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"Who?" Her tone is clipped and severe.

I feel my cock harden as the woman I can't take my eyes off of starts to move to the music. The fabric of her dress brushes against her ass tempting anyone within view. I see the blatant hungry glances of the men around her. I watch as they move closer, circling her like the untamed animals they are.

Not one of them is going to touch that body, taste it, or satisfy it the way I will.

I motion towards one of the club managers who are here to facilitate the needs of the people in this room. Their job is to go out and test the waters. They speak to the club patrons who have caught the eye of a private member. If the interest is mutual, they take them to a lounge, instruct them on protocol and handle all the necessary paperwork that ensures what happens here, sta

ys here.

I adjust the buckle of my belt before my hand lightly grazes over the front of my pants. I'm so hard that there's a bite of pain. This is exactly what I need. She's what I need.

"Is there someone you'd like to meet?"

The older man who approaches me doesn't use my name even though we've lunched together within the realm of my business. "The one in the short black dress, silver heels, hoop earrings."

He glances past me towards the wall of glass, his hand rising in the air. "That one, sir?"

I turn back towards the dance floor and as my eyes hone in on her again, my hand fists. She's facing me directly now, her neck tilted slightly to the left as she talks to a blonde haired man I've seen back here, behind the shroud of glass. He's a regular and as she looks up into his eyes, my stomach recoils.

It's then that I see her stumble against him and as she glances towards where I'm standing, hidden behind the glass wall, there's no mistaking the glossy look in her blue eyes.

"Is that the one, sir? It's the blonde?"

"Get yourself another drink." I turn towards Sage. "I need a moment."

She nods absentmindedly as she walks off in the direction of the bar.

I level my eyes on the manager. "You have a problem."

He chuckles nervously. "I have a problem?"

"That woman is underage."

"That's impossible." He moves closer to the glass until his nose is hovering next to it. "We have a stringent policy regarding proper identification. It would have been checked at the door."

"It's possible," I hiss. "In fact, it's reality. That woman is twenty-years-old. She's also clearly intoxicated."

"I'm not sure how this happened." He pulls a smartphone from his pocket. "I'll have security remove her."

"You'll have a female manager quietly lead her out before she escorts her home."

"We don't have enough staff…"

"It's not a request." I glance back to where Isla is standing, her arms now around the neck of the man she's talking to. "Take care of it now or I'll call Julian to handle it."

The mention of the club's owner is enough to light a fire under the manager. As he walks away I turn back towards the dance floor. I bring the glass in my hand to my lips, take a heavy drink and curse under my breath as I wonder what the fuck Isla Lane is doing in this club.

CHAPTER NINE

Isla

"You'll need to come with me."

I ignore her at first, not because I'm rude. At least, I try not to be rude. I don’t pay any attention to her because I'm sure she's talking to the woman next to me who has been flashing her tits at some guy parked on a bar stool.

I see a lot of breasts in my line of work. On any given day I'd venture to guess that I see at least four or five pairs when I'm helping customers try on bras.

I don’t compare them to mine because I know mine are spectacular. I'm not conceited. It's just that every guy I've ever fucked has said the same thing.


Tags: Deborah Bladon The Fosters of New York Romance