22. Dex

Her hair is pinned loosely up, showcasing acres of silky skin and confirming from this angle that her dress could indeed be undone and her breasts untethered with a casual tug of the bow at the nape of her neck.

Someone's been with her, in the past night or two, it looks like. Someone's sucked and bitten on that neck; someone's marked her and claimed her, and it strikes me simultaneously as typically unfair that he got to her first and a very helpful reminder from the universe to stay the hell away from creatures like her.

Mostly, it's a confirmation that this woman, who screams carnality at twenty paces, is carnal. She's carnal, and she has someone she lets bite her and mark her and, let's be honest, most likely fuck her, too. Even so, the love bite is so blatant, and it feels tasteless that she should show it off like this, that she should wear her hair up and flaunt her sexuality instead of wearing her hair down, or at least putting some makeup on it.

I'm staring at her neck without meaning to when she turns to me and catches my eye and laughs, her hand going up to cover the mark. Her fingers are long and slender and covered in tiny gold rings, some of which only hit the second knuckle.

‘Oh fuck, you're looking at my love bite, aren't you?' she asks with a laugh that suggests she's not remotely bothered.

I blink. ‘No, not at—of course not. I would never.' My words come out rushed and garbled, and I despise myself.

‘He's so polite,' she says to my sister, who's draped over her husband on the opposite side of the table. She pats my thigh in a way that feels patronising, like she's inwardly laughing at my awkwardness.

She probably is.

You don't dance in a place like Alchemy if you have the slightest inhibitions. Although, looking around, I have to admit it's far more sophisticated and far less terrifying than I feared. The room itself is staggering and feels like an uptown Manhattan bar, and the clientele is well-dressed and, thank fuck, fully clad.

But I'm not interested in the clientele's levels of nakedness, because Darcy doesn't remove her hand from my thigh. Instead she leaves it draped there, like I'm the arm of her chair. I stare down at her long fingers on the black wool of my trousers and feel a stirring of panic and something else.

‘What love bite?' Maddy demands from my other side, and Darcy leans forward so she can see.

‘Oh my God!' Maddy exclaims. ‘Is that from who I think it is?'

I groan inwardly, because everyone around the table has now perked up at this clue that gossip is on the horizon, and I have a feeling I'm about to be the ball in a Maddy-versus-Darcy game of Gossip Tennis.

‘Fuck, yes,' Darcy tells her with a wink at me, like she's revelling in my discomfort.

‘Tell us,' Cal demands. I know from having spent a weekend with Rafe's friends when he married my sister that Cal's FOMO is epic.

Maddy rolls her eyes at him. ‘Who do you think?'

‘I don't know,' he cries. He's getting agitated now.

Rafe sighs like Cal's obtuseness is personally affronting. ‘Who's the one person Gen warned her to stay away from?'

Cal's face is a picture. ‘Fucking hell. You fucked Max, didn't you? You dirty little minx. Your sister will have your guts for garters when she finds out.'

Everyone laughs, and Darcy squeals delightedly, and I instantly resolve to hunt down this Max character, whoever he is, and kill him with my bare hands.

‘Oh, boy,' Belle says, but her eyes are shining. ‘That's big.'

Maddy leans in towards me. ‘So Max is Anton's mate, Max Hunter. He offered Darcy twenty grand if she'd go to his flat and give him a private dance, because not only did Gen tell her not to touch him with a barge pole, but she's not supposed to be fraternising with the patrons here, full stop.'

I clear my throat in a disapproving fashion. I don't want or need to know any of this, but Jesus fuck.

Max Hunter.

His reputation as a businessman and Anton Wolff's right-hand man precedes him, and he runs Wolff Holdings, whose imminent IPO should be the biggest we've seen on this side of the pond since Prosus listed in The Netherlands a few years ago.

Darcy's playing with the big boys, clearly, but Max Hunter. He's a coup by any measure, but the idea of this enchanting creature dancing for, and fucking, and being marked by one of the most ruthless corporate empire-builders out there rankles.

It really fucking rankles.

Don't get me started on the thought of him throwing money at her to ensnare her, because that's morally repugnant, no question about it.

It seems Rafe feels the same way. He leans forward, knees wide, elbows resting on them and hands steepled. ‘He paid you to fuck him? Gen is going to fucking garrote him when she gets back.'

‘No!' Darcy slaps my thigh, and I flinch. ‘He paid me to dance for him. I fucked him for free, and I said no to the money afterwards, because even if some people around here have a hooker kink'—she glares at Maddy—‘I'm not going to take his money if I've slept with him.'

I spot the dark look Rafe shoots Belle, and her ensuing blush, and decide that if my little sister has a hooker kink, I categorically don't want to know anything about it.

‘So you fucked him,' Maddy says, shimmying excitedly on my other side. I meet Zach's gaze and see the quiet sympathy there.

Yeah, mate.

Being pinned in the vortex of a gossip session like this is a nightmare of epic proportions.

Maddy leans forward, resting her glass of champagne on my knee. Jesus Christ, what is it with these women and personal space? They're talking in low voices now, but, trapped where I am between them, I'm unfortunately privy to every word.

‘Mmm-hmm,' Darcy says coyly. ‘And it was fucking amazing.'

Of course it was. I'm sure Max Hunter lives up to his name and possesses a giant cock to go with the size his bank balance will be once Wolff floats on the London Stock Exchange. And of course he knows how to use it. I close my eyes in despair.

Maddy makes a little noise of happiness and pokes me. I open my eyes.

‘So Gen fucked Max once, on Anton's orders,' she tells me, ‘and she said it was amazing, but she thinks he's a total man whore. He's been sniffing around Darcy, so Gen warned him off, but clearly he got you while your sister was off shagging her hot new husband. Right?' she asks Darcy.

I would classify absolutely all of that as Too Much Information, but I suspect Mads doesn't care. I groan, and the girls giggle.

‘We're traumatising Dex, I think,' Darcy says with an overly-familiar pat of my thigh.

My smile is polite but strained. ‘Not at all. But I don't want to get in the way. Why don't I switch places with you, Mads, and you guys can catch up?'

‘Not so fast, Mister,' Darcy says. ‘Maddy, Zach looks lonely. I want to interrogate this one.'

Maddy winks at me, no doubt catching the trepidation on my face. ‘Don't worry, babes. She doesn't bite. She prefers getting bitten, right, Darce?'

Darcy giggles.

I grimace.

It's going to be a long night.

‘So.'Darcy twists her body towards me and finally releases my thigh, giving me that dazzling smile instead. ‘How does it feel to be back in London?'

‘Tiring,' I admit. ‘It's actually been harder to adjust to working for a new company than being in a different timezone. It's honestly been a blur this week, between client stuff and trying to meet as many people internally as possible. I'm pretty shattered.'

She hums sympathetically. ‘I can imagine. Where are you living?'

‘I've rented a place on Poultry.'

‘That's the City, right?' She screws up her sweet little nose. ‘God, that's boring.'

‘Yeah.' I give her a sheepish smile. I'm so fucking exhausted, and she's so fucking beautiful. I wish I could sit here and not talk and just stare at her. ‘But it's a five-minute walk from the office, and I think I'll be pretty boring for the next few months while I get up to speed properly.'

‘That's a shame,' she says seductively. It takes every ounce of self-control not to look down at her breasts. I wish I could lay my weary head on them. ‘Do you have many friends here still?' she asks, and I tell myself to snap out of it.

‘I've got all my uni mates, yeah. Fuck, more people I have to catch up with, and a lot more weddings to go to.' I give a little laugh and tug on the back of my neck with my hand. It's so stiff. ‘Everyone's dropping like flies. But that's something you wouldn't know anything about—you're far too young.'

‘I'm twenty-five, and, unlike your sister, I have no intention of getting married anytime soon.'

‘Quite right.' Twenty-five. Fuck. ‘What about you—how long were you away for?'

‘Two years,' she says. ‘I spent a year after uni trying to find a permanent dancing job, but it was so hard, so I took out a credit card and bought a one-way flight to Australia, and danced in bars for a couple of years.'

‘Is that so?' I ask, entranced. Granted, I studied Economics at Cambridge, but every single one of my uni mates got straight on the corporate ladder after graduating. I suspect a lot of us could take a page out of this free spirit's book. ‘What made you come back?'

‘The timing felt right. Gen offered me her flat when she got engaged, and it's gorgeous. She offered me a job here, too. And I was bored of bumming around. So I came home.'

‘I'm going to regret this,' I say, passing my hand over my face, ‘but what kind of dancing do you do?'

She giggles and encircles my wrist with her delicate fingers, tugging my hand away from my face. ‘It's okay. Don't be scared. I'm classically trained, but I got too tall for ballet, so I stopped. I do all sorts, though. Street, salsa, contemporary. You name it.'

‘But at the club…' I prompt. I'm grinning tiredly at her and I don't care. Her good mood is infectious, even if I don't want to consider what might have prompted it.

I'm glad she's holding my wrist, because there's a tendril of hair hanging down the side of her face, and I'm tired enough that I might feasibly forget all social etiquette and reach out to tuck it behind her ear.

‘At the club,' she says, wiggling her eyebrows naughtily at me, ‘I do naked dancing.'

‘Sweet Jesus,' I mutter, attempting to free my hand so I can cover my face again, but she holds my wrist firm.

‘I'm messing with you.'

‘Thank God.' I let my shoulders sag.

‘I wear a bodystocking. A completely sheer bodystocking, except for a few glittery bits.'

I shake my head in despair. ‘You're a bad, bad girl.' It just comes out, but I don't miss the way her entire body goes still, alert, at my words.

Well, that's more data I categorically didn't need to gather.