustingly happy."

"And you? Your mother still on your case about being single?"

"Christ, don't remind me. Got another voicemail today about how she ran into her friend's daughter at Whole Foods." I drain half my glass. "Apparently, being thirty-three and single is a crime in her book. She's convinced my biological clock is ticking louder than hers did."

Darius laughs, and we chat until a man on the other end of the bar waves to get his attention. "Duty calls. Talk to you later."

I nod, and as he leaves, I let out a sigh while rubbing my tense neck muscles. With work filling itself to the max this past week, I wasn't able to do my usual daily workout. God, I need to release this river of pent-up adrenaline first thing tomorrow morning.

The dance floor swells as Jason Derulo's "Talk With Your Body" thunders through the speakers, bass thumping against my chest. My gaze drifts across the sea of writhing bodies until it snags on a vision in red, moving with liquid grace to the pulsing rhythm.

Her sleeveless dress clings to every curve, crimson lace kissing mid-thigh as she moves.

Blond hair cascades around her shoulders swaying hypnotically with each roll of her hips.

She glides across the floor in towering stilettos, each step precise and confident, her sculpted legs flexing with practiced ease beneath the hem of her dress.

A stranger's hand materializes at her waist. Without breaking stride or even turning her head, she swats it away, her fingers flicking dismissively as she flows through the crowd.

The rejected man's tongue darts across his lips, and he slides behind her, pressing himself against her back.

My fingers tighten around my glass as she spins to face him.

My breath catches in my throat. Under the strobing lights, her features are striking, almost ethereal.

She takes a deliberate step back, her perfectly shaped lips moving in sharp, measured words, finger raised in warning.

When she's finished, she turns on those impossible heels and strides toward the bar.

I drop my eyes to my beer, stealing glimpses as she claims the stool beside me.

The club lights seem to dance across her sun-kissed skin, creating an almost luminous aura around her.

Her manicured fingers flutter in the air, trying to catch Darius's attention, but he remains absorbed in mixing drinks at the far end of the bar.

"Let me," I say before creating a high pitch whistle that gets the bartender's attention.

"Thank you." She shows a polite smile, yet her jade irises are anything but polite as they burn across my body.

Intrigued, I gaze back and note how her warm, honey-colored hair caresses the skin of her neck and jaw while her thick, long, dark lashes rim her eyes and brush her cheeks every time she blinks.

"What can I get you, miss?" Darius's voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Espresso martini, please."

While Darius reaches for the shaker, I scan the club again. "Where's Brian? I haven't seen him, and he hasn't responded to my messages."

"He's dealing with a complication in the camera-security system." Darius's voice drops lower. "Been at it most of the night."

My attention shifts back to the blonde beside me, watching as Darius prepares her drink with practiced efficiency.

An espresso martini. Interesting choice for someone who looks like she'd be more at home with something sweet and fruity.

My gaze lingers a moment too long, and she catches me studying her.

Her eyes narrow at me, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching upward. "Why are you gawking?"

I roll my shoulders back. "I didn't perceive you as a woman who drinks an espresso martini."

Air rushes from between her lips as she rolls her eyes.

"Oh, let me guess. You assume me to be a Sex on the Beach or a Climax cocktail type of girl?

" My silence stretches between us. She drops her chin, muttering under her breath, "Jesus, you men are all the same.

You think with your dick." The martini glass appears before her, and she reaches for it, fingers outstretched.

My palm shoots out, wrapping around her delicate wrist. Her head snaps up, green eyes blazing like emerald fire. We lock gazes, the air crackling between us. I lean in close enough that my breath stirs the loose strands of hair by her ear. "You don't know me or my dick."

"Fine, grumpy. Now remove your hand."

My fingers uncurl from her skin as I settle back into my seat. Grumpy? Fuck, this woman is—

I order another beer to stop myself from filling in the blanks.

Turning my attention to the dance floor, I try to ignore the blonde sitting next to me, but her presence burns against my skin like a brand.

This works until the man who harassed her on the dancefloor resurfaces beside her, reeking of alcohol and bad decisions.

"Hey doll face, you're looking mighty fine." The drunk's words slur together as he sways closer to her.

She sends him a warning glare that would make lesser men retreat. "Thank you. You mentioned it earlier, but I'm not interested. Please, keep your hands to yourself."

The man does as she asks, but he doesn't surrender. "Let's dance, sweetheart." He grabs a strand of her hair and slides it through his fingers. My jaw clenches, muscles coiling with the urge to intervene.

Her head snaps to him. "Hey! I'm not dancing with you. Go find another woman who will."

I watch her handling this dipshit, admiring her spine of steel even as my own tension builds. Is he fucking blind and deaf? She's not interested. Every instinct I've developed over years screams at me to step in.

For the second time, she turns away from him, but he stops her by placing his palm on her thigh. Before she can react, I shoot up and place myself between them.

"Get your filthy hands off her. The lady told you multiple times she's not interested. So, fuck off!"

The guy mutters something under his breath and takes a step backward. There he refocuses his attention on the beauty behind me. "See you later, doll face." And he leaves.

Satisfied, I turn only to find her folding her arms across her chest and saying in a sharp voice, "I could've handled him myself. I don't need a man to save me."

Dumbfounded, I stare at her for a couple of seconds, but when my mind catches up with her words, I react. "So, your way of handling it is letting Mr. Scumbag touch you inappropriately?"

She slides off her stool, tilts her head, and stares straight in my eyes. "No."

"Well, your approach didn't work, mine did. So… why don't you say thank you?"

Her nostrils flare. "Why in the world would I do that?

Did I ask you to come in and help me?" Her fiery gaze holds mine as she continues, "No, I didn't. You choose to waltz in as the goddamn bulldozer you clearly are," she says, pointing to my sizable frame.

"You can wait all you want, but you're not getting a thank you out of me. "

She grabs her drink, and after two substantial chugs, she slams the empty glass back on the bar. "Goodbye, Grumpy!"

Dumbfounded and in a fog for the second time by this blonde, I watch how she disappears into the crowd with swaying hips.

"Damn, you need to put your gloves on to handle a woman like her. She's got fire," Darius states after a whistle.

A picture of those emerald eyes gazing at me as I shift her dress up invades my mind.

Heat pools low in my stomach. What the hell?

The woman called me a bulldozer and grumpy, and here I am thinking of undressing her?

Maybe my mother's right – I have been alone too long.

I run my hand over my face. "Where's Brian? I still need to talk to him about—"

"Still dealing with the security system," Darius cuts in. "Want me to tell him you stopped by?"

"Yeah. I'm calling it a night."

Walking out, I find myself searching the crowd for that flash of red, that cascade of blonde hair. But she's gone, leaving nothing but the ghost of her fire burning under my skin. So much for my perfectly uncomplicated life.