And my pussy throb.
As sick as it was, I wanted a rematch. Only perhaps this time I wouldn’t kill him.
The forty-five minutes went by quickly as we purposely turned away from all my strange occurrences to events happening in their lives.
Suddenly, Ashley’s eyes opened wide. “Who is that man?”
I had to lean in so I could see who she was talking about. “That’s Xander Blackwell.”
“You should be thrilled. At least he’s a looker,” Stephanie said, whistling under her breath.
“I hadn’t noticed.” I had. In a suit he appeared as formidable as he wanted everyone to believe. He considered himself top dog and refused to take a step down to anyone. An impeccable dresser, his aura alone overpowered any room he was in.
He was wearing only a dark shirt, open at the collar with dark trousers, and he looked far more approachable. And the shirt was form fitting, allowing every woman in the place a reason to drool given his muscular physique.
I wasn’t one of them.
But I would admit with the light breeze, the well-coiffed look of his dark, thick hair had shifted into something more relaxed, as if he’d just rolled out of bed after a wild night of sex.
I could not believe I’d just had the thought. I’d thought for certain he’d pull his car up in front of the place, honking his horn.
He yanked off his shades as he walked, constantly scanning the restaurant and bar until he found me. I could hear the collective moans from where we were sitting. All the women were in lust with him.
After sliding the earpiece of his sunglasses into his shirt, he headed in our direction and for about a million reasons, I tensed. The thought of spending time with him felt oppressive. Maybe I could learn a few things about him that when I had my ultimate plan in place I’d used against him.
He took his sweet time walking through the crowd of people, taking the two steps leading to the platform with one long stride. He barely looked at either of my friends. I’d been able to tell earlier in the day he wasn’t a people person by any length of the imagination.
“Ms. Turner. Are you ready?”
Ashley caught the name difference immediately and I managed to shoot her a nasty look just as she opened her mouth.
“I am. Where are we going?”
“Just a little place that’s much quieter.” I could tell he had utter distaste for where we were. Considered more of a hangout for twenty-somethings, it was loud and filled with televisions and sports memorabilia. My guess was he was into fancy.
“Have fun,” Stephanie said under her breath.
This should prove to be an interesting if not infuriating experience.
He said nothing else, but remained behind me as we headed out of the restaurant. I could only imagine the additional questions I’d receive about the name change. But it was worth it. For now. I’d honestly never envisioned there’d be a possibility I’d get this close to the job.
I didn’t know what to expect he’d be driving. Seeing a Lamborghini fit him far too perfectly. He was rich. He was arrogant. And he didn’t give a crap what anyone else thought about him. Good for him.
I couldn’t care less.
He opened the door for me, waiting as I climbed inside and settled into the seat. I watched him he headed around the front of the car. With his sunglasses on, the lenses as dark as they were, and with the way he carried himself, he appeared like some dark knight himself. The thought brought a laugh, but I squelched it as soon as he climbed inside.
Yet it seemed he’d heard it, taking a few seconds to glance over at me while I fastened the seatbelt.
“Where are we going?” I finally asked.
“To a favorite bar.”
He roared the engine to life and while I didn’t feel creepy, there was something about him that made me feel uncomfortable. He remained silent as he drove, only once glancing over at me. Was he expecting I might jump out at a stoplight?
The bar in question was one I’d seen but had never entered. The gothic exterior fit the name perfectly. The Den. That was it. As in the den of iniquity? Maybe that suited him given his odd reputation.
He parked in a spot marked for owners and I suddenly had so many questions. “You own this?”