CONNOR
This girl is so completely out of left field that there’s no way I could have seen her coming.
The other women are familiar enough. Not that I recognize any of them—I definitely don’t, but their type is a dime a dozen. Tight dresses, too much makeup, too-high heels, laughter that’s a little too loud, and smiles that are a little too faked. Everything about them is always just a little too much. Although I’ve taken a fair few like them to bed, they’re always just a way to pass the time, one step up from using my own hand to satisfy my needs.
This redheaded girl who has quite literally fallen into my lap is something else. I knew it from the second she walked through the door and ignored my guards pointing their guns at her, only to come straight up to me as if she knew exactly what she was looking for.
To hear her tell it, she did.Does.
I’ve heard about you, William Davies. I came here looking for you.
I tilt her chin up with my rough-tipped fingers underneath it, feeling how soft her skin is compared to mine. She’s delicate and fine-looking as china next to these other girls, like a rose among weeds. Even the clothes she’s wearing can’t disguise that, flattering to her as they are. Beneath the makeup, I can see she has a complexion like expensive cream, eyes green as a spring leaf, and hair that begs to have a man run his hands through it. I intend to do just that before the night is over.
This girl is practically begging to be ravished, and who am I to not give a lady what she wants?
Still, there’s a small pinging alarm in the back of my head, a suspicion that I can’t rightly ignore. I wouldn’t be who I am orwhereI am if I didn’t listen to it. Something that says this girl is too pretty, too perfect to be in a place like this, too innocent even, for all that she’s squirming in my lap in a way that’s rapidly making my dick rock-hard.
I’m used to getting women easily. A girl hearing about me and coming looking for me, wanting a taste of William Davies so she can go back and brag to her friends, wouldn’t be a first. But something about this one strikes me differently. She reminds me ofhome,in a way I can’t explain, and makes my chest ache, and I clench my teeth against the nostalgia that threatens to rise up.
Nothing good ever comes of looking back.
I push myself abruptly to my feet, spilling her out of my lap, though I keep a hand on her waist so she can’t get away. No matter; she’s hardly trying to. In fact, she leans into me, and I notice how perfectly the curve of her seems to fit against me, her head to my chin even in the flat boots. She’s tall and willowy, stunning beyond belief, and I’m having a hard time paying attention to my instinct that something is off.
I need to get her alone, to test her resolve. If she’s really here for a fuck, and nothing more.
“Be back in a minute, boys,” I say with a smirk, pulling her along with me as I turn towards the back of the warehouse and the waiting doorway. She doesn’t resist, which makes me think maybe I’m just being paranoid.
“Hope it’s more than a minute, for her sake!” My right-hand man, Jacob, calls, and I glance at him to see that he’s already got his hand up one of the other ladies’ dress, and from the look on her face, he’s doing more than just stroking her thigh.
“I’ll make it ten at least,” I shoot back dryly. “Come on, love,” I tell the redheaded girl, realizing as I do that I haven’t bothered to ask her name. She knows mine, so I ought to, but does it really matter? I won’t see her again after tonight, most likely. It’s not that I’m against sleeping with the same woman more than once, per se—I’ve done it before a few times—but I prefer not to let it go on too long.
Not that many women are interested in a long-term attachment with a man like me. All the money in the world can’t make up for a life lived on the fringe of the law, in and out of back alleyways and stinking ports, one step ahead of a jail cell. Most women want security, and I can’t provide that.
What I can provide is a top-notch roll in the sheets, though. Which is exactly what I plan to give this pretty lass.
Lass.I tug her through the doorway, feeling her fingers curl around mine, inhaling the scent of her flowery perfume. Maybe that’s why she feels so familiar as if I’ve seen her before. Red hair and green eyes, pale, nearly translucent skin, and a few freckles across her nose. She has the look of a classic Irish rose, though she speaks with an American accent.
“You said your friends,” I murmur as I close the door behind us, pulling her into the dimly lit hallway behind the door. “But you’re not English.”
“Exchange student,” she says. “A girl’s gotta pay tuition somehow, right? I dance at a club—the Moonlight Sonata.”
“That’s an upscale place.” Those other women with her didn’t have the speech of high-class escorts or the manner of dress. But maybe they’d roughened themselves up a little for their crowd. My men aren’t exactly fans of the posh ladies of the night, and they likely knew that.
“So you heard my name there? At the club?” I’ve been a few times, both for business and pleasure. It’s plausible. I’m just surprised I’ve never noticed her there before. She stands out in a room—surely I would have seen her.
“Yeah.” She tilts her chin up, looking into my eyes.
“And what did you hear?”
She reaches out, her fingers stroking my chest over my shirt. I can hear her breathing quicken and feel the air heating up around us. I want to fuck this girl, but I also don’t want to walk myself into a bad situation by thinking with my dick. Better men than me have ended up on the wrong side of the bars that way.
“That you were dangerous,” she breathes, her green eyes widening. “And that you’re good in bed.”
“Who said that?”
She hesitates, licking her lips. “I don’t know her name,” she admits. “I haven’t worked there long.”
Her hand is moving downwards towards my belt. My cock lurches, throbbing in the tight confines of my jeans, and I know I’m not going to be able to keep up this line of questioning much longer.