Page 4 of His to Unwrap
“You heading to the back tonight?”
Roman takes a step closer, making my belly flip. God, he smells good—hints of smoky bourbon mixed with pine. All man.
“Not sure yet.”
Kendra taps the counter. “Well, have fun if you do, and be safe.” She nods at Roman. “Let me know if you need anything else, Mr. Clarke.”
Then she’s heading off down the bar to help someone else, leaving the two of us alone, silence settling thick between us.
“So,” I say, my voice overly bright to my own ears. “You, um, have any plans for the holidays?”
I briefly close my eyes. Am I seriously trying to make small talk with Roman Clarke? But I can’t help it—I’ve never been great with silence, and the tension between us feels tightly stretched. If I don’t break it, I’m pretty sure I’ll do something stupid. Like scream. Or maybe try to climb him like a tree.
“No plans,” he says in that low voice. There’s a pause and I’m sure the awkward silence is about to make a reappearance, so he shocks me when he continues. “No family in this part of the country.” He clears his throat. “What about you?”
“Oh, I—” I’m so surprised that he actually asked me a question that it takes me a second to remember what we were even talking about. “I don’t have plans, either. Well, not much. I usually spend Christmas morning at a women’s shelter serving breakfast, but, uh, no plans for Christmas Eve or anything. I’ll probably be at the club’s holiday party next week, though. That’s my most exciting plan, I guess.” I know that I’m rambling so I force myself to snap my mouth closed. The man makes me so off-kilter.
It’s been like this since the very first time I saw him at Club Wyld. I had been working here for a month or so when he came in one Friday night. I hadn’t been dancing that shift—my position is classified as “entertainment,” which means they sometimes have me doing a variety of things. That night my job was to serve champagne. Dressed in nothing but a bra and a short apron over lace panties.
He’d been at a table with a few other Doms, men I’d gotten to know a bit since my first day. All nice guys, respectful of the staff. Flirty, yes, but never lewd. They were rich—hell, everyone who purchases a membership at Wyld is rich—and well-dressed, handsome and polished the way only wealthy men can pull off.
And then there was Roman. His suit had been every bit as expensive as the others, but that’s where the similarities stopped. Roman Clarke didn’t have a suave, polished bone in his body. Everything about him screamed rugged, from his just-a-shade-too-long dark hair, to the scruff on his jaw, the massive bulk of his chest and shoulders, and his wild blue eyes.
Eyes that had been locked on me from the moment I arrived at their table. Eyes that have been locked on me every single time I’ve seen him since.
“A woman’s shelter?” he asks, voice a shade lower. Concerned maybe. Or disapproving?
I shrug. “I don’t have any family. Helping someone else feels like a nice way to spend the holiday.” I don’t tell him how lonely my holidays have been since my dad died. I’m already feeling vulnerable as hell under the penetrating gaze of the giant man next to me.
A moment later, I get the shock of my life. Roman reaches out and places one finger below my chin, tilting it up until I’m looking at him. He’s barely touching me but I can feel it in every fiber of my body. It’s like there’s an electric current spreading out from that inch of skin where his finger meets my chin.
I suck in a breath when I meet his eyes. They’re somehow even more wild looking than usual, but filled with a warmth I’ve never seen in them before.
“You’re a very kind person, Noelle.”
My stomach swoops, warmth radiating through me. He’s never complimented me before—hell, he’s said more to me tonight than he ever has—and I find I like his praise. Very much.
I suppose that’s why I do a very stupid thing.
“Have you eaten?” I ask, my voice embarrassingly breathy. If I’d hoped to hide how affected I am by him, I’m doing an awful job. “Maybe we could sit and eat together? I think the chef did a nice salmon tonight?—”
“No.”
Just like that, everything turns cold. He snatches his hand away from my chin, taking a step back. His eyes have gone stony, expression blank. A chill runs over my skin and I feel like crying. I thought we were making progress.
Wrong again, Noelle,I think to myself, angry and dejected.He might like to watch you dance but he clearly doesn’t care for you in that way. Get it through your head.
“Sorry,” I mumble, gripping the stem of my wine glass. “I won’t bother you anymore.”
I start to slide off the stool but he stops me with a hand at my back. And holy hell, if I thought it felt good when he touched my chin it has nothing on the way his big warm hand feels pressed to the base of my spine.
“Are you staying to play tonight?” he asks in a low voice, and I can’t read his tone. He clears his throat. “Beyond the steel door, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, completely overwhelmed by his touch, by the way he’s looking at me so intensely, like he’s trying to drill down to my innermost thoughts. “Are you going back there?”
He holds my gaze for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. “I thought I might spend some time in one of the viewing booths,” he finally says, his voice like gravel. There’s a pause, his fingers flexing on my back. “If there’s anyone performing who I’d like to see, that is.”
Well. Okay then. I’m pretty sure Roman just told me that he’d be interested in watching one of my private scenes. That hasto be what he’s implying, right? I wish, not for the first time, that I’d managed to make more girl friends in spite of my dad’s travel during my teen years. Maybe then I’d be better at knowing when a guy was interested.
