4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Ophelia

W aking up with a hangover used to be so much more bearable, but I still made myself crawl out of bed and go for a run this morning—quickly followed by copious amounts of coffee and a plate of protein.

Filling in the required forms for the auction thing turned into an all-day drinking session by the pool. Some of the questions had us cackling like hyenas, and Tabby had a great time making me over for the photos to send.

There's no guarantee I'll get chosen, and there's also no guarantee that James Smith will be the one to buy me for the weekend, but this is the best opportunity we've had with regards to this guy. He's an elusive fucker. So, we're sticking with the plan and hoping fate is on our side.

Now, though, it's a waiting game to get accepted.

Tabby booked a table for the three of us tonight at Fleur, insisting that we all needed a night of dancing that didn't consist of posh gowns and tuxes. She keeps us all in the real world, because without her, it would be all galas and vengeance. Or in Opie's case, she'd spend all her time in front of a computer screen.

It didn't take too long to get ready for our night out. I'm not precious. At twenty-eight years old, I don't dress to impress, I dress to make myself feel damn good. Every girl's wardrobe staple should be the little black dress; they can literally be suitable for any occasion. This evening, I've paired mine with a long-sleeve white shirt tied up under my bust, large silver hooped earrings, and my faux snakeskin thigh-high boots with a four-inch heel.

The cab pulls up to the club and the three of us climb out. The Miami weather isn't on our side tonight because it's raining. Of course it is. We run—well, walk quickly—to the entrance where Tabby checks us in before we head inside.

Seems as though Opie opted for the right footwear, seeing as she moved out of the rain more quickly than Tabby and me. Her silver strappy sandals are flat because if she were to try and walk in heels, she'd spend most of the night on the ground.

Fleur is busy, considering it's only Wednesday evening. Red-velvet chairs are dotted around various wooden tables, some are rounded, others are square or rectangular, and the majority of them are occupied by couples or groups of friends enjoying a few drinks.

The dance floor is busy too and there's a band playing eighties rock on the raised platform beside it. I love this kind of music, I can't help but sway my hips in time to the beat as the girls and I stand at the bar, waiting for the bartender to prepare our cocktails.

I take a moment to check out my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Rain started hammering down on our way here, so we got a bit damp on our way into the club from the cab, and I just want to make sure I don't have racoon eyes from getting rained on. Nope, I'm good. My hair's a bit flatter than it was when we left, but a quick ruffle through it with my fingers fixes that.

The bar covers just over half of the back wall in the club, fancy bottles of alcohol nobody will ever drink are lined up to look inviting on a clear shelf above it. There are a few raised booths lining the wall next to the dance floor with a great view of the band playing, the theme of red-velvet seating continuing throughout. Everything has a red hue in here, the lighting sees to that, with red neon signs placed on the walls around the room. The signs vary from the word ‘Fleur' to martini glass shapes, champagne bottle shapes, lips…then there are the red drapes from ceiling to floor in every corner of the room, set as if each wall is a window.

Our cocktails are eventually placed in front of us and I pay, giving the friendly looking bartender a generous tip. He's cute, but not for me. He looks like he's a college freshman and I don't plan on being a cougar just yet. Hopefully he'll remember the tip as the night goes on and won't make us wait too long for refills.

I take a sip of my drink and it's delicious; vodka, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice, a simple but effective cocktail with an awesome name: Sex on the Beach—something I've surprisingly never tried…but there's still time. If I don't get killed while I'm on this path of vengeance, of course.

"Let's go find our table. It's one of those fancy booth things over there." Tabby points to the raised seating area, a perfect spot to use as a base. We can use the table for our drinks and bags, and the dance floor is right there.

"It should be the one that says ‘Reserved for Minnie Mouse.' The guy who took the booking thinks you're famous, which is why I couldn't give him a real name." She grins at me, trying to look as innocent as possible before taking a sip of her drink through the straw.

I just shake my head at her. She gets shit done, and I won't complain about that. We all needed tonight, this Kill List business is going to take a lot out of us, so a night to let our hair down and enjoy ourselves is perfection. Walking behind her, I check out how great her ass looks in her black sequin hot pants. In fact, her entire outfit is scorching, right up to the freshly dyed fire-engine-red hair she's got in a high ponytail, swishing from side to side as she leads the way to our seats. After everything she's been through, it would be understandable if her confidence had plummeted, but this girl's a fighter through and through.

As we get closer to our booth, I can't help but notice the most beautiful man I've ever seen at a table to the side of the dance floor. He's sitting on his own and seems to just be enjoying the band, a short glass of clear liquid in his hand. I watch him bring it to those plump lips of his before he swallows it down, his large, tattooed hands gripping the glass, showing a little tension in his muscled forearms, his Adam's apple bobbing…

"I think you need to wipe the drool from your mouth, Fifi. You can play with the sexy man later." Opie pulls me from my musings, grabbing my arm and pulling me to sit beside her as Tabby chuckles. I guess I really had been staring at him for an obscene amount of time.

"Oh, as if. I'll just call Logan or put some new batteries in Big Blue if I need to play. We're here for girls' night, not fill my pussy night." We all giggle at my ridiculous statement, raising our glasses in toast to a fun night out.

"Hear hear." Opie clinks her glass and takes a huge swig before continuing. "But if a man as sexy as that decides he wants a piece of my pussy, then I'm afraid girls' night is literally over for me because, yeah, it's literally been six months since I last had a visit to pound town." The way Opie speaks and the way she looks are two very different things. Tonight, she's wearing a red knee-length pencil dress with a slit on the left thigh showing off her intricate tattoo of musical notes, and her deep-brown hair has been pinned up in a curly bun on top of her head. She's like a modern day Audrey Hepburn. She would literally look good in a trash bag, but when she opens her mouth to speak, it's a whole different ball game. Her cursing could make a sailor blush.

"Do you think he has any brothers? Because damn, girl!" Tabby fans herself and sips her cocktail.

"Why have a brother when you can have him?" I push aside the pang of jealousy, even as I say the words.

"Because he's literally obsessed with you, Fifi. He hasn't taken his eyes off you since your stare-off before we sat down."

I glance over to his table, and Opie's right. He's looking at me. He has a grin that makes my knees go weak, a jawline that makes me need to fan my lady bits, and thick, floppy brown hair that's short on the back and sides, but longer on top. His plain black button-down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hugs his biceps and chest in all the right places. Tattoos peek out on his neck and his arms are covered in them. I wonder if they're all over his torso too…

I'm gonna bet yes.

When he winks at me and flashes perfect white teeth, my face heats up and I almost lose my breath. I haven't had this kind of reaction to a man since…well, never.

Not even Logan.

Everything about my life is so controlled, so rigid in the way things have to be done, and there's something dangerous about this man that makes me feel…I can't describe it right now, but it's different.

"Drink up, ladies. I asked the bartender to keep them coming, so we'll have a steady flow of drinks all night. There are also some shots on the way." Tabby wiggles her shoulders up and down as she tells me about the shots. Girl loves her shots.

They aren't exactly my favorite thing in the world, especially when I know it's tequila. Devil's juice. But I'm gonna drink it anyway. Tonight is all about having fun, and tequila might help to take my mind off all the crap we have to do. There's another charity gala this weekend that I have to attend, I have work meetings on Friday, and we have a trafficking ring to take down.

The music is loud, but it's to be expected. I love the atmosphere in here. Everyone is just having a good time, singing along at the tops of their lungs, moving around the dance floor with no real rhythm, and slowly getting drunker as the night goes on.

A waitress appears just as we're finishing off our cocktails like she knew we'd be ready. I mean, she didn't, but the timing is awesome all the same. She takes the new, full glasses off the tray, putting them on the table, followed by six shots of devil's juice, a salt shaker, and a small plate of lime slices.

And so the night begins!

A few hours, seven shots, and six cocktails later, I'm having the time of my life. I know I need to stop drinking now, but there's no way I'm leaving this dance floor. The eighties rock band stopped about an hour ago and now it's Rayne Over Knights. They're one of my favorites and I'm pretty sure Tabby knew they were playing tonight. It's a four-piece band; the female drummer, a guy on bass guitar, and a guy on lead guitar. The best thing about this band though, is the lead singer. The guy is rocking the shit out of everything. Even the people sitting down are clapping and whooping at the end of each song.

The next song starts, a cover of Black Velvet by Alannah Myles, only it's not the same, it's a way cooler, rockier version. Damn, they're killing it!

Tabby, Opie, and I do the thing all girls do when a great song comes on; we throw our hands in the air and shout, "Yeeaaaaaahhh!" before joining in with the rest of the crowd dancing and singing along.

I sway my hips to the beat, giving my thighs a workout while I'm at it, until a feeling in my bladder ruins all my fun. I lean into Opie and whisper,

"Gotta use the bathroom, be back soon."

The girls wave me off and blow me a kiss as I turn and walk to the other side of the room where the toilets are, next to the bar. This is the problem with so many drinks; I broke the seal a while ago and I've been to the bathroom three times since.

A look in the mirror confirms my thoughts: my hair is a wild mess from dancing, and I'm starting to get black smudges under my eyes from sweating so much. Oh well. Fuck it, I'm having the best time, and I can't find it in me to really care what I look like at the moment. In aid of letting loose this evening, I've drunk more than I usually would while not within the safety of our property, but there's no danger here. No trafficking ring to deal with. No debutantes or typical rich people to keep up appearances with. It's just me and my girls.

On my way out of the ladies' room, I'm clearly not paying enough attention as I walk into something warm and hard. Shit…

"Sorry, I wa—" I think my mouth's hanging open, the rest of my sentence floating off into the non-existent wind. Transfixed by the deep, captivating shade of his irises staring down at me, I can't say I've ever seen more soulful eyes than these. In fact, they're brown, I think, but also…green? And they belong to the beautiful man I saw earlier…

He has a light stubble across his jaw and I wonder what that would feel like…

"Are you okay?"

My God, even his voice sends pulses down below. And he's fucking British! The universe is trying to kill me with a tattooed beast. He's looking at me with a slightly amused grin on his face, though there is a little concern thrown in there too.

Internally, I'm berating myself for letting my guard down and openly staring at this man. It's as though he's captured me in his stare and I can't walk away. The top few buttons of his black shirt are open, showing off tanned skin that I would love nothing more than to lick.

"Er…yeah, sorry. I…er…wasn't licking where I was walking." Why the fuck can't I speak or form real sentences? I try to play it cool, shrugging and giving him my sweetest ‘I'm sorry' smile, despite the sway in my body from the copious amounts of alcohol. I may be inebriated, but I bet I could still kick his ass if I wanted.

"Licking?" Fuck. He picked up on my blunder.

"Yes. Licking." I raise my brows at him and lift my chin, confidence in my mistake shining through before the way his eyes crinkle in confusion make me chuckle. "Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was walking. I should get back to my girls." I push a whole lot of attitude into what I'm saying and flash him a don't mess with me smirk. His confusion transforms into a delicious grin, and if I'm not mistaken, there's the hint of a dimple on his left cheek.

Don't swoon. Don't swoon. You are a strong, confident woman, and will not swoon over a freaking dimple.

I'm not the biggest fan of how this man makes me feel weak.

I pat his shoulder like a freaking dog as I make my escape back to the dance floor by our seats. My face must be glowing from the heat of that encounter. It's burning me up in more ways than one. I'm embarrassed as hell that I just acted like such an idiot and I could hear him chuckle as I walked away. Even that was sexy. When I touched his shoulder, all I could feel were the muscles and I had to try really hard not to have a squeeze.

"Are you alright?" Opie stops dancing, her forehead creasing slightly, and begins leading me back toward our booth. "You look flustered. Do you need a glass of water or something?"

"No, I'm good. Just bumped into that man from before. Like, actually walked into him." I nod my head over to where he's now sitting again.

"Oooh, girl, he's literally burning holes into you right now," Opie says with far too much excitement, wagging her eyebrows at me with a silly smirk on her face.

"Oh, God. How embarrassing." I put my head into my hands, which makes the world spin a little, so I immediately remove them. "I'm not going to think about it, let's just—" The band starts playing one of their latest hits. "Argghh, yaaas! Let's just dance, come on!"

We spent the next hour dancing, and I eventually caved and ordered some water. My feet are beginning to ache, but I don't know when we'll have a chance to let loose like this again, so we're staying until closing, which is creeping up on us soon.

Opie and Tabby have both found a guy each to dance with, so I'm guessing I'll be getting a cab home by myself because we all decided bringing anyone back to our property was a no-no. Unless they're getting serious and shit. Which, let's face it, meeting men in dance clubs is not ideal for long-term relationships.

They look like they're having an awesome time, so I leave them to it, happy for them and their pussies, and dance by myself. The band continues with songs from their latest album and I dance around like a lunatic, singing along to every word, absolutely no fucks given because this is fun!

When I catch Mr. Tattooed Sex God looking at me again, I really am past the point of caring, so I do what seems only logical and start singing the lyrics at him as I'm dancing. The song slows down, getting to the softer bit, and I sway side to side, continuing my spontaneous serenade to him. He surprises me by getting up from his table and walking over to me, also singing the lyrics…at me!

Well, at least it looks that way, but I'm not too sure since our eyes are locked on each other. The biggest grin creeps across my face as he saunters over, both of us still singing to the song by the time he reaches me. He's tall, so I have to crane my head to look up, but it's worth it.

He places a palm on my hip and starts moving to the music with me. Hot damn, this is the sexiest thing I've ever experienced. I mean, Logan's good and he can dance with the best of them, but this is on another level. One of his thighs is between my legs, amping up my lust like I'm a cat in heat, wanting nothing more than to rub myself all over him. Of course, I don't do that because keeping it classy has been ingrained in me since birth. The way our bodies move is like they were made to be together, like perfect puzzle pieces when slotted into place.

The song finishes, the crowd cheers, and another song starts, all while we just stare into each other's eyes with cheesy grins. Honestly, you couldn't write this shit!

He moves both hands onto my waist and pulls me closer. There is no space between us, and I can't see his face anymore as my head is buried into his firm chest. We continue to move to the music for a few more songs before he lowers his lips to my ear and whispers, "You move like a seductress, I can't get enough of you." That accent alone makes me shudder.

I lean back and look up at him. The wide grin has disappeared and now all I can see is heat. This man is the epitome of a sex god, and he is looking at me like he wants to devour me. His tongue peeks out and swipes across his lips as he stares at mine. I think I already died and fell into Hell—all the red hues in the club make that more believable than being in Heaven—plus, I can't keep this man so even the thought of being with him is like a cruel trick.

In my slightly inebriated state, though, I don't give a shit if I make an idiot of myself. I will never see this man again and I could die on my next mission, so, fuck it…

"Kiss m—"

Before I can even finish speaking, his mouth is on mine. His lips are soft, like little pillows smooshing against my own, as he teases my mouth open with his tongue. At the same time as he grabs the back of my head, he fists my hair in his hand like he can't get close enough and the gentle tug sends a jolt straight to my clit. His tongue explores my mouth expertly, battling for dominance with mine.

The hand on my hip slowly slides around to my back, resting just above my ass. Oh, how I wish he'd touch it.

I'm dragged from my sexual fantasy when he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against mine as he rubs the back of my neck.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn't have done that, but you're just so fucking gorgeous."

He plants another kiss on my lips, no tongue battles this time though, before he pulls away again.

"You don't hear me complaining, do you?" I sound desperate, but I blame it on the alcohol and I'm not ready for this to be over yet.

"I can't, you've had a lot to drink and I won't take advantage of that any more than I already have. I also think your friends are ready to leave." His brow is scrunched, as though he's in pain as he nods over to our booth where Tabby is sitting, her head resting against her arms on the table like she's having a nap. Which she probably is. Opie is standing beside her, bobbing from side to side in time with the music, her phone in hand, probably playing one of her many games.

The men they were dancing with have long gone, which is probably a good thing considering the state we're all actually in.

"Ah, shit. Yeah. We should get her home." I can't help the disappointment in my tone. But I'm a great believer in the idea that everything happens for a reason, and I know me and Mr. Sexy Tattoo man were just never meant to be. Fucking universe. Probably a good thing because that nickname is shit and there's something about him that's dangerous. Not just in the way he makes me feel, either.

"Shall I call you a cab?" He still hasn't moved his hands, holding me in place in front of him. It's gentle though, for a man his size.

"No, we're good. Thank you though." I move to slip away, but his hold on me tightens. Scrunching up my eyebrows in question, I tilt my head to look up at him.

It's like he wants to say something with the way his gaze bores into mine, but whatever it is doesn't come out. He just closes his eyes briefly and shakes his head before loosening his hold.

We were dancing right by my table, so I don't have far to go, which means he's right behind me as I reach into my bag for my phone. I can feel his breath on my neck, and his body against mine is all firm bumps in all the right places. The way he sets my nerve endings alight is addictive, which is probably another good reason this is over before it begins. It's like he has a power over my body that I didn't know a person could wield, but I don't get the impression that he wants to hurt me. More like he wants to put me in his pocket and carry me around forever.

If only.

"Tabby, babe, wake up, the cab is on the way. It'll be outside in four minutes." Opie gently shakes her awake and she looks up at us through sleepy eyes.

"Fifi, there's a man attached to your back, but I wouldn't complain, he's hot as fuck." Tabby manages a whole sentence, but I wish she hadn't. Opie chuckles, wagging her brows suggestively.

He lets a low laugh escape his lips by my ear and I have the sudden need to rub my thighs together to create some friction. It occurs to me now that I may actually get to see this guy again, the fact that he isn't trying to immediately get into my pants is promising. But do I want that? Don't I have enough going on?

"I'm sorry if this sounds dumb, but what's your name?" I ask as I twist my neck to look at him, and that smile of his has magic powers, I swear. His eyes crinkle in the sexiest way I've ever seen eyes crinkle.

"You can call me Rhett. Now you need to give me your number. I gave you my name, so it's only fair." That barely-there dimple makes another appearance beneath the stubble and I want to dip my finger inside to see how deep it goes…

"A bit forward, aren't you? I could just give you my name, then we're even."

"I'd rather have your number." He winks, and if it were any other man in the world, I swear it'd be corny as hell, but he pulls it off in a way I never thought possible.

"Fine." I reel off my number and he types it into his cell. He doesn't check to see if I've given him the right one by calling me, instead he's trusting that I'm being honest.

That's kinda sexy.

I turn to face him, slowly, before overthinking it and planting a rushed kiss on his cheek. Only, as I'm aiming for his cheek, he twists his head so I get his smirking lips. Those oh-so-soft lips, and the stubble…well, there's no doubt I've got a bit of stubble rash.

I pull away and fan myself with a large coaster from the bar. Rhett just looks amused at my antics and helps Opie and I take Tabby out to the cab. We don't say anything else, but there's a strangely comfortable silence.

Rhett helps me into the cab once the girls are inside before he leans down to give me one last kiss. It's so soft, but he lingers for just a moment and I relish in the scent of him. Even through the alcohol I can smell leather and musk. Pulling away, he shuts the door wordlessly and stays standing there as our driver pulls away, just watching. I can't help but swoon a little at his hulking frame getting smaller as the distance between us grows, and I rub my lips at the lingering memory of his kiss.

Tabby is out for the count again, her head falling sideways onto my shoulder as she lets out a tiny snore. Chuckling, Opie and I share the kind of look friends share when they know they're going to have a laugh recalling the night's events the next day.

I definitely acted out of character this evening, because there's no way I'd normally kiss a stranger like that. There was just something about him, like this odd pull. I'm positive that once I'm not under the influence of alcohol, I'll forget all about him and his soft lips, his firm, tattooed arms…

Although, I guess he's not technically a stranger anymore.

This was definitely not part of the plan.