Page 30 of Coldhearted King

She stiffens, as if I’ve reminded her she shouldn’t stand this close to a man who isn’t her boyfriend. “He was too tired to come out. He wanted to have an early night.”

The memory of Paul with his arms around Philippa flashes through my mind. I’d bet my Bugatti he’s balls deep in the blonde woman, not having an early night at home. Though why any man would want to be with that ice queen instead of the woman standing in front of me is beyond me.

Paul’s stupidity is irrelevant, though. I’ve already decided not to interfere with their relationship, regardless of how much I’m craving another taste of her. Risking the project by indulging in my desire would be stupid, and that’s not something anyone’s ever accused me of being.

So why the hell do I lean forward, pinch her chin between my thumb and forefinger, and tip her face toward mine? “I very much doubt Paul is having a quiet night at home.”

Delilah jerks away from my hold and glares at me. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you go back to your supermodels and leave me alone?”

Irritation rips through my veins, and I step back. “If you want to be willfully blind, that’s your choice. It’s nothing to me. As you said, I’ve got better things to do than care about whether my employees are being taken advantage of by their boyfriends. Crystal has already told me she’s more than happy to bounce on my dick for the rest of the night. I think I’ll take her up on her offer. Have a good night, Delilah. I hope you enjoy the club.”

I turn and stride off, annoyed that I let her get to me. If she wants to place her trust in Paul, that’s her choice.

I return to the VIP section and drop into my seat. Roman has disappeared somewhere, probably back to the office. Tate has his dance partner pressed against a wall. It’s a little too reminiscent of how I just had Delilah.

A waitress brings another glass of whiskey and I take it from her, downing half of it in one go, relishing the fiery burn in my throat. Crystal appears by my side and flings herself onto my lap, grinding on my still-half-hard dick.

“Mmm,” she purrs. “Feels like you’re ready to take me back to your place.”

I run my eyes over the breasts spilling from her dress and imagine peeling the material down so I can suck her nipples while she rides me. I’d been considering taking her back to the hotel before. The picture I’m painting in my mind should seal the deal.

Infuriatingly, the image in my head morphs—blonde hair to brunette, blue eyes to green. And it’s Delilah riding me. Delilah throwing her head back and gasping my name as she clamps down on my cock and milks my orgasm out of me.

My half-hard erection, that remained unmoved during Crystal’s gyrations and my thoughts of fucking her, swells and jerks under her ass.

Crystal rolls her hips, thinking it’s for her, but any interest I had in sleeping with her, if I ever really had any in the first place, has died. The desire to relive my night with Delilah has overtaken my thoughts. She’s off limits, though. Not to mention she hates me. Maybe I just need a good fuck to reset my brain, remind me that sex is sex, and it feels damn fantastic no matter which woman it’s with.

My eyes drop to Crystal’s curves again, and I cup one of her breasts, flexing my fingers and making her moan. It’s a sound worthy of a porn star, and I’ve barely done anything. It irritates me, particularly when my memory taunts me by replaying Delilah’s breathless gasps and needy whimpers as I took her for the first time.

I drop my hand and reach for my drink again, my attention drawn to Tate as he leads the woman toward the private VIP bathrooms.

I throw back the rest of my whiskey and lift Crystal off of me, ignoring her confused frown. “Not tonight.”

She scowls for only a split second before a fake smile fixes in place. “Another time, then.”

She sashays away, and I let my head drop back against the seat. Shit, looks like I’m going home alone tonight.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

DELILAH

Iscan the crowd for Alex. When I spot her at the bar, I rush over. “Hey, do you mind if we leave?”

Her brows draw together. “Are you okay?” She scans the surrounding area. “Did he do someth—”

Things blur a little as I shake my head. Maybe I drank more than I thought tonight. Regardless, my head is all mixed up after what just happened with Cole.

Whathadjust happened with Cole?

I don’t know, but any buzz I was feeling has gone, and knowing he’s upstairs in the VIP section, ready to screw whatever model he was talking about, makes me want to get as far from here as possible. Not that I want to be the one he’s screwing. I’ve got a boyfriend, after all. I just don’t want to have the image of the two of them together in my head. “I’m not feeling it anymore. Do you mind?”

“Of course not. Let’s get out of here.”

We head toward the door, and I refuse to look up at the second floor. After we fight our way through the stream of people entering the club, Alex calls for a ride. A few minutes later, after filling her in on the basics of what went down with Cole, we’re heading home.

I should feel relieved, but Cole’s words keep running around my head. Why would he say those things about Paul? Was he trying to mess with me? The thought that he might know something I don’t sends nausea swirling through my stomach.

As much as I hate to lend credence to his words, I can’t stop the suspicion from taking over.

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