Page 63 of Soft Tissue Damage
Justine raises her glass to her lips, drains it, and then looks expectantly at me.
“Okay, but this is my last drink,” I insist, and swallow down my cocktail.
As we head onto the dance floor, a girl waves to Justine, and she waves back but doesn’t head in her direction. “Malika is a friend of mine,” she explains. “We’ll join her later. I want to dance with the birthday girl.”
I don’t recognize any of the music, but it’s fun and upbeat and easy to move to. My dancing has no finesse, but with so many bodies close to mine and three drinks in my system, I don’t feel self-conscious. I dance with as much abandon as I would if I were with Rosie in Cullan’s living room. Soon I’m lost in the music, my hands in the air and my hair swaying back and forth.
Justine is singing along at the top of her lungs to a song I don’t know, when suddenly her eyes widen and she stares at someone over my shoulder. “Wow. He’s huge.”
“Who?”
“The daddy making a beeline for us.” She grins wickedly. “I love older guys, and you’ve already got one panting over you. Dibs.”
I feel a tingling down my spine, a premonition about who the huge older guy approaching us might be. Myheart leaps at the thought that I might see Cullan tonight. But this is a noisy, sweaty bar. Cullan wouldn’t come here.
I glance over my shoulder, and intense hazel eyes fasten on mine. He’s wearing a black button-down shirt that shows a hint of the tattoos on his chest. “Oh, my God. That’s my boss.”
“That’sMr. Grant? He is eating you alive with those eyes. I guess my dibs isn’t going to count for shit.” Justine laughs and pats my hand. “Maybe birthday wishes do come true. I’ll be over there with Malika and her friends.”
It takes me a moment to realize that Justine has peeled away from me and disappeared among the bodies, and I’m standing on the dance floor all alone. Cullan moves toward me through the crowd, standing head and shoulders over just about everyone in here. He reaches me, and I gaze up at him. Even wearing stilettos, he towers over me. Colored lights flash over his face. As the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile, I no longer care what he’s doing here and why. I only care that he came.
His eyes travel down my body. “You wore the shoes.”
The three drinks have made me feel reckless, and I turn slowly on the spot, glancing provocatively at him over my shoulder. “What do you think?”
Cullan lifts his eyes to mine. “Beautiful. I’ve always been entranced by that little flash of red.”
“Always? Do you often buy high heels for people?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen these shoes on a woman before. I saw them once in a shop window, and I’ve never gotten them out of my head. Thank you for makingmy night. I’ll be thinking about you wearing these shoes all week.”
There’s a flare of something dark and sexual in his eyes. I wonder if Cullan’s got a high heel fetish. Or a foot fetish. The first time we met, he slid to his knees and tied my shoelace. I’ve always had this vague idea that foot fetishes are kind of submissive, but Cullan never stops giving off the vibes that he’s the one in charge.
“Why are you here?” I ask, feeling pleased but puzzled.
He holds out his hand. “I want a dance with the birthday girl.”
Now that he’s standing in front of me not bothering to mask his interest, everything I said to Justine about only being professional with my boss flies right out the window. Surely there’s nothing too unprofessional about one dance.
I smile up at him and reach for his hand, knowing I’m lying to myself, and not caring one little bit.
Cullan moves closer, and his big hands move to my waist. I gasp a little as his touch sears my flesh. There’s nothing professional about the way this man makes me feel.
As he gathers me into his arms, heat floods my body. My palms rest lightly on his chest. We’re slow dancing to club music, but I swear, as I look into his eyes, the only beat I hear is his heart.
“Who’s watching Rosie?” I ask.
“She’s with my friends Tyrant and Vivienne Mercer. We had dinner tonight at their home in Henson.”
“Tyrant. That’s a funny name.” We’re standing close.My body is pressed flush against his hard one as he speaks into my ear.
“Isn’t it? You met him briefly at the diner the night I met you.”
There was another man sitting with Cullan in the booth that night. He was dressed in black and he had hard blue eyes and tattoos on his knuckles and throat. The name suits him. “Why did you leave Rosie with them?”
Cullan looks at me from beneath his lashes. “Vivienne thought I might want to check on you. Flockton Street has a reputation.”
Now that I’ve been in a few of the bars, I understand what that reputation is. These are pickup joints. Is that why Cullan looked annoyed when I told him I was coming here? He’s jealous?
