Page 55 of Beautiful Enemy

“A necessary evil to be inconspicuous.” He cuts a look at Ash, who’s rounding the car with a shrug. “You, on the other hand, barely dressed at all.”

“I thought you’d like it.”

“You wore this for me?”

“That’s a big leap from ‘I thought you’d like it’. Let’s not go crazy.”

His attention pins me in place for a heartbeat, two, before the passing crowd makes me notice the doors of the club are around the corner.

“I asked Toro to drop you beyond where we might be spotted,” Harrison supplies, refocusing on our surroundings.

“And I told the guys from the club I’d meet them inside,” Ash adds.

“Why do you want this club so badly?” I ask Harrison as I take careful steps along the sidewalk, sneaking another look at him. I’ve seen him in a tux, a suit, and almost naked. The casual clothes might be my favorite.

“La Mer would be the crown jewel in my collection.”

I groan. “What is it with you Brits and your crown jewels?”

He ignores me. “Mischa wants it. I want to take it away from him.”

“All because of what happened with your parents?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Ash says at the same time, glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t pretend it didn’t start sooner.” His gaze drops to Harrison’s chest so fast I almost miss it.

“Mischa has a reputation,” Harrison says. “People who disagree with him get silenced.”

“So, you’re the good guy.”

He frowns. “Let’s say it’s good you called me out on my club’s security and not Mischa’s, or we wouldn’t be here talking.”

The idea of a person more fucked up than Harrison, someone who’d stop at nothing to get what he wants, is enough to make me shiver.

We approach the end of the huge line, and I reach for my wallet. “I have Christian’s card.”

Harrison tucks it back in my bag, tugging me by the elbow toward a back door. “We’re not letting Christian know we’re here.”

At the door, Harrison shakes hands with a security guy who lets us inside. Ash leading the way, Harrison at my side with his hand on my back, we head through a dark tunnel, only the music at the other end guiding us.

“Did you fuck your hand to my new song last night?” I ask conversationally. He mentioned liking it, so I emailed it to him in the early hours of this morning. There was no response except an automatic receipt, which means he opened it.

His arm flexes around my waist. “Did you lie awake all night thinking about it?”

I catch a toe on the ground and nearly trip.

The idea of Harrison King thinking of me while he unfastens his dress pants and shoves down the zipper is insanely sexy. His heavy breathing, roughened with pleasure and anticipation as he stroked the hard length of his cock. The flex of his muscles, the way he’d seek out his own brutal pulls as he cursed me.

I wonder how it would feel to do it myself. To wrap my hand around him and watch his eyes narrow to slits. To reduce him to curses, then no words at all.

Too soon, we’re in the open-air club, and the impossible tension slips a few notches.

I’m awestruck by my surroundings. It’s an ode to the stars. A spectacular amphitheater built for revellers.

The crowd is young and beautiful and ready for the release this place promises.

“If you buy it, you’ll need the best DJs,” I comment, breathless.

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