Fourteen

Dahlia

 

“Never. There, conversation closed.” I pushed off the doorframe and crossed to the coffee machine. “Let’s talk about how you’re going to get Reggie back.”

“Not calling Bravo would be a good start,” Damien suggested, getting up from his crouched position.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I need to do something useful.” Fergus flicked a bit of lint from his jeans. “Something else. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like how you two know each other?” I smiled innocently, looking at both men.

Fergus pouted.

“That’s the second time today,” Damien said, looking at Fergus. “I’m surprised she doesn’t already know.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly put you down as a reference,” Fergus snapped.

My jaw dropped. “Oh my God! You—holy shit!”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Now who’s being dramatic? I stripped. Started in college and left when I got this job.”

“I’m not being dramatic, I’m just surprised.”

Damien choked back a laugh. “How else do you think we know each other? No offense,” he said, glancing at Fergus, “but he’s not someone I’d generally meet in a bar.”

I opened my mouth and closed it. God, I had to look like a thirsty fish doing that, but I was shocked. I couldn’t imagine Fergus naked and dancing on a pole. More to the point, I didn’t want to imagine Fergus naked and dancing on a pole.

“None taken,” Fergus said. “I wouldn’t want to meet you in a bar either.”

Damien grinned.

“Wait! Is that how you met Reggie?” I asked, gripping the edge of the counter.

Fergus nodded. “He was only at the bar three weeks when I asked him out. He thought I was joking—a lot of the guys who work in the gay bars aren’t gay, you know? And he was in the closet, so it was a long process.”

As much as I loved him, and I did, I didn’t want to hear about his dating exploits with Reggie, given the current state of that relationship. Fergus had a tendency to over-share. Not that his dramatic streak made that obvious at all.

“Right, yeah, well.” I scratched the side of my neck. “Barry is helping Abby with the order. Do you think you can control yourself now?”

He sighed. “I didn’t recognize him without his beard. If someone had told me…”

“We try to make sure he’s not around when you are. For this reason.”

If he was offended, he didn’t show it. “Well, thanks. Maybe if he were around, I would have noticed.”

I couldn’t win with him. “Fergus?”

“Yeah?”

“Go work, would you? The books all need checking to make sure they’re in right places.”

“But—”

I stared at him flatly. I wasn’t interested in his displeasure in the job, because it was part of all our jobs, and I’d just done it last week. The schedule said it was his turn, so it was his turn.

He got up from the sofa with a sigh so loud it was as if I’d just asked him to birth a baby giraffe from his asshole. Thankfully, he didn’t complain as he left the room. I was pretty sure he mumbled under his breath as he went, but hey. He went. And that was all I cared about.

Double bonus because he shut the door behind him.

“I’m exhausted.” I slumped against the counter. “It’s like looking after a child when he gets like that.”

“Try running a bar full of them,” Damien drawled. “That looks like heaven after some of the scenes I’ve witnessed.”

“Try being a girl in high school.” It was all I had to shoot back. Also, it probably wasn’t that far off the mark in general.

“I’d rather not. I much preferred looking at the girls in high school.”

“Cute. You think you grew out of that.”

“I did. I look at women now.”

“Good for you.”

He grinned, his eyes finding mine. “It sure is when you’re the woman I’m looking at.”

I pursed my lips. “You’ve gone from tolerable to annoying real quick.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he said quietly, closing the distance between us in a split second. “Annoying you works in my favor often.”

“It really doesn’t.” I straightened, turning to face him fully. “And to think, this morning, I almost liked you.”

Damien planted his hands on the counter on either side of me. Dark eyes met mine for the briefest second before he dipped his face, rubbing his stubbled jaw against my cheek as his lips found my ear. “You like me a lot more than you pretend to,” he whispered. “A hell of a lot more, Dahlia. Your pretense is nothing more than amusing now.”

“My pretense? The only thing I’m pretending against is my desire to kick you straight in the balls.”

“I like you.” His lips never left my earlobe, his hands never moving from their position on the counter on either side of me. “I like you a lot, sweetheart. I like the way you purse those pretty, red lips of yours. I like the way you hate me so much with your eyes. I like the way you shiver when I touch you, the way you pretend I don’t affect you and carry on. But I do, don’t I? I affect you more than you care to admit, which is why you fight it so much. You don’t hate me because I’m an asshole—you hate me because you like the fact I’m an asshole.”

“You sound like a dick jock from a teen movie.”

“You think you disprove my point by saying that.”

“I think you’re an overgrown douchebag who left his adulting at his high school graduation.”

“I think you’d still fuck me if you had the chance.”

“I think you’re the most insufferably arrogant human being I’ve ever had a conversation with.” I smacked his arm away from the counter, but my pathetic attempt didn’t even buckle his elbow. “Just when I think you might be halfway decent, you open your mouth and prove me wrong yet again.”

He leaned in, cupping my jaw. “There are other things I could do with my mouth that would prove you right.”

“I doubt it. I’m sure they’d all prove you to be a dick.”

“If you want a dick, I can oblige there, too.”

“Not yours,” I snapped.

“Dahlia.” His fingers tightened, splaying from my chin to my neck, holding my face perfectly in position. His lips were inches from mine when he spoke again. “Sweetheart, if you had any idea what I could do with my mouth, you’d be on your back with my face between your legs.”

A shiver rushed down my spine.

“I did gymnastics for fifteen years. Put your face between my legs and I’ll crush your skull.”

He laughed low. “You were a gymnast? That doesn’t make me less attracted to you. That tells me you’re flexible.”

“You’re right, I am. I can suck your dick and kick you in the head at the same time.”

“That defies physics.”

“So does the fact you won’t shut the fuck up.”

More laughter. More spine-tingling laughter combined with a heart pounding tightening of his fingers as they slid along my skin.

He gripped his fingers into my hair, wrapping his strong hand around the base of my skull and pulling me closer to him. A breath of air separated our lips, and I knew that my strong exhale danced across his lips the way every one of his breaths did to mine. “There are plenty of things I can do that are better than shutting up. I could talk, read you a story, quote Shakespeare…”

His eyes met mine.

“Kiss the fuck out of you.”

The deep breath I’d been missing came hard.

“Don’t you—”

“Dare?” he breathed in response. “Why? You gonna stop me, sweetheart? If I hoisted you onto that counter and kissed you, you’d push me away? Try again—tell me another fucking fairytale, because you’d melt.”

“Once upon a time, the princess knight met an asshole masquerading as a prince. She kicked his ass,” I snapped, once again pushing his arm out of the way.

This time, it worked.

His arm buckled, freeing enough space for me to scoot aside.

I failed in my escape.

Damien gripped my wrist.

Tugged.

Yanked.

Pushed.

Shoved.

My ass pressed against the counter behind me.

His chest slammed to mine.

My heart pounded.

His fingers slipped between mine.

My hands pressed to the cold stone.

His knee pushed through my thighs.

My stomach flipped.

His lips touched mine.

Firmly.

Fearlessly.

Ferociously.

I breathed him in.

Gasped.

Faltered.

Sighed.

I melted into him. Into the way his fingers wove through my hair. Into the way his body fit against mine. Into the way I slipped my hands up his firm body and gripped onto his collar like nothing else mattered but that.

Because, maybe, nothing else did.

Maybe in that moment, all that mattered was the way Damien Fox’s lips felt as they explored my own.

As he gripped me so tightly I was sure I’d have bruises from his fingertips.

As I slid fully onto the counter with the help of his deft fingers, my dress inching up the more my legs opened for him to slip between my thighs.

As I took his kiss, as smooth as silk.

His hands explored my thighs as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into me, forgoing common sense for hormones, intuition for impulse. He felt so right as our bodies connected; his hot skin against mine as his tongue battled mine and our limbs entangled on top of the counter I was still perched upon.

It was all so right.

So free.

So exhilarating.

So reckless.

So wildly wrong.

Because this was wrong. I knew it. Every brush of his fingers and every pinch of his fingers was wrong, yet I couldn’t stop. He was Heaven and Hell and all the sins in between.

This kiss wasn’t just a sin, and neither was he.

It was the sin.

He was the ultimate sin.

And against everything I believed, I was indulging. Carelessly indulging despite all the reasons I needed to stop.

Damien cupped the back of my head, sliding his tongue over my tender lower lip. The scratchy stubble on his jaw rubbed against my chin as he kissed me slower, moving his lips almost lazily over mine.

Savoring it, almost. Tasting me softly. Teasing me slowly.

If a kiss could be used as a weapon in battle, his fighting ability would be unparalleled.

And the fact that he’d been right about me melting under his kiss was really, really fucking annoying, I realized as he pulled his lips from mine.

Yet, I couldn’t speak. Through the racing of my heart, I couldn’t breathe easily. Regulating each breath was a chore, a fight against the desire that had gripped hold of my entire body and demanded that I kiss him again—that I take more than just a kiss.

The inner battle that waged as it raced through my blood tied me up in knots. One minute I had to kiss him again, the other I wanted to shove him away from me for taking that kiss without asking me. Not that he had to ask me, and it wasn’t like I objected to being kissed like, well, that, but still.

He was a man who took what he wanted without reproach.

I was a woman who hated giving people like him what they wanted.

Damien slid his hand around to my face, cupping the side of my jaw. His thumb brushed over my cheek, sweeping over my flushed skin until I opened my eyes, only to look straight into the dark abyss of his gaze.

The dark, lusty, restrained stare that almost glared back at me.

“Dinner. Tonight,” he said in a low voice that gave no room for arguments. “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”

I darted my tongue out and wet my lower lip. “I’m working.”

“Until when?”

“Eight.”

“Then I’ll be here at eight.” He pressed a firm yet hasty kiss to my lips, released me, and stalked across the room.

I didn’t know if that kiss was to annoy me or shut me up, but it served to do both.

“You forgot to ask me, asshole!” I shouted when he shut the door behind him.

He opened it and poked his head through. His hair was a scruffy mess where I’d sunk my fingers into its thickness and gripped it. “Do you mind?”

I blinked. “Yes, actually. I do.”

“You’ll get over it.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

“You’ll get over it?”

We’d see about that.

 

***

 

“Fergus! You’re a man!” I stomped into the bar and leaned on the end of the bar.

He stopped, towel stuffed inside a glass jug. He slid his gaze toward me the way a child would if they’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. At least he appeared to be over this morning’s drama. “Well spotted, darling.”

“Thank you. I’m on the ball today.” I half-smiled.

“Don’t forget that I’m a rather feminine man.”

“That’s what I’m hoping will work in my favor.”

He raised his eyebrows and slowly put down the jug. “Do tell.”

“If you wanted to piss off a man, what would you wear?”

“By piss off, I assume you mean to sexually frustrate while you play hard to get?”

“You’re the woman whisperer. If you could bottle that, you’d make a fortune.”

He grinned. “I’m just waiting for science to catch up to me.”

“I hope it doesn’t. Your knowledge could be dangerous. I don’t know what I’d do if men understood me.”

He sighed. “You and me both.”

With anyone else, that would be worthy of an eye roll. With him, after this morning? Not out of place at all.

“Stockings and something flirty.” Fergus tapped his finger against his chin. “Heels high enough to do some penile damage and low enough you can run away. And take a rape alarm on your keys…Just so he knows you have his number.”

“I’m not sure a rape alarm says ‘hard to get.’”

“No, but it does say, ‘Touch me and everyone will know about it.’”

“I’m not going to set it off in the middle of a restaurant, Ferg.”

He held a finger up to serve a customer. I waited, drilling my own fingers against the shiny bar so many times I was probably wearing the lacquered surface down.

“Dinner?” He finally joined me at the end of the bar. “Tell me more.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” I lied. “I was informed I’d be joining Damien for dinner after work tonight.”

“Do you want to finish early?”

“I want to work all night.”

He laughed, folding his arms so his biceps pushed against the short white sleeves of his shirt. “Damien Fox does tend to have that effect on people. And his lack of being able to ask anyone anything is quite alarming.”

Alarming, annoying…Same difference as far as I was concerned.

“So, flirty dress, reasonable heels, and stockings.” That was a strong summary of what he’d said to me.

“Tan ones with a black lace top,” he answered.

“I don’t know if I have any.”

He glanced at the chunky, silver watch on his wrist. “I have a break in thirty minutes. I can buy some.” He took a few steps back and looked at my legs, his lips pursed as he glanced up and down. “Medium? Hmm, maybe large. You’ve got long legs. That might be more comfortable.”

I blinked. Too many times.

“Definitely large to be on the safe side. What about your bra? What size are you?”

“I’m not telling you my bra size!” I sputtered out, much to the amusement of the young guy who appeared at the bar at that very second.

“Sure you can,” Fergus said.

“I’m not telling you my bra size,” I repeated.

“They’re a solid D. I’d start there,” the guy standing a few feet away from me said, his eyes fixed firmly on my chest.

“You know what else starts with a D?” I stared at him. “Drop that attitude or get out of my bar.”

He held his hands up. “Just trying to help.”

Fergus clucked his tongue. “There are strip clubs for that. What can I get you, apart from some manners?”

“Behave yourself, Fergus,” I sighed, pushing off the bar and turning to the back.

“I always do!”

 

***

 

Unfortunately for me, Fergus hadn’t been lying about buying me a bra.

In related news, I had an opening for a new best friend, because I’d just fired Abby for telling him my bra size.

At least he didn’t buy me panties. That would have been a step or ten too far.

I wasn’t happy about the bra, but according to Fergus, it screamed sex kitten. Given that the only person who would see the bra on was me, I didn’t see that I needed to be a sex anything.

At least, that was my plan.

I hadn’t planned on being kissed either…Or seeing Damien…Or basically anything that had happened today.

If I’d learned one thing today, it was to quit making plans, because mine apparently sucked. And, no matter what I planned, it was going to go to shit anyway.

Funny how that never happened with Damien’s plans.

I adjusted the top of my stockings and looked at myself in the mirror of the staff room. I felt ridiculous—I wasn’t really a stockings kind of girl. I couldn’t remember a time in my life when I’d ever worn them, but I only had myself to blame. Asking Fergus was the quickest way to clothing styles I had no interest in; although I had to admit that the bra he’d bought made my boobs look good with the sweetheart neckline of my dress.

Really, really good.

I put my hands on my hips with a huff. How had I gotten talked into this? How was I standing in the back room of my bar, wearing stockings and a bra bought by my gay employee, while waiting to go to dinner with a man who was as attractive as he was infuriating?

If you’d asked me ten years ago where I thought my life would be at twenty-five, it sure as hell wouldn’t have been this.

Hell, if you’d asked me a year ago, it wouldn’t have been this.

In that instance, my father’s illness was still nothing but a situation I hoped we never found ourselves in, Damien Fox was no more than a guy who owned strip clubs, and I was just Dahlia. I worked. I spent time with my friends. Then, I worked some more.

I didn’t have time to date.

I still don’t. I have even less time. But the only way to get out of this was to go into the witness protection scheme or something equally like that, and that seemed a little drastic.

I slipped my feet into my favorite, shiny, black heels. They were my ‘comfort’ shoes and added a good four inches to my height, but I still felt stupid.

This whole thing was stupid.

I knew it.

Yet I couldn’t put a stop to it. I could if I really wanted to. Despite how annoying Damien’s persistence was, something told me that if I put my foot down once and for all, I’d never see him again.

So, why couldn’t I do that?

Why couldn’t I use tonight to tell him that I wasn’t interested in whatever game this was? Why couldn’t I put an end to this once and for all? There was nothing he could do to convince me to sell to him. This game was for his own amusement, to see if he could play me into giving him what he wanted.

My reflection stared back at me with the answer.

Because I wanted to play his game. I wanted to know about him, to break beneath the surface and figure out all the things that made him tick. I wanted his secrets and his lies. I wanted to know everything, and the only way to get what I wanted was to make him think he was getting what he wanted.

And, I wanted more.

I wanted him.

I wanted his mouth on mine again. I wanted his hands and his body. I wanted to see if he was as good as he said he was—if his words were empty or understatements.

I wanted to fuck Damien Fox. I had since we’d had dinner and he’d pulled me on top of him and slipped his fingers inside me.

It was that simple.

But, maybe, the best way to play his game was to bend the rules.

Just a little.