Page 17 of Claimed By the Villain
Then, when I can see her again, my blood boils.
Jackie is pinned between two guys, dancing sensually, and the look on her face is nothing short of an invitation.
For the first time that I can remember, I don’t think. I move. I push through the crowd, straight toward her, something gnawing at me from the inside out. I don’t know what it is—but it’s unfamiliar.
Anger? Yeah. That’s it.
Because the thought of two assholes touching her, taking advantage of her sweetness, makes me snap.
I shove aside the last people in my way and finally reach her.
“Leave,” I say to both guys flanking her.
The music’s loud—maybe they didn’t hear me. Maybe they just saw my lips move, but from their faces, I know they understood. Fucking with me would be a bad idea.
“I’m having fun,” Jackie says, and now I realize she’s had more to drink while alone. She’s too loose, too relaxed.
“That’s enough for tonight.”
“No.”
She wraps both arms around my neck, her soft body molding to mine. For a split second, I forget who I am. Whowe are. And that she can’t be seen with me.
I grip her waist and start to pull her off the dance floor.
“I don’t want to leave.”
I stop and grab her chin, forcing her to look at me—my other hand gripping her hip tight.
“You can walk out or I’ll carry you over my shoulder. Either way, you’re leaving, Jackie Alston.”
Her eyes go wide and for a moment, I see a flicker of rebellion. Then she says,
“I’ve got a deal to offer: I’ll go, if you come back to my place with me.”
I lean down to whisper in her ear.
“You don’t exactly have a choice, Jackie.”
“We’ll see about that. If you send one of your cavemen to take me home, I’ll just sneak out again.”
I know we’re drawing attention and that’s the last thing I can afford.
I can feel that whatever decision I make next will change the balance we’ve kept between us for years. I should ignore her threat and get her out of here, but no matter what I should do, I say to myself:Just for tonight, I’ll go home.
Because that’s what Jackie has always been.
Home.
Chapter 8
I underestimated the effect whiskey would have on me.
I may be a bartender, but I don’t usually drink—especially not hard liquor. Still, it’s not the over-forty-percent alcohol content that’s making my body tremble. It’s Lucifer’s hand on my waist as he drags me out of the club.
I’m mad at myself because the first real interaction we’ve had in years is happening while I’m not fully conscious. I want to remember tonight—because deep down, I don’t think there’ll ever be another. Either he’ll go back to treating me like a protected little bird in a gilded cage, or I’ll finally move on.
If Lucifer doesn’t see me as a woman tonight, he never will.
