“Let me guess,” Trey said from behind him. “You couldn’t keep your hands off her?”
“Hell no,” he answered as he began unscrewing the bottlecap. “I was like a kid in a candy store.”
Trey leaned against the bar. “She’s here? Right now?”
“Affirmative.”
Trey snatched the bottle before he could take a swig, causing the clear liquid to splash from the neck of the glass container. “Then what the fuck are you doing down here with me?”
Diskant lifted his head, meeting his friend’s amused stare. What was he doing down here? His female was waiting upstairs for him, clothed in nothing more than a cotton sweatshirt and her underwear. The image of her flushed face came to mind. Lips swollen, pebbled pink nipples erect, dark blue eyes clouded with desire and confusion. And he’d left her inside the closet like nothing more than a discarded blanket, with her body needy and her pussy dripping.
Like a goddamn asshole.
Fuck.
“Tell everyone that upstairs is off limits. Let yourselves out. I don’t plan on coming downstairs any time soon.”
Trey extended a hand, nodding. “I’m happy for you, D. Things like this don’t happen often for our kind.”
Accepting the gesture, Diskant took Trey’s hand in his own, shook and agreed. “You’re right. They don’t.” Alphas stayed single the longest. No one knew why. It didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense as mates grounded and centered a male. It wasn’t fair, especially for someone like Trey, who had waited centuries.
“So what’s her name?” Trey released his hand, bent across the bar and returned the bottle to its proper place.
As a male, Diskant had never experienced shame—until that question. The other half of his soul waited just upstairs, the woman he would spend eternity with, and he only knew her by a nickname he’d bestowed.
“Pinkie.”
Trey grinned. “Pinkie?”
“Don’t ask.” He motioned to the mutt sprawled at his feet. “Can you take care of Oscar while you’re here?”
“Fugly?” Trey smiled when the dog lifted his head and growled. “Sure.”
Diskant quieted the dog by patting him on the head. “Thanks, man. I’ll call you later.”
He left the room and went directly into the kitchen. The food he’d prepared earlier in the morning was in the microwave—ham, biscuits and scrambled eggs. He nuked the plate while he retrieved the butter, raspberry jelly and a container of orange juice. After tossing it all on a tray, he exited the kitchen and went directly for the bedroom, forgoing a trip to the laundry room. To hell with her clothes. She wouldn’t need those for a while. After she ate it would be his turn to feast. And he planned to take his time enjoying every single nook and cranny of her body.
The smell of muggy New York air hit his nose the instant he opened the door and he knew. A quick glance at the open window and the floor where her shoes and satchel no longer remained confirmed it.
She was gone.
Tossing the tray onto the dresser, he rushed to the window, consumed by panic and fury. He never should have left her alone, not as she was. She was aroused, but before that she had been terrified. Of course she’d flee. He’d given her no reason not to.
I don’t even know her name.
“Trey!” he roared and strode to the bed to retrieve the pillow she’d slept on.
Heavy footsteps from downstairs sounded like a running-of-the-bulls stampede. His friend appeared in the doorway in seconds, braced for war and ready to rumble.
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s gone,” he snarled in disgust, furious at himself. “I shouldn’t have left her alone. Not until I explained things to her.”
He threw the pillow at Trey and went to the closet to retrieve his shoes. “That’s hers. When everyone else gets here I want you to have them take a sniff, memorize it and split up. Tell them she’s wearing a sweatshirt covered by my scent and that she’s on foot. I’m going to try to track her from here.”
“Why don’t you call Wade? He can locate anyone with a few clicks of his laptop.”
Diskant returned from the closet, shoes in hand. “Because you have to have a name to give him.”
Trey narrowed his eyes. “You said her name was Pinkie.”
“I started calling her that while she was unconscious.” Diskant pulled a pair of socks from the dresser and sat on the bed to put on his shoes, adding sheepishly, “I didn’t have the chance to ask for her real name when she came to.”
“So you don’t know her name?
“No.”
“Or where she lives?
“No.”
“How about where she works?”
“No,” he snapped.
“Then what do you know?” Trey asked impatiently.
“She’s lucky if she’s an inch over five feet. She’s blonde, beautiful and has the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever fucking seen.”
And she smells like heaven.
“That’s all you’ve got to go on? In a city as big as New York?”
He stood and collected his cell and wallet. “Correct.”
“I hate to tell you this,” Trey stopped him with a hand on the shoulder and nailed him with a level stare, “but you’re fucked.”
Chapter Three
“I need two shots of Jack, two shots of Hennessy and a tall mug of Smithwick’s. And can you put a move on it? I’ve been waiting over ten minutes.”
Ava nodded at the abrasive command and kept moving down the line, working on three previous orders while trying to keep the incoming ones separate. The club was slammed, the bar was packed and it wasn’t even close to peak yet.
What a crappy way to spend—
“You’re the birthday girl, huh?” A roaming hand accompanied the question and she was forced to remain still as a dollar bill was placed into the clip affixed to her blouse that announced she was another year older. When the man finished he patted the area above her breast. “Don’t spend it all in one place, sweetheart.”
She smirked at the asshole and kept going. All she had to do was make it through the next four hours. After which she would be on a bus to Sevierville, Tennessee. Her own private haven from the world. The time couldn’t pass quickly enough.
“Ava!” her boss barked from the other end of the bar. “We’re going to do the auction in a few minutes. I want to get it done before ten!”
She stopped in the middle of pouring a shot of Crown, turned to him and shook her head. “No way, Brett,” she screamed over the voices. “You suckered me into working tonight but that’s it.”
Brett topped off a mug of beer and handed it to a server. He wiped his hands on a towel tucked inside his black dress slacks and walked over. She returned to the half-empty shot glass and resumed pouring when she felt him at her back.
“It’s tradition, Ava.”
“I don’t care.” She walked to the left and placed the drink on a tray. “I’m not auctioning myself off to the highest bidder to make a quick buck.”
“You know it’s not like that. It’s all in good fun.”
She spun around and faced the bartender, part-time DJ and owner of Club Liminality. He was a woman’s wet dream—tall, blond hair, green eyes, a masculine face with a slightly crooked nose and the most amazing smile you’d ever seen—but the boss wasn’t one to sleep around. That was one of the things she admired most about the man. However, Brett dabbled in some kind of magic she pretended not to be aware of. Months of working together and she still didn’t have a fix on what he was.
“I said no. We’re not in Kansas and this isn’t a barnyard social. When I want strange men to bid on my,” she lifted her fingers and made bunny ears, “picnic basket, I’ll let you know, Yogi.”