Page 107 of A Forgotten Promise

My phone screen lights up on my desk. I check the message, and my blood pressure spikes immediately.

“What the fuck?” I grab my jacket, rushing to the door.

“What happened?” Roxy stands.

“Saar is in a fucking sex club.”I’m going to kill her.

Roxy belts out a laugh. “God, I love that woman.”

I text my driver before I reach the elevator. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What was she thinking? Is she there looking for me? The thought spreads some weird, not completely negative, feeling in my chest. Is she jealous?

It’s more like she has some other plan to rile me up. The idea of her there among all those horny bastards churns in my stomach.

It takes ten minutes for my driver to come, and another half an hour to reach the club. By then I’m ready to break into the stupid place and kill every man who’s laid eyes on her. And then take her home and fucking chain her to her bed until the deal is signed.

I bang at the door, and it opens immediately. “Good evening, sir—”

I push past him.

“You can’t.” He steps in front of me, and immediately, two bulky security guards appear from somewhere.

I raise my arms in surrender. “I prefer the streets fucking crowdy.”

The two guards exchange looks, probably thinking I’m so horny it killed all my brain cells.

I drop the phone on the counter, and the hostess gives me a mask, saying something I don’t register because I see red, but I smile at her in an effort to reassure them I’m not a lunatic. Though the jury is out on that one.

Finally, she slides her card through the reader, and I walk in. A show is happening on the stage, and I squint under my mask, adjusting to the low light. Fuck, how will I find her here?

But before I even take another step, I spot her. In a red dress exposing her long, beautiful leg, she sits at the bar, her attention on the performance. Her hair falls down around her shoulders, her face hidden behind the lace of her mask.

But there is no doubt it’s her. Something wild and untamed spreads around my chest, and my legs move before I even think, beckoning me to her.

The mask gives her an air of sensual intrigue and mysterious elegance. She sits in the shadows and still manages to shine.

I stop a couple of feet from her, but she doesn’t notice me, completely enthralled by what’s happening on the stage.

Is she enjoying the show? I smile to myself. I hate that she came here, but at the same time I admire her guts.

She’s been acting out and hiding mostly, lost in her self-discovery. That damn post was the first glimpse of the real woman behind the broken facade. And now this.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that she sits alone, or her alluring presence that calms me down, but instead of dragging her out of here, I stay behind and watch her.

The moans and grunts on the stage allude to what is happening, but I don’t look there; I’m completely absorbed by the woman in front of me.

She is perfectly still. Like she’s posing for a painting or a statue. She is a true piece of art.

She occasionally licks her lips, her chest heaving delicately. I get a vision of her coming, and my cock presses against my zipper.

I approach her slowly, taking in her glowing skin, her shiny hair, her parted lips, her torso wrapped in that sinful dress.

When I’m beside her, I lean in, the lavender scent making me even harder. “Is this your first time here?” I drawl.

She tenses, her spine straightening as she parts her lips. The lipstick she wears is subtle, and yet I can’t look away from the shimmering fullness of her mouth.

The quick movement in her throat reveals a moment of hesitation before she croaks. “Maybe.”

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