23. Darcy

Because I'm off duty tonight, and I've maxed out Alchemy's strict two-drink limit (Max-ed out, hahaha), and because I have a scorching hot booty call with a scorching hot man back at his icy cold flat, I decide to head over there when the others make a move to go next door.

‘You're not tempted to check out The Playroom?' I ask as Dex ushers me out of the club, a light hand on my bare lower back. I glimpse the horror in his stunning eyes before he gives me the same fixed, polite smile he's been using all evening.

‘Not tonight. I'm pretty tired after the week I've had. But it was lovely to catch up with everyone.'

I snigger as we walk down the steps and out onto the stylish Mayfair street. ‘You're so polite. Translation: you'd rather run a mile.'

He looks down at me, weighing his words before he answers with a sigh. ‘It's not really my bag, if I'm honest. I'm quite old-fashioned.'

We stand there in the street, and I take the opportunity to drink him in head-on instead of via the furtive, sidelong glances I've been giving him all evening. Twenty-four hours later, I'm still in a sex coma from Max, still reeling from the crazy, animalistic sex we had in his living room and then in his bed before I insisted on taking myself off home.

There was no way I was going to be that girl who woke up, vulnerable and awkward, in the bed of London's most eligible, elusive playboy.

And the playing-hard-to-get worked. He's been texting me all afternoon from Lords, where he took some VIP clients to watch the cricket, and from The Dorchester, where he's been wining and dining them at China Tang, begging me to come over.

I'm so going over there for a replay.

Max is hot as fuck. More than that, he's a total daddy. He's threatened all manner of filthy things, and I can't wait to see him make good on them.

This guy, though.

Dex is so physically perfect it actually hurts to look at him. His hair is a lot darker than Belle's. It's a dark brown that's cut quite long on top, but he's wearing it combed lightly back, and it seriously does it for me.

Everything about him is finely drawn. The straight nose. The lean curve of his jawline. The perfect cupid's bow of his upper lip and the plump arc of his lower one. It's his eyes that are impossible to look away from, though. They're like Belle's—huge and green-gold, like exotic, mesmerising tiger eyes—and they are fucking hypnotic.

I wonder if he's as deep as his eyes make him look. It would be so disappointing if he had these mysterious windows to his soul and then his soul was just plain basic. Kind of like mine. But I suspect his isn't. He's been painfully polite and very sweet all night, but there's a stick rammed so far up this guy's arse that it would be almost impossible to pull it out.

He plays his cards close to his chest. I suspect he vaguely disapproves of us all. My sister and Maddy have filled me in on Belle's upbringing, and Maddy mentioned that Dex has stayed away so long precisely because his parents are so fucked up, but I wonder if he's still a little fucked up too.

There's only one thing I'm confident of: that he's attracted to me.

A girl can tell when a guy wants to get in her knickers (if she's wearing any, which I'm not), and the way Dex is looking at me is honestly like a shot of crack. He's drinking me in with those big, golden, soulful eyes like he's been on a fast for forty days and forty nights and I'm a Full English Breakfast.

I love the way Max looks at me. He holds nothing back, disguises nothing. He's all want, and it's so blatant as to be kind of intimidating (in a really good way). But Dex looks like he's struggling. As if he's trying to hold everything back and failing miserably, and that kind of repressed self-denial thing has me hot.

As if by telling me he's old-fashioned, he's actually trying to tell me a million other things about his desires and his fears and his demons.

But I don't do very well with subtext, because, like I said, I'm pretty basic. So I prefer to use my words.

I stare up into his face.

‘Would you be willing to check The Playroom out if I was dancing? Because I'd really like it if you came to watch me.'

A muscle twitches in his jaw. His entire body stiffens.

He knows exactly what I'm asking.

I'm telling the truth. Having Dex's big, soulful, tortured eyes on my almost naked body as I dance would be a religious experience, I have no doubt.

‘The ninety-nine percent naked dancing, you mean?' he asks.

I treat him to my most coquettish smile. ‘Got it in one.'

‘Um,' he says. ‘Well. Um. Possibly. I'm sure I could. That is…'

He's so uncomfortable it's painful to watch.

‘Your call,' I tell him. ‘Have a think about it.'

He's so deeply, unfairly handsome in his smart black shirt that enhances his gorgeous olive skin. I've always thought it was weird when men are called ‘beautiful', but Dex really is. He's so beautiful.

‘I will,' he assures me. ‘I promise. Are you off to see Max? Can I hail you a cab?'

It's the unmistakable snark in his voice when he says the name of the man I'm heading off to fuck that makes me brave.

‘Yeah.' I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘But I can get myself a cab, thanks. Goodnight, then.'

I tilt my face up to his, and he bends and kisses me slowly, deliberately, respectfully, on both cheeks. We draw apart and stare at each other a moment longer. It seems to me we're both reluctant to walk away from each other.

I bite my lip and dig my fingernails into my little gold clutch. Here goes. ‘I just wanted to say—I think you're the most beautiful man I've ever laid eyes on.'

I catch the wide-eyed shock on his face before I smile at him and walk away.