Page 16 of A Dark Fall

What the hell happens when he catches me?

“I ... do really have to get back.” My voice is quiet, uncertain, not saying no.

“To your friends, yeah, I know.” He takes a step back and adjusts himself, fixing his collar and running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. He needn’t bother adjusting anything because he still looks immaculate. Sexy, immaculate, and dangerous. Not my type.

Yet when I glance down and see a definite bulge in his crotch area, I feel like purring.

I’ve managed a few steps away from him when I hear him call my name. I turn back.

“Just so you know, when I want something, I normally get it,” he states. “And in case it wasn’t clear, though fuck knows how it couldn’t be, I want you.” He studies me for a long moment before giving me a smile that almost makes me orgasm on the spot.

I say nothing because I honestly have no words. He wants me. The knowledge does something to me. Something powerful. I feel warm and weightless and drunk, but it’s not from the alcohol.

When Jake turns on his heel and strides off down the hallway with all the grace of a tiger, I notice he has an amazing backside. Of course he bloody does.

He’s still not my type though.

With a tremulous sigh, I pull open the door, the heavy bass assaulting my senses anew. I need to get out of this place.

“Leaving so soon, ladies?” A male maître d’ asks as we get to the front door.

“Just me,” I tell him.

“Aw, that’s a shame. Can I call you a taxi?” he offers.

Slightly stunned, I accept. Jake certainly doesn’t do things by halves.

After giving the maître d’ my name and table number, he goes into his booth to lift the phone. Rob thinks I’m leaving because I have a headache. Which isn’t a complete lie. I do feel as though I’ve been whacked over the head with a Jake-sized sledgehammer.

As we wait for the taxi to arrive, Rob says I do in fact “look a bit peaky,” telling me to drink a pint of water and take two ibuprofen before going straight to bed. As though she’s the medical practitioner, not me.

“Yes, Mum.” I sigh, distracted. My head keeps going back to the feel of him and the smell of him and everything he said. He thought about me a lot. He wants to see me again. I’m something he wants. These things excite me far too much. It feels like the sort of rush you get as you climb to the top of a roller coaster, that moment right before the fall.

Also, he used a ruse to get me here. Guys don’t orchestrate meetings aimed at seducing me. I have never been seduced. Do I want him to seduce me? With that mouth, taste, smell? All these things are seductive by themselves, but as a package deal? On him? Jesus. I’m too hot again.

Dangerous. Player. Possible violent streak. Not my type. Repeat.

“Alex? Did you hear what I said?”

“What?” I shake my head. “Sorry, babe, I was thinking about something else.” Someone else.

“I was saying, Becca is definitely onto a sure thing with the footballer. Did you see them?” She gives me a look as if to say, “That could have been you, babe.”

Vaguely, I wonder what Rob would make of Jake and how far he would be from her idea of a sure thing.

“Your car’s here, Dr. Marlowe,” I hear from behind me.

My head whips around. I only gave him my surname. Does everyone in this place know my name, age, and occupation? I give him a nod and look back at Rob.

“Okay, well, you have fun, lady,” I order lightly. “I’ll text you when I get home. Enjoy the rest of the night and call me tomorrow, okay?” I hug her tight before following the maître d’ out to the still bustling street where a shiny, expensive silver car awaits. I assume Jake’s club has a contract with an upmarket taxi company to take his VIP guests home. Another pleasant touch.

The host opens the door for me, and I thank him and get into the back seat, which is all cream-colored leather and smells brand-new.

“18 Pilgrims Way, Shere, please,” I tell the driver, waiting for the sigh they normally give when they find out I’m a forty-minute drive out of the city. He doesn’t sigh though, only nods politely, and I settle in for the drive back home.

“Would you like the radio on, love?” he asks through the rearview. He’s an older man, about late fifties, with a friendly, mustached face.

“Sure, why not?”