The girl beside me clears her throat, gripping the edge of the bar in one hand. Her fingers strain against the metal top, as if that connection is the only thing keeping her upright.
“I’m not, uh…” she trails off, licking her lips once. Twice. Three times. I feel each swipe of her tongue in my balls, and goddamn if I don’t want to ravage her right here.
Lay claim to her where everyone would see, and inevitably inform the rest of the world that this stranger is off-limits.
With how much you can get for an Aiden James story, and how fast celebrity gossip travels, everyone would know before she even left the building tonight.
I blink, clearing the fog of desire from my brain. Jesus. Get a fucking grip.
Sucking in a deep breath, I set my glass down and push it away, trying to calm the erratic beating of my heart. I shouldn’t indulge. Shouldn’t let arousal take root in my gut, or let my cock do the thinking.
But there’s just something about this girl.
She smells like warm peppermint, and those wide blue eyes say more than her pretty pink lips ever could.
This isn’t like me, and it’s definitely not like her—I can tell she’s not enjoying the gala by the way she’s curled into herself, face pinched as if just waiting for it all to be over.
“I’m not a hooker,” she rushes out finally, the words escaping like a gust of wind. She spins slightly on the stool, making eye contact with my chin. “I know my dress maybe doesn’t scream innocent patron, but to be fair, I didn’t pick it out.”
My eyebrows rise. “Not your style?”
“No.” Her throat ripples as she swallows, and I find myself fascinated by the movement.
I’m still gazing at the creamy expanse of skin when I ask, “What would you have rather worn?”
Please say nothing.
She shrugs, shifting so her hair veils the slope of her neck. “I wouldn’t have come at all.”
Leaning back in my chair, I scrub at the light stubble lining my jaw. All around us, gala patrons flit about, engaging in conversation, purchasing drinks and auction items. Going about their evenings, unperturbed by the way ours has stalled.
I have a schedule to keep. A full five hours of sleep to catch before hitting the gym with Liam, then vocal exercises and a briefing of tonight’s show before we hit the road. People depend on the schedule, need me to keep it so they can continue on with their own lives.
Normally, I’m fine with the rigidity of it. Keeps my mind from wandering and puts a degree of order to what is otherwise chaos.
Right now, though, I have no desire to return to the land of the living. I’m frozen in my seat, in time, entranced by this complete stranger for no reason.
And that is all the more reason to stay.
Not to mention the ungodly amount of money I dropped on her ticket.
“What would you rather be doing?” I ask after the silence has stretched too far between us. “If not attending a charity ball with New York’s elite.”
Her shoulders relax the slightest bit. “I don’t know. I’ve never been here before.”
“You’re a tourist?”
She nods.
“Ah, a Big Apple virgin.” I chuckle at the blush that creeps up her neck, enhanced by the low fluorescent bar lighting. “So, what brings you to the city?”
“Class trip.”
I lean against the counter, waiting for her to elaborate. A lone worry niggles the back of my mind, and I squint at her, trying to gauge her age. “Class? Where do you go to school?”
As if sensing the reason for my unease, a small smile plays at her mouth. “Don’t worry, rock star. I’m legal.” She pauses, seeming to consider her words. “Not that it matters.”
I’ve heard that before, though I suppose if she’d come here with that angle tonight, she’d have been walking around talking to guests rather than hiding in the corner. Most girls who come to events like this, when they aren’t allowed, overcompensate in that way.
Still, I make a mental note to have Liam double-check. “It matters,” I mutter, letting my eyes drift over her body, my cock jerking slightly.
“My birthday is in October, just past the cut off, so I’m a year behind other eighteen-year-olds in school,” she explains, and I find I quite enjoy the sound of her voice. It’s got a soft grit to it, as if rusty from lack of use.
Okay. I can work with a three-year difference.
“I see. Are you off to college in the fall, then?”
She twirls a strand of hair around one finger. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Again, I wait for her to elaborate, but it never comes.
Slipping from my stool, I slap the soles of my black steel-toe boots to the floor and stand upright. I stare at her for a beat, though she doesn’t look back at me.
That shift is oddly refreshing; usually, I’m the one being watched and doing the hiding. The chasee, not the chaser.
Pursuance is… alluring.
Turning my hand up, I hold it out in her direction. She glances at my fingers from the corner of her eye and slowly lifts her gaze.
“Well?”
She blinks. “Well, what? I already told you I’m not a hooker. I don’t know what you want from me—”
“You think I need to pay for sex, angel?” I press my lips together, stepping closer. Not so close that she feels preyed upon, but enough so she’s aware that her personal bubble is no longer her own. At least, not for tonight. “If I did, I could get it a lot cheaper elsewhere.”
Those blue eyes glisten, oceanic depths I want to dive to the bottom of. Discover the secrets hidden beneath.
“How much did you pay?” She reaches forward, pulling a leather clutch to the lip of the bar. Popping it open, she rifles through the contents, yanking out a wad of cash and holding it up. “Maybe I can pay you back?”
“Sure.” I stand up straighter, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets as she starts sifting through bills. “You carry five million around in your purse, or should we stop at an ATM?”
Her body stills, thumb on the tip of her tongue. She looks up, eyes narrowing. “You paid five million dollars for a night with a stranger?”
“I paid for an adventure.” I lift a shoulder like it’s no big deal.
Though I think we both know it is.