Page 67 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

“No shit,” grumbles Charles. He glances at his lawyer and then takes another swig of his second scotch. Setting down the glass, he looks between Lorelai and Khalohn and announces, “Send the paperwork tonight. Barry and his guys will go over it first thing in the morning.”

“I will,” Lorelai agrees with a nod.

It’s nearing ten when Khalohn settles the bill. As he signs the check, he thinks back over the last couple of nights. This week is shaping up to be all work and no play. He regrets this fact more than he has in a long time. It’s within the terms of their agreement that he can call Bryn right then and arrange for them to meet at eleven, but he can’t bring himself to entertain the thought for long. She won’t be at the apartment without him. She rarely is. Furthermore, there’s something about her—something about what they have. As transactional as the relationship may be, she’s more than a woman he can call upon at Clandestine’s. He respects her too much to call her at ten o’clock on a Wednesday night. He doesn’t know much about her, but whatever she’s doing with her evening, he doesn’t feel inclined to interrupt.

Charles and Barry leave after a round of handshakes while Lorelai and Khalohn terry at the table a moment longer. Khalohn finishes the last bit of his drink, and Lorelai takes out her phone to send the necessary paperwork to Barry Shephard, as Charles Winslow instructed. When they finally make their exit, Lorelai breathes a happy sigh and turns her smile on Khalohn.

“Thank you. For tonight. For giving me this chance. For pushing me.”

“Won’t be the last time,” he assures her.

He’s on the verge of offering her a lift home when his phone sounds from within his jacket pocket. He doesn’t hide his frown as he pulls the device out to take a look at the screen. At the sight of her name, his frown clears as he glances at Lorelai.

“I have to take this.”

“Of course. Don’t let me keep you. I’m going to grab a cab. See you tomorrow, Mr. Morgan.”

He lifts his fingers and flicks a half-hearted wave, his attention completely captivated before his thumb makes it across the screen to pick up the call.

After four margaritasand more than an hour on the dance floor, Jessica can’t stop thinking about him. It doesn’t matter how much fun she’s having, or how breathless a single partner can make her after yet another salsa dance, there’s only one man’s hands she wants. Even more, there’s only one kind of dance that can satisfy her craving, and it’s enjoyed best fully naked and horizontal.

When the clock strikes ten, the energy in the club goes up, but Jessica steps away from her group, insisting she needs some air. She makes her way through the crowd, climbing from the ground level to the rooftop bar. Even though it’s still warm out, the breeze against her damp skin feels good. In spite of the fresh city-night air, her alcohol induced bravery doesn’t lose a bit of its bravado—which is why she doesn’t hesitate to extract her phone from her clutch. She dials him without second guessing herself, holding her breath until he answers.

“Hello?”

The sound of his voice is like taking a hit. Her heart beats faster and she presses her thighs together, embracing the high he evokes simply by sayinghello.

“You haven’t called,” she murmurs.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Right.” She seals her eyes closed tight, shaking her head once. The last thing she wants is to soundneedy, even if that’s exactly how she feels. “You—you don’t have to explain. You don’t owe me anything. I just…”

“You just what?” he inquires, his tone soft and low.

With her eyes still closed, his timbre a reminder of all the power and confidence he exudes—power and confidence she finds incredibly sexy—she can’t hold back any longer.

“I want you,” she breathes. Her cheeks grow warm at her admission, but she’s drunk enough to keep going. “I know this is backwards. You beckon me, not the other way around—but I don’t care. I want a freebie. Am I—am I allowed to ask for that?”

Standing out on the curb of a restaurant no more than five city blocks away, Khalohn glances down at his shoes as he allows her request to wash over him. A satisfied smirk curls the corner of his mouth at the same time that his dick pulses with a rush of blood. He’s not fully aware, too distracted by desire to contemplate it, but it turns him on knowing at the same time, in the same city, he wanted her, and she wanted him.

“I’m on my way.”

He hangs up before she can say another word, but she doesn’t care. Neither does Jessica take her time before making her way to the street in order to hail a taxi. As soon as she snags one, she rattles off her destination and shoots a text to Kierra, letting her know she had to run, with a promise to explain later. There’s a tiny, coherent voice in the back of Jessica’s mind that warns her, when she isn’t in a margarita and lust-filled haze, she won’t know how to explain Khalohn—but she’s too elated to think about that right now.

She called.

He answered.

And he’s on his way.

Khalohn enters theapartment, pausing just beyond the door when he realizes he’s alone. He lays his keys on the entryway table and shrugs out of his suit jacket, blindly hanging it on the coat rack, which becomes more and more familiar as the days pass. Slowly, he strolls into the open floor plan, guided by city lights casting shadows throughout the room. His hands in his pockets, he makes his way to one of the windows, staring out at the street below, wondering if he’ll spot Bryn as she arrives. His thoughts wander, his gaze drifting as he remembers the sound of her voice slipping into his ear.

I want you.

He remembers over and over again, his hardening length trying the seam of his pants as he waits. He’s unaware of how many minutes pass, only that he grows a little more impatient with each one. He wants her, too—in ways he hasn’t wanted another in as long as he can remember. While he waits, he doesn’t think about the dinner he just left. He doesn’t think of his schedule the next morning—all he thinks about isher.

As Khalohn stands alone in the apartment, Jessica deep breathes on her trip up the elevator. Her cab ride over did little to sober her mind. Whether it’s tequila tainting her bloodstream or her lust for the man capable of making her lose herself completely, she’s not sure. Either way, when the lift car chimes, announcing her arrival, she licks her lips, straightens her spine, and takes herself to the door of 601.

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