Page 42 of Dark Night Golden Dawn
Harlow didn’t have time to think of something else to say. He’d disappeared.
ChapterTwenty
She’d never been to the White Oak. It was a favorite among the Order of Masks, owned by a wealthy wolf pack from Nea Sterlis, and it had opened when she and Mark were together—but they never came to this side of town. They never went anywhere in the last months of their relationship where Harlow might run into anyone she knew. She’d thought at the time that it was because he wanted her to himself, but now she saw it differently. He’d wanted her alone, weak, and pliable. She shook off the thought of the argument they’d had about coming to the White Oak’s opening as she stepped inside the bar.
As she took it all in, she understood why Finn wanted to come here. Not only was the building beautiful with its exposed brick walls and the dozen enormous crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, but the White Oak hadn’t closed the bar down to the public for the party, only devoted their main floor to it.
The upper bar was still open and it was full of gawking humans, and some photographers she recognized as Section Seven staff, as well as a bevy of freelance paparazzi. She resisted the urge to pull the neckline of her dress up, or fade into the shadows. She steeled herself against what she knew was coming: the posts on the gossips, the chatter on the socials.
Photos would be taken and shared without her consent. People would speculate about her motives, talk about her and Finn, her and Mark, all of it in ways she wouldn’t be able to control or ignore. The feeling that she was making herself a target in this dress, coming here with Finn, thiswasthe plan. This was what she needed to do for her family.
The music shifted and Harlow’s heart dropped into her stomach. The song was one she’d put on every playlist as a teenager. The one that made her think of him—and he had to know it—this song had been playingthatnight. This whole damn album on repeat. When she tore her eyes from her shoes, the bartender was grinning at her.
“He said you might need this.” The shifter gave Harlow a decidedly lupine grin and pushed a glass of whiskey towards her. “It’s our best, and Finn knows what he’s talking about.”
Harlow took the glass and sipped, wondering how the bartender got on a first name basis with Finbar McKay. The whiskey was good. Deep, complex, smoky. She was in so much trouble. She threw back the whole glass, even though shots hadn’t been her thing in quite some time. She eyed the bartender, who was short, with an athletic build and short black hair, shaved on the sides.
Her sparkling brown eyes crinkled with amusement as she poured Harlow another finger of whiskey. “I hear you don’t even need this stuff to fuck him.”
Harlow raised her eyebrows. “And you would know?”
The bartender laughed, a rough, joyful sound. “He wishes. I don’t swing that way though.”
Harlow laughed with her. “I wish I didn’t.”
The bartender rested her elbow on the bar, smirking roguishly. “If you change your mind about Finn, stay after the party.”
Harlow bit her lip, stifling the giggle that was bubbling up from her chest. “If he can’t behave, I might.”
“You won’t, but it was fun talking to you.” The bartender nodded to someone behind Harlow and when she turned, Finn was standing in the middle of the room, his gaze intense as his eyes found hers. He was on the phone, but as their attention locked onto one another, he said goodbye and hung up, sliding his phone into the pocket of his jeans as he drank her in. Something coiled tight and low in Harlow’s belly woke, warmth creeping through her in slow, fiery licks.
Then he was next to her and if the bartender stayed to hear what he’d say to her, she didn’t know, because the smell of smoky oud wood and rich, golden amber, so familiar in its exhilarating nature, distracted her to the point that she nearly lost her good sense. He leaned against the bar, his body close enough that she could feel its heat, but far enough away for propriety.
“You trying to kill me with that dress, Harls?”
She struggled to find the words she wanted, and sharper, uglier ones came out instead. “You’re immortal. It’d be harder than I’d like to kill you.”
He laughed as the music swelled, and it was impossible not to remember their last night together. Not with this song playing, not with him standing so close to her. His body hovering over hers, the sweet pain of him inside her. The way he’d pushed her hair out of her face as he told her he loved her.
“You trying to kill me with this song, McKay?”
He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “I didn’t ask them to play it.” His fingers skimmed her hip. “But I’m not sorry they are.”
It was her turn to swallow. He was too good at this. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall for him for real, and she couldn’t let that happen. She looked at the wide rustic planks of the wood floor. If he was going to play this way, she could too. When she raised her eyes, she did so slowly, taking a small step closer.
“Do you think about it? That night?” she asked so softly only he would hear her. To anyone watching, she knew it would look like they were flirting. Well, notflirtingexactly, but definitely courting.
She watched his chest heave as he struggled to breathe naturally. “Yes.”
His fingers pressed into the soft curve of her hip and she slid a hand up the buttons of his crisp white shirt. He’d actually dressed up for this. “How much?”
“I try not to… but a lot.”
She made a soft humming noise as she took another step closer, looking up at him through her lashes. “Me too. I think about the way it felt to run through the rain. We were soaking wet.”
A low rumble vibrated through his chest and his eyes lit softly; he was reacting to her, just the way she’d hoped he would. The photographers upstairs saw too and got out their cameras. She tugged gently on his shirt. The collar was open and he wasn’t wearing a tie, so she slipped a finger inside, caressing his skin lightly.
He looked good, but she didn’t like this buttoned-up look he’d been trotting out to the season events. Something in her wished for his usual leather jacket and messy hair. Hells, she missed the way he’d painted his nails when they were in secondary. Those were dangerous thoughts—she needed to stay on track here. It would be best if she stayed in control andhewas off balance.
