The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(46)

I get into the elevator as my body screams for me to go back. Every molecule in my body wants that man.

But he’s just an asshole . . . and I’m just another groupie.

It’s not going to happen.

It’s Saturday night, and we are lined up to get into Sky Bar. I’m with Ava and Renee, and this is our third club. It’s nearly midnight. I’m having the best time ever. We have laughed and danced and prick teased every stupid man in New York.

“Why are we waiting here in line again?” I frown. “What was wrong with the last place?”

“Nothing. This place is better, but it doesn’t heat up until eleven.”

“Oh.” I shrug. Gosh, I know nothing about New York nightlife. The doorman removes the red rope blocking the door and ushers us in, and my breath catches.

Wow, this bar is way up on the fiftieth floor and has a huge balcony overlooking the city lights. There’s a dance floor and numerous cocktail bars, and the girls are right—the men here are another caliber.

I glance down at myself nervously; I hope I look all right. My long dark hair is down, and I’m wearing a cream-colored fitted dress. It has long sleeves and a plunging neckline. I splurged and bought myself a new dress for tonight; I wanted to look nice.

It’s paying off; I’ve never gotten so much male attention in my life. Amazing what a tight dress and a little cleavage can do for a girl.

We order drinks and go and find a space to stand as I look around in awe. I’ve never been in such a cool nightclub before. “This place is insane.” I smile at the girls.

“Right?” Ava smiles. “The men here are off the hook.”

“And filthy rich,” Renee adds.

“Who cares about rich?” I smirk as I sip my drink.

“Me,” they both reply in unison.

“If you’re going to be with a guy, he may as well be wealthy, if you ask me. Fuck being with a poor bastard. I’m poor, and opposites most definitely attract,” says Ava.

I laugh as I listen to them.

“So who do we have here tonight?” Ava says as she looks around the club.

“What do you mean?” I ask as I watch her eyes scan the room.

“This place is a huge celebrity hangout.”

“Really?” I frown as I look around. “I wouldn’t even know any celebrities.”

Over the next hour, we dance and laugh, and Ava explains to me in great detail about who is who. Apparently, the men are all very impressive. None take my fancy, though.

A gorgeous man comes up through the crowd and puts his hands on my thighs. “Do you want to dance?” he asks. He’s blond and big and totally in my space, but the way he looks, I think I can deal with it.

“Yes, she does,” Ava stammers as she stares at the god in front of us.

He grabs my hand and drags me to the dance floor, and I give my friends a scared wave with my fingertips as my eyes widen.

Ava blows me a kiss and jiggles on the spot in excitement.

“What’s your name?” he asks as he wraps his arms around me.

I put my hands on his shoulders as I stare up at him. “Emily. What’s yours?”

“Rocco.”

I smile up at him. What a weird name. Gosh, I feel tipsy. I need to stop drinking.

“This is your first time here?” he says, as if he already knows the answer.

“How do you know that?” I smirk.

“I would have noticed you if you were here before.”

I smile bashfully.

His hands roam down to my behind, and I lift them back to my waist. “You’re very forward, Rocco.”

“I know what I want when I see it.”

I smile as he leans in and puts his lips to my ear.

“I want you,” he breathes.





Chapter 10

Jameson

“Hmm, not bad,” Christopher murmurs as an attractive redhead walks past us.

We both watch her as she saunters over to the bar. She’s wearing a tight black dress, and she has a perfectly rounded ass. I scrunch my nose up in distaste. “Average.”

“She is not average.” His eyes drop to her behind and stay firmly fixed. “Far from it, actually.”

“Not doing it for me.” I sigh against my glass as I look around the crowded club. It’s a rarity that a woman catches my attention these days, with the exception of Little Miss Snarky. I can’t get enough of her . . . even if she is completely unmanageable.

Our exchange in my office on Monday runs through my mind, and I exhale heavily.

She’s so fucking difficult.

It would help if I could keep my mouth shut when I see her. For some reason, she has me blurting out demands and grabbing her by the hair; it’s as if my body takes on a need of its own and completely leaves my brain out of the equation.

Every time Emily leaves my office in a huff, I kick myself for handling her the wrong way.

I know women; I know how they think, and I can usually get them to do whatever I want. Her . . . not so much.

Christopher licks his lips as he watches the redhead. “I’m going in.” He strides across the club and says something to her as she stands at the bar, and in slow motion, she smiles up at him.

I smirk and sip my drink as I watch him in action. He loves women—all women. It seems to be a family trait; we’re all wired the same way.