Owned By Fate(3)

But he smelled like Red Vines. Not a hint of spicy cologne or laundry detergent. Just red licorice.

Caroline had always been inquisitive, even from an early age. Hence the journalism degree framed above her office desk. Inconsistencies drew her. She needed to make sense out of this guy who smelled so different from every other musky-scented man in the club. That was the only reason she looked up.

Her gaze stayed locked on him for several more compelling reasons.

In addition to being curious by nature, Caroline had an odd habit of matching people she met with their celebrity look-alike. Eliza was a blond Alexis Bledel, post–Gilmore Girls, pre–Traveling Pants. Her brother, Oliver, resembled a taller, darker version of Chris Pine. This guy looked like no one. As she’d suspected, he was regarding her steadily through narrowed eyes. In the dim lighting, she couldn’t discern their color, but she guessed a deep brown. His light chestnut-colored hair was parted on one side, slightly damp and pushed over in one direction, as if he’d begun to slick it down, then forgot. His nose appeared to have been broken once or twice, something you might not notice unless you were searching for flaws. Components of him were imperfect, but somehow when combined, he was…extraordinary.

Caroline decided she could admit that irritating fact and still sleep soundly tonight. As long as she didn’t let him know she’d thought it. Bottom line, if he was in this place, he wasn’t the type of person she wanted to associate with. She gave a cursory glance to his wide shoulders, noting that his casual posture did nothing to detract from his overall ruggedness, and went back to staring into her drink.

She felt a shiver pass down her spine when his baritone voice filled the space between them. “Are you going to suck it? Or just play with it all night?”





Chapter Two

“Excuse me?”

Jonah Briggs felt a punch of satisfaction when the woman’s eyes flashed up at him dangerously from her lower, seated position. Not quite so indifferent now, are you, sweetheart?

He jerked his chin toward her drink. “The lollipop. When are you going to give in and suck it?”

When her lips parted, half in comprehension of his meaning, half in indignation, Jonah had to bite back a groan. Her mouth. It’s what had brought him downstairs in the first place. On Friday nights, he always remained upstairs, watching the operation run smoothly on several high-definition monitors, making sure his customers behaved themselves and left satisfied. Even now, he could hear the curious whispers floating around him. Patrons wondering what had brought him downstairs when the real party raged three floors above their heads. It was where he should be. He shouldn’t be bothering with this clearly uptight, disapproving sightseer. And yet, here he was. Trying to get her to suck a goddamn lollipop.

His fascination with the curve of a woman’s lips couldn’t necessarily be considered a fetish, per se. It had never been quite that extreme. Until now. She sat there, prim and righteous in her seat, tortoise-shell glasses perched on her button nose, melted-caramel hair straightened to perfection at her shoulders, with no inkling of the mental fantasies he’d already acted out with that mouth. Both of her rosy lips were plump, but the upper one was somehow bigger, more sensual. It rested on its counterpart like a lazy goddess lounging on a silk pillow.

He wanted to taste the fuck out of that mouth.

Jonah reined in his riotous thoughts, still irritated with himself for riding his private elevator down to the first floor just to see her up close, without the artificial glow of a monitor to detract from the shine she gave off. He knew her type. She’d been dragged here by a friend or otherwise coerced into coming. When he’d first noticed her from the comfort of his security room, her image picked up by one of more than a hundred cameras, he could practically feel her disdain through the electronic feed. He’d had more than enough judgment to last him a lifetime. He certainly didn’t need to seek it out. In his own club, especially.

At the reminder of just how sharply he’d been stung recently by the judgment of specters from his past, those who found his chosen profession repulsive, Jonah quickly shifted his attention to the girl’s toned, tightly crossed thighs. As if a hint of daylight between them would cause her to burst into flames. Jonah almost laughed out loud. No fire play down here, sweetheart. We restrict that to the third floor.

Jonah rubbed his knuckles along his jaw. He’d made it a rule never to engage with the willing women inside his own club, so why was he wasting his time on a decidedly unwilling one? It made little sense, and now that he stood inches away, Jonah could admit coming downstairs had been a huge mistake. Because now he wanted, desperately, to bring her back upstairs. With him.