At just twenty-nine years old, I’m no stranger to the club scene, but as I towel my curls dry after a quick shower and change into a black leather mini-skirt and shiny gold top that’s completely backless, save for the tiny string that ties it together, I begin to wonder if I can really do it.
The last time I’d been at a nightclub, Troy had caused such a scene we’d been thrown out. He hated when another man looked at his woman, and he’d never had a problem punching someone he thought looked at them the wrong way.
What happened with Stone this afternoon flashes in my head. He’d been a predator, pouncing in my weakest moment. Anger boils in my blood as I think of how he used me, then humiliated me. I shouldn’t go tonight, I should curl up under the blankets and just sleep it off. I’m too hurt, too angry . . . But it’s too late to back out now.
Quickly applying a coat of pale pink gloss to my plump lips, I fluff my curls, selecting a few to pin back off my face. Pulling on a pair of knee-high, black leather lace-up boots, I complete the look with a pair of large gold hoop earrings.
I’m ready.
The club is jumping, and everywhere I look people are dancing. But I only have eyes for her.
My cock has been impossibly hard from the minute I saw her in that tiny skirt. What the hell kind of game does she think she’s playing? Doesn’t she know every single man in the club has his eyes fixed firmly on her ass? This afternoon I’d fucked up. I’d wanted her so badly that I hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences until it was almost too late. She'd been fucking perfect, naked and spread across the back of that mechanical bull. I slip my hand under the bar and adjust my jeans as my cock grows long at the memory. She’d smelled amazing, and I’d wanted nothing more than to bury my face in that sweet pussy until I felt her come apart under my tongue.
Instead, I convinced myself that she deserves better than a wounded, angry soldier.
She’s angry, and I don’t blame her. My hand drifts up to touch the cheek she slapped today, a faint smile playing at the corners of my mouth. She’s a little wildcat, that’s for damn sure.
I take a long swallow of my beer as I watch her dance with Ruth, trying to squash the jealousy that churns in my stomach as she grinds her ass against her friend . . . I wish it were my cock. She’s so damn beautiful that I can’t stop staring. My eyes narrow as I watch a slick, young man slide up beside her, grab her hand and spin her toward him. I see the shock on her face as the man grabs her hips and grinds against her. It takes a minute to find her rhythm but then Shannon is dancing with him, allowing his hands to grip her ass as they move. Her eyes seek mine out across the room. A silent challenge. I don’t need to be told twice. Draining my beer, I slam the empty can down on the bar as I stand up and make my way through the dancing couples. My eyes are fixed firmly on her. Shannon’s eyes widen as I get closer, and she glances at the drunken man still holding her. Does she think he’ll save her? I snort. Tapping the man on the shoulder, I indicate to Shannon. “Let me cut in,” I say, staring the man down. Unfortunately, the man is so drunk he doesn’t listen to reason. “Shove off, old man,” the guy slurs, turning his attention back to Shannon. I don’t ask a second time. The guy never sees it coming. When my fist connects with his jaw, he goes flying onto the floor.
“What the fuck, Stone?” Shannon shrieks, staring at me. Her eyes are wide with shock, glittering with fury. “What the hell is your problem?”
“Nothing,” I mutter gruffly, drawing her into my arms. She struggles against me, but I hold her fast. My large hand presses against the bare skin on her back and I close my eyes, not caring if she can feel my hard cock through my jeans. The music changes to a slow number, and I feel her begin to relax. This is what I want, what I’ve needed for so long. We sway in time to the beat and by the time she lifts her head up, there’s no question in my mind that she feels it. Her eyes have an almost dream-like essence as she looks up at me through her heavy fringe of dark lashes. She smells fucking delicious, a warm mixture of vanilla, honey and some kind of flower. Shannon tucks her head beneath my chin, and I breathe in the scent of her hair. Unable to suppress my desire any longer, I tilt her chin gently up, my eyes searching hers. Shannon’s eyes slowly drift closed, her lips slightly part, and I take that as my cue.
I kiss her. Right in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by other couples, I kiss Shannon as though she's a well in a desert, and I'm dying of thirst. All too soon, though, the kiss is over. Interrupted. I’m swung around by the arm and I duck, narrowly missing being hit by the drunken guy I’d punched just moments earlier. I watch, warily, as the guy circles me, staggering slightly on his feet.
Fourteen years of combat training takes over, and I crouch down in a defensive stance as I wait for the man to make his move. People crowd around us and I can hear Shannon pleading with me to stop, but I’m already back in Afghanistan, facing down an enemy. The man dives at me and I expertly kick my right leg out, knocking the man’s legs out from beneath him. A slight grin forms on my lips as I dive on top of the man, punching him in the face and quite possibly breaking his nose. I’m in my element. This is me; this is what I was born to do. I’m a trained fighter, a born fighter. I feel the bones crumble like dirt beneath my knuckles, and the man’s head drops like a sack of potatoes.
The club is dead silent, and I’m acutely aware of people standing around me, staring at the scene in shock. I gradually get to my feet, my chest heaving as I turn in a slow circle. My eyes fall on Shannon, and I flinch at the fury I see on her face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she growls, her voice unusually loud in the silent club. I instinctively know I’ve done the wrong thing, but I’m not sorry for it. I watch as she kneels down next to the man and tends to his wounds. Another, older man also kneels beside her. “Keep the pressure on it,” he’s saying. “An ambulance is on its way.”
“Should we call the cops?” a man yells in the background.
“No,” the injured man says, struggling to sit up. “No, no cops.”
“Shh,” Shannon soothes him, pushing the hair back off his face. “You need to lie still and wait for the ambulance.”
I watch the exchange, a sick feeling settling in the bottom of my stomach. Why is she protecting this idiot who practically mauled her? And why did she allow it to happen? I have to get the fuck away from her. I feel her accusing eyes on me as I turn away and head to the bar, holding my hand up to the bartender for a fresh beer. “Are you sure that’s wise?” Keets asks, sliding onto the bar stool next to me. I look at my friend and swivel on the stool to face him.
“What does it matter?” I ask, gesturing to Shannon, who’s back on the dance floor with Ruth. The injured man has been taken to the hospital under protest, and the club seems to be back to normal. Except for the scathing looks Shannon continues to throw my way.
“I know it can’t be good to drink that much beer,” Keets says, gesturing to the bartender for his own drink.
“Yeah, well, desperate times, my friend,” I tell him, patting him on the shoulder as I grab my fresh beer and drain half of it immediately.
“Why are you doing this?” Keets demands. “Why can’t you just leave her alone?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask. My voice is starting to slur, and I have to squint to see him in front of me.
“I saw you out there,” he states, his face twisting into an ugly scowl. “Didn’t we have this chat the other night? She’s not for you.”