Page 9 of Judge Me Not

"Yes." His voice is deep and menacing.

I step closer to Cee Cee. "Star said to tell you we're her guests."

He clenches his jaw, exhales deeply, then steps back, motioning for us to come in. As soon as we step through, the door shuts, and I jump.

"First time?" he asks.

I spin. "Y..."Get a grip.I clear my throat and stand straighter. "Yes."

He studies us again and then points. "Through the door, to your left, then first door on your right."

"Thank you," Cee Cee replies and loops her arm through mine. She guides me down the hall, and we go into the room.

The room is small and dark. A soft pink light illuminates the walls. There's one bartender, a man in a suit, and several small tables with candles lit.

I look at Cee Cee for help. This is entirely out of my comfort zone. I don't go out to bars, or dark, sexy places, or anywhere, except work and hospitals.

"Ladies. Have a seat." The bartender nods to two seats in front of him and next to the stranger.

We sit, and a smell so intoxicating it flares in my nostrils, makes my body throb. I slowly inhale and try to ignore the zinging in my blood.

The bartender opens a bottle of champagne and puts two glasses in front of us.

"We can't afford that," I blurt out.

His lips twitch. "It's on the house. You don't pay here."

"H-how does that work?"

The sexiest voice I've ever heard replies. It sends shivers down my spine. "This is a membership club. Men pay. Women..." He pauses until I turn to him.

My heart stops. He has chiseled cheeks barely covered with a five-o'clock shadow. His dark hair has a few streaks of silver running through it. The blue of his eyes, you could get lost in and happily never come out. And I've seen expensive suits from the department store I work at, but I assume his is custom-made. The black fabric stretches over his broad shoulders in perfection. He doesn't wear a tie, and his white shirt has several buttons undone, showcasing his ripped pecs. A tattoo barely peeks out, so I can't tell what it is.

"Women get whatever they want." His voice and face are cocky. He takes a drink of his scotch, revealing his hand tattoo, never taking his eyes off mine.

I blush and curse myself. Everything about him says bad boy in a suit. I had my round with a bad boy. I don't need another spin on the merry-go-round.

I don't respond to him and sip my champagne, but it only heats my blood further.

"You're here to see Star?" the bartender asks.

"How did you know?"

"You're too beautiful not to be," the man next to me answers.

My cheeks erupt in flames. Against my better judgment, I glance at him.

He cockily raises an eyebrow, as if he expects me to argue with him. His lips curve up.

God, he's hot.

I hate myself for that thought.

But he is.

He's a bad boy,my mother's voice flies into my head.

Stay away.

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