The VIP Room(80)

I resisted him this time. “No. Honestly, I’m fine. I appreciate all of this, but I don’t understand why you’d help me. You just met me.”

His eyes reminded me of a wolf’s as they rested on my face, meeting mine, before sliding down to stroke over my body. Possessive. Confident. Predatory. I was way out of my depth.

“I want something from you,” he said, bluntly. “Something only you can give me. Tell me what your last problem is, and we’ll see what we can work out.”

I couldn’t speak. He wanted something from me? I didn’t have anything. No money. Not since that bastard had cleaned me out.

And Dylan Kane could hardly need money. Ditto for accounting services. He probably had an entire floor of accountants tallying up all his cash. How could I give him anything?

“I don’t -” That was as far as I got before he took my hand in his, his thumb stroking over my skin in slow swirls.

“Just tell me.” His eyes bored into mine, compelling me. I wanted to tell him. However, I didn’t want to see him laugh at me, either.

“I -” I stopped, not believing I was going to talk. Then my mouth opened again, and I started to speak. “I don’t have a date to my sister’s wedding. She’s a huge bitch, and if I show up alone, she and my other sister will make me miserable. I was supposed to go with Steven, but…”

I trailed off, unable to meet his eyes, utterly humiliated. Why had I given in? I peeked up at him, expecting to see scorn, or worse, pity. Instead, he was smiling, a wide, open smile that lit his green eyes and was oddly triumphant.

“Perfect,” he said, turning my hand over in his so he could rub his thumb into my palm. “That’s the easiest to solve. I’ll be your date.”

“What?” Not the answer I was expecting. I don’t know what I thought he’d say, but it definitely wasn’t that.

“I’ll be your date. And in return, you’ll do something for me.”

“What?” I was turning into a broken record. Half-horrified and half-curious, I said, “What could you possibly want me to do for you?”

His grin deepened, turning predatory and a shade more triumphant. Still holding my hand, he reached for my arm with his free hand and tugged me closer. My body heated at his sudden proximity.

Leaning in, he whispered, “I want you in my bed. For as long as I’m your date, your body is mine. You’ll give me anything I want, Leigha. And in return, I’ll solve all your problems.”

“I can’t do that,” I whispered back.

“Why not? Don’t tell me you don’t want to see what it would be like.”

“I don’t know you, and I don’t have very much experience. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

My brain stuttered for something else to say. I couldn’t do what he was suggesting. It was ridiculous. It was absolutely insane.

But it was also probably the only chance I’d ever have to see a man like this naked. It’d be my only chance to see what sex would be like with a man who knew what he was doing.

I had no doubt that Dylan Kane was a master in bed. He’d only touched me a few times, all innocent, and I was wet and quivering. How would it feel to be the focus of all his passion, to have him order me to do something, knowing I would obey?

I felt another rush of liquid heat between my legs. I was under no illusions that this would be an equal partnership. He would be in charge. He’d own me.

Since I was old enough to think about sex, I’d had an active imagination. I’d lie in bed at night, fingers between my legs, my brain spinning fantasies of beautiful, masterful men and obedient women—sheiks and their harems, lords and serving girls.

Men like Dylan, and women who were shy and eager to please. Once I grew up and entered the real world, it was a depressing disappointment to learn that men like Dylan were rare creatures.

I’d settled for tepid, average sex, and not much of that. This might be my one chance to experience something else.

Except, the whole idea was crazy. Then, I imagined walking into the restaurant on Dylan’s arm and seeing my sisters’ jaws drop. Sensing my indecision, Dylan leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

“You don’t need to know what to do. I’ll be in charge,” he said. One hand rested on my bare knee and slid easily up my thigh, his fingers inching under the hem of my skirt.

My brain was on overdrive, afraid to say yes, afraid I’d say no. My own natural shyness combined with arousal had me frozen, unable to act.

I stuttered, “I’m not like the women here. I’m not skinny, or -” A hard finger landed over my lips, cutting off my words.

“Don’t tell me what you aren’t. Don’t compare yourself to other women and think you’re not good enough. I know what I want. I want you. Are you saying I have bad taste?”

His question seemed absurd. Dylan Kane, have bad taste? The Delecta was known for its beautiful decor, its exquisite artwork. His casino, his office, his clothes, everything about him screamed good taste.

“No,” I whispered, my lips pressed to his finger.

“Then don’t insult yourself. Ever.”

I nodded, my lips rubbing his skin. A devil in the back of my mind told me to reach out the tip of my tongue and taste him. He was so close. Instead, he pulled back, a thoughtful expression on his face.