Page 4 of Vicious Betrayal

"You don't seem like the type who works in a club." Oksana leans in slightly, and I catch the perfume again, warmer this time, with her natural scent mingled into it. I have to actively resist the urge to lean toward it instead of away. "No offense."

"None taken." Every instinct tells me I need to end this sooner rather than later. "You should get back to your friends."

I mean it gently. I'm not trying to insult her or embarrass her in front of whoever she came here with. But I do mean it, like telling someone to step back from something that's about to catch fire.

"They're fine without me for a few more minutes." There's a challenge in the way she says it, chin lifting slightly. She's used to men chasing her, I'm sure, or maybe playing a little hard to get so they can have the pleasure of a beautiful girl panting after them. But I doubt this girl has to pant after anyone. She'd have any man she wanted on her knees.

But not me. And I don't back down or chase her. I've never been the kind of man who does, and I'm sure as hell not about to start over this girl. Our bouncer checks IDs, so she's got to be legal at least, unless hers is fake. But I shouldn't be thinking about any of the things her scent and mouth and those small breasts make me want to imagine.

God help me, I want to. That unsettles me more than anything else in this whole exchange. Not that she's flirting with me or that she's persistent, but that some insistent part of me is responding, humming under my skin the way it hasn't in years. I don't like it. I don't like it at all.

Sex for me, for a long time now, has been reactive. When I'm not in the mood to relieve tension myself, or it's just been a little too long, or when I feel like I want the touch of skin instead of an impersonal jerk-off session with my own fist, I go find someone with the same desires. If we click well enough, maybe we hook up for a while until it fizzles out. But like I said, I'm working tonight. I didn't come here to find a woman, and I wasn't horny… at least not until she came into my space. Now my cock is throbbing like I haven't come in weeks. The last time I was this hard was ten years ago when I had a brief fling with a woman who got off on sending me nudes and then making me wait to come until we saw each other.

"Suit yourself." I lift my whiskey, take a sip I don't really taste, and set it down. "But I've got somewhere to be."

"You just got here."

"No." I can't help the flash of amusement that flickers through me at that. She saw me here and assumed I was just another clubgoer, newly arrived and looking to score a hookup. "I've been here all night."

Then the two men by the wall start up again, louder this time. One of them shoves the other hard enough that a woman standing nearby stumbles and drinks go flying. I'm off the stool immediately, knowing this is something I need to deal with myself.

"Careful, Oksana," I tell her, realizing that her name has lodged itself in my head somewhere much too permanent. "This isn't the kind of place you want to be curious about."

I don't wait to see how she takes it. I'm already cutting through the crowd, and by the time I reach the two men, Marek's got one of them by the collar. The other one's backing off with his hands up, seemingly more scared of me arriving than of anything Marek's said to him. I get an arm between them, physically move one man to the left, and lean down close.

"You're done for the night," I tell him quietly. "Walk to that door, or I'll walk you to it. Either way, you're leaving."

He grunts, but he goes, glaring at his friend as he straightens his jacket and stalks toward the exit. Marek and I watch him go, then I turn to handle the cleanup after the incident.

There are apologies to the woman who got splashed, comped drinks, and the other man escorted out by Marek while I handle the niceties. With that done, I take a breath and head for a side door where I can get out and get a few minutes of fresh air. My shift for tonight should have been done an hour ago, but I've stuck around anyway. Tonight is important, and I take my position as Declan Murphy's right hand seriously.

The slight chill in the air feels intensely refreshing as I step out into the alley. The air isn't exactly fresh, but it's a lot better than the sweat and alcohol-soaked interior of the club, and I linger for a moment, lighting a cigarette.

Then I hear the door open behind me.

It's her. I know it is the instant I hear the click of her heels on the concrete. I smell her perfume, mingling with the slightly sour smell of the back alley of a club and the drifting smoke of my cigarette, but more than that, I just feel it. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I know it's her.

I turn, blowing out smoke in the opposite direction as I do. She's standing there in that tiny dress, arms crossed against the cold, heels rocking on the uneven pavement like she's not entirely steady on them.

"You shouldn't be out here." The words come out clipped.

She gives me that smile again, and I feel heat spread over my skin, the chill suddenly gone. "You didn't say goodbye."

"If I said goodbye to every woman I encountered at a bar, I'd be there all night instead of doing my job." I ash my cigarette on the pavement, trying not to let on how she's affecting me. I'm fucked if I do. If she gets under my skin any more than she already has, I'm going to make a stupid fucking decision—the kind of decision I haven't made since I was a much younger man.

My entire job is about caution, about making sure all the boundary lines that keep Declan's organization intact hold. I don't get to be reckless or wild. Throwing caution to the wind is something I did a long time ago, and not for a long time now.

There's a flicker of irritation in her eyes. She's not used to being rejected or made to wait for anything. "You're going to freeze," I tell her, dropping the cigarette and grinding it under my heel. If I stay out here smoking and prolong this conversation, it's going to be trouble. She's already trouble.

She tilts her head, her teeth grazing her bottom lip as she looks me up and down. "Then invite me somewhere warmer."

I shake my head at her and open the door, stepping back into the too-warm hall. She follows, as quickly as if I'd asked her to, and I can hear the slightly uneven sound of her breathing.

It makes me think of what it would sound like if I touched her. The way her breath would hitch if I ran my hands down her arms, over her breasts⁠—

Fuck. My cock swells again, like I flipped a goddamn switch, and my jaw tightens. I can't do this. I shouldn't even allow myself to think about it.

I ignore her all the way down the hall, hoping like fuck she gets the hint, and open the office door after I plug in the keypad code. Surely she's not going to follow me into a private office in the back room of a club when I haven't given her the slightest indication that I⁠—