Power and Possession(61)

“Get the fuck out of my club,” Rafe growled, dragging Nicole back against his hard body. “Or I’ll kick you out.” And he waited a pulse beat, a muscle twitching over his stark cheekbone, hoping de Barre would make a move so he could beat the shit out of him.

The door to the bar abruptly opened and music poured out, along with two couples who were singing a popular song at the top of their lungs.

Reality intervened.

Everyone froze for a nanosecond, although the twins might have been wallpaper for all the notice they were given.

Rafe abruptly dropped his arm from Nicole’s shoulders and grabbed her hand. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said, with suave discourtesy, rancor in every syllable as he stared at Andre. And he stood there a fraction of a second more, willing de Barre to take him on, every muscle coiled, ready to strike.

“That’s enough, Rafe.”

Rafe turned to Nicole, his nostrils flaring gently. “You don’t want the problem, babe. Clear?”

“Just a minute, here,” Andre protested. “Show a little respect or—”

“Or what?” Rafe snarled.

“Really, Andre, I’m fine. None of this is necessary.” She squeezed Rafe’s hand. “Let’s go.”

“Protecting your little boyfriend?” Rafe said under his breath.

“Could we talk about this somewhere else?”

“Of course,” he said, softly ruthless. Wheeling to his left, he hauled Nicole away without a glance at the trio left behind, oblivious as well to the astonished glances and raised eyebrows of everyone in the entrance hall who watched him stride past them so swiftly that Nicole had to run to keep up.

“Jesus Christ, did you have to be such a major ass?” she lashed out, raging at his force majeure arrogance and also pissed at the two blondes and their ménage à trois history with Rafe.

“Don’t bitch.” He flung a hot-tempered glance over his shoulder, the image of Nicole fucking de Barre till morning burning a hole in his brain. “De Barre’s still standing and his pretty face isn’t smashed to hell.”

“So I should be grateful… that you were… only rude?” she panted, her spike heels not meant for racing.

“Like I should be grateful that de Barre doesn’t know how to fuck?” Rafe shot back, turning down a dim corridor. “I’ve seen him in action. Seriously, what were you thinking?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t screw him, okay? So cool your fucking jets.”

“Yeah, right, like I believe that,” he growled. “Miss I-Can’t-Ever-Get-Enough.” Coming to a sudden stop, he punched in a code, shoved a door open, pulled Nicole into a shadowed office, and kicked the door shut. “This won’t take long. Lift up your fucking skirt.”

“Fuck you,” she snapped, fighting to break his harsh grip.

He smiled thinly. “That’s why we’re here.” Jerking her forward, he spun her around in front of a desk. “Bend over.”

“Who the hell do you—”

“Bend the fuck over.” Planting the weight of his palm on her back, he guided her facedown on the desk, barely avoiding her kicking feet by nimbly stepping between her legs and forcing her thighs open. “Calm down, pussycat,” he drawled softly, nudging her legs even wider with his muscled thighs. “This won’t take long.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Goddamn you!” Slapping her hands on the desktop, she stiffened her spine and pushed hard against the confining weight of his hand.

Holding her in place with an effortless strength, he flipped her dress up with a casual flick of his finger. “You shouldn’t have fucked de Barre, baby. Big mistake.”

“I didn’t! Everyone’s not into indiscriminate sex like you, asshole!”

“You coulda fooled me. I got the impression indiscriminate was your style.” Unlike the fiery scorn in her voice, his was tempered, cool. Although, bunching the sheer lace of her panties in his fingers, ripping the fabric, and dropping the shreds on the floor indicated a certain degree of discontent. “Nice ass—up high in those spike heels. Perfect.” He ran his palm over her smooth, silky bottom in a casually possessive gesture. “Should I tattoo my name here?” He patted one of her ass cheeks. “As a memorial to some fine fucking?”

“No. No. And fuck no!” she screamed, furious at being subject to his facile strength and arrogance and treated like one of his bimbos. “Goddamn you, you’re going to pay for this—damn indignity!”

He laughed. “Indignity? That’s cute. Is Victoria still queen?” He ran his hand over the curve of her ass, spread his fingers wide over the soft fullness, and gently squeezed. “That is one perfect ass,” he whispered. “Maybe we should give it a try.”