Page 29 of Vengeful King

“Fuck, the new dancer is good,” Finn says, appreciation in his voice.

His words break the spell, drawing my eyes away from Katrina, and I shake my head once. “No sleeping with the staff.”

I say it as a reminder of the rule, but it’s a silent reminder to myself as well. I can still taste her on my lips, the phantom of what I imagined kissing her would feel like.

I still can’t understand why. But she’s in my head, crowding out every sane thought.

So I do the only thing I know how to do and throw myself into business shit to keep my mind off her. She draws me in so much, even when I don’t realize it. I can look at her and lose fifteen minutes until she walks off stage and I’m left blinking, wondering how the time passed.

I focus on my paperwork and try to buckle down. My brothers come and go, and then it’s nearly closing, and everyone is gone. The club is empty; I can feel it. It’s almost three in the morning.

My office door opens. At first, I expect it to be one of my brothers, but it swings so slowly that I know it can’t be them. And then I see her—Katrina, out of her dancer’s uniform but wearing something much better. A dress that clings to her curves, draping over her body enticingly.

She pauses in the doorway, and I realize she’s holding something. She lifts a bottle of whiskey, an apologetic smile on her lips.

“Hi. Um, if you’re not busy, I wanted to apologize for last night.”

I hesitate for a moment, then nod, holding out my hand. “All right. Come in.”

She steps into the room and passes the bottle to me. It’s nice; I wonder if she used her paycheck on it, or if she begged it from the bar. I might be paying for the bottle either way, but I don’t mind. It’s the gesture that matters.

I pour each of us a glass. The crystal is textured and fine under my palm as I pass one to her; she accepts it carefully, her fingers barely brushing mine. I watch her tip the glass back, watch her sip without flinching. She’s not a stranger to this, then.

“I really am sorry about what happened last night,” she murmurs after a moment. “I had no idea Casey would show up here.”

“How long ago did you break up?”

She sighs. “A couple months ago.”

“Did it end badly?”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Clearly he felt differently.”

Her smile is dry. “Clearly.”

I swirl my glass, then tip it back. The burn of the whiskey is a welcome distraction from work.She’sa welcome distraction. Too welcome, if I’m being honest.

I look at her as she sits in the chair opposite my desk, sipping her own whiskey. She’s wearing a long necklace with some kind of pendant, and it hangs just below her breasts. They’re almost entirely exposed in her dress, the vee in front reaching nearly to her belly button. But the dress is draped just so, and it doesn’t look vulgar. Just sexy. Enticing.

I look back at the amber contents of my glass. “So. Why were you with such a cunt?”

“I was lonely and stupid when I met him.” She shrugs, no other excuse following those words.

I can appreciate that she isn’t trying to ingratiate herself to me. I don’t need lies or excuses. I want the truth, and she’s willing to give it. I appreciate that.

“Has your taste changed?”

Her gray eyes flick to mine. There’s a blazing heat in the second our eyes meet, but she looks away just as quickly.

I know she felt it. She shifts, and as her hair slides to one side, I can see goosebumps at the base of her neck. I’m affecting her.

“Yes,” she finally says. “I don’t know why I ever settled for a man like him.”

“Like him?”

“Rude. Demanding. He was always complaining,” she muses, eyes distant as she remembers something. A bad memory, maybe. “I was never exactly what he wanted.”

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