Page 5 of Twisted Little Thing

CHAPTER III

Nicky

He emerges from the club just a few moments after me and now stands close to the door, looking left and right as if he was searching for someone.

Did he follow me?

His search stops when he sees me leaning against the wall just a few feet away from him. He smiles and approaches me.

Did he come here to ask for a proper apology after I bumpe into him? Really? I look up at him in confusion as he comes to a halt in front of me, carrying a suit jacket on his right arm.

"I am really sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"It's okay," he interrupts me. "Real dancing should come with crashes."

All right. What does he want from me then? Instead of asking, I just shrug and try to return his smile, but I feel that it must come across as a bad effort. It is not sincere, after all. He smells so fucking good – and I don't like what his voice does to me. It's so deep, strong and... pleasant.

"I know, it's a lame opener, but do you come here often?" He asks.

I frown at him. "That really is a lame opener..."

He laughs jovially. "Told you, I’m aware of that."

"You obviously aren’t."

A hint of a frown flickers across his handsome face, but it’s gone after a short moment.

"So, do you come here often?" He repeats his question, stressing his words in a way that demands an answer.

"Yes. But I assume you don’t?"

"Correct," he says, moving closer and leaning against the wall next to me. "I don't. In fact, I have never been here before."

He is so close that I can feel the warmth of his body. And his smell is intoxicating. Fuck, he smells good.

"Doesn't seem like it would be your crowd," I comment, nodding toward his attire.

"What do you think ‘my crowd’ looks like?" he asks then, the expression on his face defiant and challenging. I pause for a moment, raising my eyebrows as I blatantly run my eyes up and down his profile, checking him out.

"Meal at a fancy restaurant?" I say. "Followed by cocktails on the rooftop bar of some prestigious hotel. Or – if you're in for a 'crazy' night – dancing at one of the hottest clubs in town after you've had to place yourself on the waiting list months beforehand. Possibly drinking champagne. Guess that depends on what level of corporate smug you belong to."

He raises his right eyebrow, obviously offended by my description, but not willing to let it show too much.

"Are you always this prejudiced?"

"No," I reply. "But I am rarely wrong when it comes to sizing up people."

"Still, tolerance and an open mind don’t seem to be your strong points," he says. "I honestly expected more."

"Why?" I ask. "Tell me, what did you expect?"

His eyes are still fixated on me, his body dead still. Why is he still here? His intense gaze sends shivers down my spine – the kind that would usually draw me closer. I am still trying to fight whatever it is, but he attracts me. And what scares me most is that I think he knows that.

"The way you dance," he says, his eyes still fixed on me. "It's enticing."

I reciprocate his look and blush. He is intimidating. I want to look away, but I can't. No one has ever called me or anything I do ‘enticing’. What is wrong with this guy? What's his end game?

"In fact," he adds, his voice now almost a whisper. "You are the most beautiful person I have seen in a long time."

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