Page 4 of Craving Dahlia

“Ah, yes. This place does like their kitsch.” He looks around, and I stifle a laugh.

“This is an expensive place to call itkitsch.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m not sure the very large man at the door or the woman whose face doesn’t move would appreciate hearing you use that word to describe it.”

He shrugs, as if being in this sort of club is old news to him. As if he’s just as unimpressed as the hostess was. “Still, it leans hard into the theme,net? Old-world luxury. Taking us back in time.” He gestures around the room with his glass, his lips pressed together in a line that makes me wonder if he disapproves of it for some reason. He looks as if he might disapprove of quite a lot.

But the thought of hearing him say something in that accent to me as he strips my clothes off sends a rush of electricity down my spine, and my thighs inadvertently press together again. I swallow hard, lifting my drink to my lips again to mask it.

“Do you come here often?” I manage, mentally kicking myself as the world’s worst pick-up line comes out of my mouth. This man has completely undone my usual charisma. I’mgoodat this, normally—I’ve been backstage with the lead singers of bands and guys here for Fashion Week before. I’ve always been confident in my ability to walk into a party and take my pick of the available men.

But this man has me tied up in knots, and all I can think is that I wouldn’t mind him tying meup in reality, too.

His gaze shifts fully towards me, and for a minute I can feel heat creeping up my neck, wondering if he’s going to laugh at me, if he’s going to get up and leave. I wouldn’t blame him. But instead, he just looks at me, his hazel eyes meeting mine.

“No,” he says simply.

2

ALEK

I’m not sure what, exactly, made me decide to come to Hush. All I knew this evening was that I needed a drink, and that I needed a place where there was enough noise to drown out some of the clutter in my brain, but also enough space that I wouldn’t feel crowded. And, as far as I knew, memberships at Hush never lapsed, so long as the fee was paid. Mine had been on direct withdrawal, and my account had more than enough to cover it. I could have been gone another fifteen years, and the membership would still have been paid.

Since I’d been paying for it, I suppose I thought that I might as well take advantage of it. There had been the temptation to go to one of my older haunts, some place with a dartboard, dark corners, and the kind of crowd that rode in on Harleys, but I had a feeling that the close space of a kind of bar like that might set off all kinds of reactions I didn’t need to deal with just now. Also, there was a possibility that I might be recognized. I’ve only been home for a few days, and I’ve been keeping as low of a profile as possible. Here, even if someone recognizes me, they won’t acknowledge it. And they won’t talk about it, lest it get out that they saw me at Hush and spread the word around. The club isnamed that for a reason, and talking about who comes here can get your membership revoked if you’re found out.

I’d planned on sitting here, drinking outrageously expensive Scotch until I started to feel it, and then heading back to my hotel room. Outside of that, I don’t have many plans at all—other than attending my father’s funeral the day after tomorrow, and seeing my older brother for the first time in five and a half years.

Thus, the need for a drink. Several drinks, in fact. Straight and burning all the way down.

I hadn’t planned to talk to anyone. Hadn’t really planned to evenlookat anyone, other than the bartender who served my drinks. But then she came over, this woman with a body made for sin and a tongue that keeps tripping over itself.

I could think of a better use for her tongue. With a mouth like that…

The thought is abrupt and somewhat unwelcome. But a wave of her scent hits me, sugary vanilla with a slightly smoky undertone, and blood rushes straight down from my head to my cock. In a split second, I’m rock-hard, pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of my jeans, and I blink, startled by the sudden force of my arousal.

I see her gaze flick down to my hands, to the one wrapped around the crystal glass of Scotch. She studies it for a moment, and I think I see a flash of recognition when she notices the Bratva tattoo on the back of my hand. That gives me pause, and I look at her a little more closely, trying to make certain she’s not someone I know. That she’s not, god forbid, someone I’ve already fucked.

But I’d remember her if I’d seen her before. Everything about her, from her thick honey blonde hair to her wide green eyes, her wide, full mouth and the slender curves of her body makes my mouth dry with lust. I’ve fucked a good many gorgeous women,and I’ve forgotten a lot of them, but something tells me I’d remember this one.

That Iwillremember her, if I act on the desire that I can so clearly see in her eyes, and that’s raging through my veins right now. And that gives me pause, too.

Butfuckif it’s not hard to think of many good reasons not to act on it. Don’t I deserve a memorable fuck after all I’ve been through? My cock throbs against my zipper, reminding me that I haven’t been inside of a woman for over five years, either. I always wondered how the lower-level men felt, when they got out of prison after taking the fall from some deal gone wrong.

Now I know.Hungry. Starving, like an animal that’s been caged without having been fed, except it’s pleasure that I’ve been starved for. Touch. Even now, my fingers curl against my palms, biting into the skin as I fight back the urge to touch her. To reach for her and drag her into my lap, flip up that little leather skirt she’s wearing and drag my zipper down, and fuck her right here in the middle of the club.

I’d get away with it, too. No one would dare come over here and ask me if I had my cock inside the girl on my lap, not even if I made her scream. But…there’s something about her that makes me not want to do that, no matter how fiercely I’m craving that pleasure. Something oddly possessive, as I look at her, that makes me want to keep her sounds of pleasure all to myself.

Am I really going to do this?I’ve been free for six months, and I haven’t taken a woman to bed. Not for lack of options, but because there’s something holding me back. Fear of betrayal again, maybe. That, and the need to keep a clear head.

But the way I feel tonight, maybe it’s a good fuck that would clear it, instead.

“What are you drinking?” I ask her, nodding at the cloudy liquid in her glass. She blinks, her gaze jerking away from my tattoo. When her eyes meet mine, I feel an electric jolt run downmy spine, and I know I haven’t met this woman before. And if she recognizes my tattoo, that’s no concern of mine. There’s plenty of Bratva men out there, and any one of them might have found their way into her bed. Who knows—maybe that’s her type.

That odd, possessive feeling burns through me again. Like I’d kill any Bratva man that I found out had already put their hands on her, already found out what she tasted like on their tongue.Mine, something deep within me growls as I look at her, and I shove the feeling down.

Possessiveness and attachment has been my downfall in the past. And I’ve learned my lesson. Fuck romance. Fuck love. I’ve got no interest in either any longer. But how this woman’s lips might feel wrapped around my cock…I have a definite interest in that.

“Apple toddy.” She gives me a wry smile, almost as if she’s a little embarrassed. “It was on the themed drink list.”

“Ah, yes. This place does like their kitsch.” I look around, and I hear the small giggle that she represses. Hush went all in on the aesthetic, and they’ve definitely accomplished the atmosphere that they set out to curate. I don’t mind it—in the past, I’ve found it relaxing. But now, I’m not sure there’s much that could relax me.

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