His eyes narrowed, fixated on the digital display as the numbers dropped away. At minus one, the doors slid open.
Coolness prickled her flustered skin. They were underneath the hotel; petrol fumes invaded the sensual smell and made the reality all too real.
Headlights lit up the concrete car park, reserved for only a handful of guests. A sleek black Mercedes Benz halted before them. Marcus reached forward and opened the passenger door, his gaze never connected with hers.
“Get in,” he ordered.
Her brows furrowed. “Where are we going?”
Marcus fingered his golden cuff link while he took a step away from the car, putting a cavernous gap between them. “You’re going home, Lana,” he said huskily. “The next time you come to my club, don’t drink so much.”
Her heart plummeted, she stared at the car in horror.
He’s sending me home – not chucking me out. He thinks I’m a complete eejit.
In the back of her mind she secretly hoped he would whisk her away for a night of raw, passionate sex.
Instead, he was rejecting her, denying her sexual need, punishing her for drinking and leaving her dazed and unsatisfied.
Marcus was dismissing a silly girl who tried to play with the grown-ups.
Her eyes lowered and she gulped back the lump forming in her throat.