Chapter 12

Kane

I climb from my Ferrari and walk straight into my favorite high-end nightclub. I don’t even bother checking with the bouncer. The rope just parts for me as I walk up. That’s how famous I am these days. But I barely notice the flash of cameras and the calls of the girls who are still waiting in line behind the velvet rope. I’m too focused on having a good time.

I always come here when I want to let loose. It’s the most exclusive club in town, and I have a VIP table ready and waiting for me anytime I come. Walking through the dark club, the pounding bass rattles through my body, distracting me from my frustration in a way that usually loosens me up and puts me in a mood to party. But for some reason, it doesn’t quite work like usual.

I gesture toward a waitress, and she recognizes me and nods, indicating that she’ll bring my usual. One of the many perks of having a favorite place to frequent. As soon as I sit down at my table in the VIP section, women creep out of the woodwork. They’re practically climbing all over me like ants on a crumb. Is that what I’ve become? These women want a piece of me so badly that they’ll throw themselves at me. And desperately.

Huh. Weird.

It’s never bothered me before. In fact, I pretty much soak that shit up. I fucking love it. I mean, who wouldn’t? What man in his right mind wouldn’t want hordes of women vying to spread their legs? And these aren’t just any women. These are all models and aspiring actresses. That’s the clientele this club attracts, and they don’t let just anyone through the doors. These are some of the most beautiful women New York City has to offer. Yet right now I still can’t seem to get my head in the game. I don’t understand it a bit.

Just when I think I can’t take any more of it, they all start to back up and scatter to other parts of the club. I look up and see the source of the quick departure.

Carissa.

She’s about the most famous supermodel in the world at the moment, if not the most famous. And she can be fucking intimidating with her long legs, waif-thin body, and nearly six-foot stature—and that’s not even in heels. When she’s wearing heels, she’s almost as tall as I am, and that’s saying something. I know because I dated her. Well, if dating is what you want to call it. We went places. We smiled for cameras. We fucked.

That’s about all it ever amounted to. Fun while it lasted.

I vaguely notice she’s wearing some designer dress that probably makes her look even more amazing than usual, and her hair is done in the latest fashion. I think she must have gotten some lip injections since I last saw her, too, though I can’t be sure. She was always making that pouty face. Anyway, I’m sure she looks great, but I barely register any of it as she sidles up to me and slides down next to me on the plush booth. My mind is somewhere else entirely.

“Kane,” Carissa purrs. “Long time no see. You look as fuckable as ever.”

I lift one corner of my mouth in what I hope passes for a smile. Did that shit really used to do it for me? Telling me how fuckable I am?

I shrug. “You look nice, too.”

I feel rather than see her recoil in shock because I’m too busy scanning the crowd to really pay her much attention. “Nice? I look nice?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, wondering how long she’s going to stick around. “Did you come here alone?” I ask.

“Sorry, I’m still stuck on the fact you think I look nice,” she says, and I finally turn to her. She’s pouting, as usual—unless it’s the lip injections—and looking like I actually insulted her or something.

“Sorry?” I say, shaking my head. This chick is a piece of work.

She seems to take the word at face value because she smiles again and cuddles up next to me, resting her hand right on top of my cock and squeezing.

“I was hoping I might see you here tonight, Kane,” she says. “I’ve just been so frustrated lately. Nobody can make me feel the way you do. I need some of this magic cock in my life.” She squeezes again for emphasis, obviously hoping to get me going, but my reaction is pretty much nonexistent. She tries again, whispering in my ear. “Take me home and fuck me.”

Her hot breath on me makes me cringe, and I try to peel her off of me.

“Sorry, Carissa, not tonight.”

By the way her face contorts, you’d think I just told her she smelled like rotten fish. “Are you fucking with me, Kane? ‘Not tonight?’ Since when do you turn down sex with me?”

Since right now, bitch, I want to say. What is it with these entitled women I keep dealing with? And why am I just now noticing how obnoxious it is?

I stand up, ready to leave, but she grabs my arm, her nails digging into me like talons. “Don’t you dare walk away from me. You will not embarrass me like this.”

No, embarrassing her was not my intention, but she’s doing a damn good job of it herself. Heads turn our way, and I see a few phones point at us. Whatever. I’m so not in the mood for this. Pulling my arm back, I simply turn away and head for the exit, not bothering to look back at the gasp of shock Carissa lets out. I just make my way to the valet station.

Standing outside the club, I hope this isn’t an indication of how things are going to be. This is supposed to be the place I go when I need to relax, to let loose. And now I can’t wait to get out of here. Even more disturbing, I just turned down sex with the woman who was just voted the hottest girl on the planet. And as much as I tried, I can’t get Sasha out of my mind. What the fuck?

As the driver pulls up with my car, I’m hit with a realization. This can only mean one thing. However new they are, there’s no denying it. I have feelings for Sasha.