Four

Damien

 

Her indigo-blue eyes widened just slightly at my answer.

I had no fucking idea why she was shocked by that. I didn’t come here to talk about the weather. Not that it would be a long conversation if I had—it was Vegas. It was hot. It was always fucking hot.

“Well?” I said after a moment of silence from her. “Are we having this conversation in the hallway or…?”

That seemed to shake her out of her daze. She blinked a few times before pursing her dark-red lips the way she did when she was annoyed. “You aren’t supposed to be back here, so I should be telling you where to stick it.”

My lips tugged to the side. “All you’ve gotta do is ask, sweetheart.”

She clicked her tongue. Her gaze darkened ever so slightly as she held my eyes. “Try it, and you’ll never be able to stick it anywhere ever again.”

I chuckled and stepped past her. She wasn’t going to move from this hallway by choice, so I forced her hand. I knew she’d follow me, even if it were only to tell me to get the hell out of the bar.

The bar that would be mine soon. One way or another—it would be.

“Take a seat,” Dahlia said dryly as I dropped myself onto the soft, comfy sofa.

“Thanks. Fancy staff room.” I cast my gaze around. Top of the line coffee machine, plush chairs, even a computer in the corner.

She swung the door shut and put her hands on her hips. “I take care of my staff.”

The accusatory note darkened her tone.

I held up my hands. “Hey, I don’t force anyone to do anything they don’t want to. I take care of my girls just fine.”

She side-eyed me as she walked to the coffee machine, her hips swaying in her tight, black dress.

Fuck, she had an ass that was made for slapping.

“Is that another innuendo?” She pulled a glass coffee mug down from the shelf and flicked on the coffee machine.

“I don’t sleep with my staff.” My jaw twitched. “People rarely strip for fun. They do it for money, and I have that in abundance, which makes me attractive to an awful lot of people.”

“Well, look at that. We finally have something in common.”

Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on me, but I laughed anyway. She was right—I’d done my due diligence on this place. The Scarlet Letter turned a wild profit, and the woman standing in front of me was worth millions.

Not quite as many millions as I was, but enough.

“I’d love a coffee if you’re making one.” I smirked, even though her back was to me.

“Sorry, I was going to offer, but then I’d be worried that would make it look like I want you here.”

I hadn’t just underestimated Dahlia Lloyd—I’d really fucking underestimated her. Most people, men or women, would be giving me what I wanted by now, but she wasn’t even close to stepping off the perch of resistance she was on.

She was strong. The kind of person you stood up and took notice of. Whose tenacity you admired, if you could watch it from a distance.

“I take my coffee black,” I said, resting one arm along the back of the sofa. “No sugar.”

She clicked her tongue again but pulled a second glass from the cupboard.

“Skip the fancy glass and use a real mug, would you?”

She slid a black coffee to the side, set the second mug to fill, then brought the first over to me. Her smile was saccharine. Too innocent. Too bright. Totally opposite to the dark glint of amusement that flashed in her eyes when she met my gaze.

I wasn’t going to fool myself into thinking this was anything less than what it was: a power struggle.

She’d just made her move by giving in…defiantly.

Dahlia shut off the coffee machine, finished her coffee, and sat on the high-back chair. The glass clinked against the side table as she set the drink down. I didn’t take my eyes off her as she smoothed out her dress, sitting down, and crossed one leg over the other. Slowly, she raised her attention to my face and met my eyes with a raise of her sleek brows.

“It looks like you’re staying, so start talking,” was all she said.

“You gave me the coffee and invited me to stay.” I sipped it to make my point.

Her eyebrows went up even higher. “In my personal experience, you tend to beat the hell out of one line of conversation until you get what you want, so I figured it was easier to just give you the coffee. Sorry I couldn’t accommodate the mug request.”

Her politeness hid the bite of her words. Well, almost. I could hear the snark. Or maybe that was just the hint of laughter that made her eyes glitter.

I put my mug down and leaned back again. She was still staring at me, so I looked right back her. No denying, she was a beautiful woman. Her dark hair tumbled in loose waves to just below her breasts, and her bangs swept across her forehead, just long enough to brush the top of one of her eyebrows. Her dark-blue eyes were calculating yet warm, framed by thick eyelashes that only added to the drama of her expressions.

But it was her lips that made me linger. Full, pouty lips that were glossy and red parted so that she could flick her tongue against the corner of her mouth.

“If all you want to do is stare at me, Mr. Fox, can I suggest my Facebook page instead?”

I’d watched her lips as they formed the words, and now as my own formed into a tight smirk, I lifted my gaze back to hers. “Already tried. You’re much prettier in person.”

A light flush colored her cheeks.

So, she wasn’t immune to a little sweet-talking.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” She tucked her hair behind her ear.

“The fact you’re blushing tells me that’s a lie.”

“It won’t get you what you want.”

“Are you talking about the bar, or you being naked on your knees in front of me?”

Those shiny lips parted as my words hit her. She stared at me for a moment, mouth open, unblinking. I’d caught her off-guard, and I could almost see her mind whirring as she tried to come up with a suitable response.

Finally, she blinked.

But she kept staring. Didn’t change her expression at all.

The grin that formed on my face was smug. I didn’t have to look in the mirror to know that because I felt the smugness. She’d been almost unflappable until the moment those words left my mouth.

She closed her mouth, clearly still speechless. I raised an eyebrow as she sat there, unmoving, but still looking at me. It was as if she was frozen, caught in the aftershock of the words that had come so easily to me.

I did want her on her knees in front of me. Naked would be a bonus, but it wasn’t like her being fully-clothed was a problem. I could work with either.

“Oh good,” she finally said, her voice weaker than before. “You’re a dating website come to life.”

I bit back my laugh. “You refused my dinner invitation.”

She sat up straighter. “That wasn’t an invitation. That was a demand.”

“Close enough to an invitation.”

“You know that scene in The Beauty and the Beast where he demands she join him for dinner, and when she refuses because he didn’t ask, he tells her to starve? I’d rather starve.” Her smile was tight, and any embarrassment she’d felt was now hiding behind her bite.

No doubt, her bite was worse than her bark.

And I had no fucking idea what she was talking about.

“Never watched it,” I said dismissively, ignoring her eye-roll. “I’ll try it again. Join me for dinner?”

“That’s still a demand.”

“No, it’s a shorthand version of ‘will you join me for dinner?’ I asked it as a question.”

Her face flushed, but this time, it wasn’t a blush. “At this point, I don’t care how you ask me, my answer is still no.” She uncrossed her legs and stood. “If that’s all you’re here to talk about, we’re done. I have work to do, and I’m sure you do, too.”

Her hips swayed as she walked to the door.

How many spanks would it take to make her submit?

I wanted to find out.

I pushed myself up off the sofa as she opened the door. She refused to look at me, instead choosing to look at a spot on the wall behind me. If she thought she’d get the last word in this conversation, she could think again. It was bad enough that my cock was twitching inside my fucking pants at the thought of my handprint on her tight little ass.

I pushed the door closed with two fingers. She wasn’t expecting it, so she dropped the handle, which brought her eyes back to mine. Her lips parted for her to speak, but I clasped her chin with my hand, still with the other against the door.

Her words died on her lips.

“One day,” I said in a low voice, holding her harsh gaze. “One day, you’ll have dinner with me, Dahlia. Just like one day I’ll own this bar. One day, you’ll be on your back, my handprint on your ass, and my cock buried right inside you.”

She swallowed. “That’s a fact, is it?”

“I’m used to getting what I want. Everyone gives in eventually.”

“I’m not everyone. Sorry to say, you’ll be disappointed when you finally realize that.”

I moved closer to her. She took a step back and ended up against the door, a fact that only worked in my favor. I stepped right into her, just brushing my body against hers. My cock pulsed against my pants and the tiny gasp that she attempted to hide by clamping her mouth shut gave it away.

She’d felt it.

And now, she was blushing again. Only this time, it was furiously. She still held my gaze, despite the obviousness of her reaction to me.

I’d expected her to whimper, to drop her gaze, to do something other than stand there, her body a breath away from being pressed against mine, and hold her ground.

I ran the back of my fingers along the gentle curve of her jaw, not missing the way her chest heaved at the touch. I kept moving my hand until my fingertips toyed with her hair and her face was firmly in my grasp….Until she was cornered and unable to move until I let her.

“I’m well aware you aren’t like everyone else,” I murmured. My lips barely brushed her ear as I spoke. “Everyone else would be bent over that sofa by now, but if you think your defiance will put me off, you’re wrong. I think it’ll just make it so much sweeter when you give in.”

“And even more satisfying for me when you leave me the fuck alone,” she whispered, then cleared her throat.

“Not gonna happen, sweetheart.”

“You need to leave now, Mr. Fox.”

I pulled back and looked into her eyes, once more gripping her chin. “My name is Damien. Remember it. You’ll need it when you beg me.”

She slapped my hand away from her face, but she said nothing. Just the darkening of her glare and the tightening of her jaw was the answer.

I pushed off the door. Dahlia moved a second before I opened the door, and I gave her one last look before I turned and walked out of the room.

I felt her best friend’s glare as I walked past the bar, but I ignored her. I was too wrapped up in the vixen I’d just left in the back room. The woman whose eyes sliced into me and whose lips haunted me.

The woman who would be mine—sooner or later.