Exposed by Fate (Serve #2)(2)

He winked at her. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

As soon as she disappeared into the crowd, Oliver dropped heavily onto the nearest lounge chair, signaling the waitress for another drink. He pushed a hand through his dark mess of hair, debating whether or not to call tonight off, just wait until Wendy came back and make some excuse about an early conference call. It wouldn’t be a complete lie. Damn, this isn’t how he should feel when ten minutes in the future, he’d be naked with a beautiful woman. What the hell is wrong with me?

Oliver pushed to his feet, intending on intercepting Wendy on the way back from the restroom. The sooner he got out of here, the better. He skirted past a young businessman running game on a waitress. A waste of time since Jonah didn’t allow employees to fraternize with clientele, at least on the downstairs lounge level. Upstairs? Different story altogether.

He’d cleared half the dance floor when he saw the blonde. Or rather, he saw her bare shoulders. Such an innocent body part shouldn’t have arrested him so thoroughly, after all he’d seen enough skin to rival a Penthouse photographer, but something about them brought him to a standstill. Even from ten yards away, he knew the skin would be smooth. Lickable. He knew she’d bunch them up to her ears when she laughed. He knew he’d find a sexy mole on the other side, just beneath her collar bone.

That blonde was Eliza Ballas.

His sister’s old college roommate and current best friend. Oliver tried, he really, seriously tried—for all of three seconds—not to let his gaze dip to her ass. Not a new problem for him when it came to the sexy little Greek he’d watched come into her own over the last seven years. No, he’d noticed Eliza the first time Caroline brought her around. She was impossible not to notice, all long limbs, bedroom eyes and ambition that rivaled his own. He liked her. On top of wanting to f*ck her brains out.

Under different circumstances, he would have tried to take her home the first time they met. He would have experienced what it felt like to have those golden legs wrapped around his waist, to watch those big, brown eyes go blind.

Oliver licked his upper lip when his body decided it liked that image very much, thank you. He hadn’t seen Eliza in weeks, having been so busy revamping the magazine, but she’d certainly been on his mind. Even more than usual. On a trip to the club last month, he’d been surprised to find Eliza at the bar, dressed to kill. Some discreet questioning of the staff he’d become friendly with had alerted him to the fact that Eliza was getting ready to embark on an evening with a British ex-pat named Porter. Also known as the man she was dancing with tonight while looking f*cking edible. Oliver had spoken to the man on a few occasions, frequenting the club as they both did. The Brit liked to dish out a little pain in the bedroom, more so than Oliver. To his credit, he never did anything a woman hadn’t consented to beforehand. Still, the thought of him employing those methods on Eliza didn’t sit well.

Not last month. And not tonight.

The Brit’s hand then ghosted over Eliza’s backside, propelling Oliver from his thoughts with the force of a cannon. Oh boy, he didn’t like the feeling that gave him, either. Kind of like a sour bomb had gone off in his stomach, turning the whiskey he’d drank to acid. He waited a beat, hoping it would go away. It didn’t.

Medic!

Oliver plucked a glass of something blue off a passing tray and downed it in one gulp. Immediately, his attention returned to Eliza. He’d always been able to lower the attraction to his sister’s friend to a simmer. Right now, however, it felt like a roaring-ass fire. Same as it had that night last month when he’d interfered where he had no right, but had felt as though he did. As though he’d had every right to convince Serve’s scheduling manager to change Eliza and Porter’s appointment without alerting Eliza. It hadn’t been easy. Jonah’s staff did everything by the book. But Oliver had played the only trump card he had. If Eliza was hurt, Caroline would be upset. Which would piss off the boss to an unholy degree. It had done the trick and Oliver had rested easy that night, secure in the belief he’d done the right thing. Tonight was infinitely worse, however, because he could see Eliza focusing those doe eyes on another man. He couldn’t be jealous. He’d never been jealous a day in his life. Still, it wouldn’t hurt the guy to keep the grab-ass to a minimum. They were in public, for crying out loud. Never mind what he’d been up to five minutes ago.

The image materialized of him taking the Brit’s place, letting his hands roam over Eliza’s hips as she rocked against him, those pretty lips parting on a gasp.

Sister’s friend, *. Looky, no touchy.

Warning bells ringing in his head, Oliver started toward them.

She wasn’t going anywhere with that bastard.





Chapter Two


Whoo yeah. He just touched my butt. Play it cool. Happens all the time.

Except it didn’t happen all the time. In Eliza’s world, when a man touched your butt, you reported his butt to human resources. Tonight, however, she was a million miles away from New York City’s cut-throat interior design world where she spent most of her waking hours. Tonight was for her. Tonight, butts would be touched. Or walloped, as the case may be.

Porter, the too-sexy Brit who bore a striking resemblance to mid-nineties Gavin Rosdale, pulled her closer. She swayed further into his embrace, without any of her usual reservations holding her back, letting herself enjoy the smell of his expensive cologne, his masculinity.