Page 8 of A Dark Fall
“Of course. You’re honestly a superstar. Sorry to interrupt your night like this. But the boss will be delighted,” Kyle mutters.
I follow him up a flight of stairs and along another carpeted hallway exactly like the one on the first floor. At the end of the hallway, there’s a door marked “Private,” which he knocks on twice. He doesn’t wait for a response before punching in a code and holding it open for me to follow him through.
It’s a large, stylish office with more exposed brick, dark gray walls, and a few leather couches arranged to form a seating area in one corner. In the center of the room, a solid oak desk dominates the space. On the wall nearest the door, several monitors show various parts of the club: the foyer, the bar, the stage, some hallways, and two showing outside—front and back.
Behind the desk is a large flat-screen TV showing the main stage downstairs, though the sound is muted. The wall on my right is almost entirely made of glass, and through it, I can see the whole of the VIP mezzanine and down onto the dance floor below. This must be the other side of one of the large gilded mirrors I spotted on the inner walls. What a view. I immediately begin looking for Rob and the girls across the way.
“Erm, I’ll go let him know you’re here,” Kyle says before crossing the office to leave via a different door.
As soon as he leaves, I look around the room for some water but see only champagne in an ice bucket on the desk, two glasses beside it. There’s a fridge over in one corner, but I think it may be rude to go over and start rummaging through it. While I wait, I count the number of drinks I’ve had. Four glasses of champagne at home, and half a glass here. Okay, definitely too much to practice medicine. I’ll make a brief assessment as to whether this guy needs the hospital or not and then go back to the girls.
Walking closer to the large, wall-sized window, I gaze out and across the now extremely busy club. I find our table immediately. In fact, it’s almost directly across from where I am now. I see Rob and Becca dancing near the balcony while the other girls chat animatedly to a group of guys in the next booth along. Behind me, I hear the door open, and I turn around to get a look at my dizzy barman.
My heart stops dead in my chest.
Oh, god. It can’t be. I can’t breathe. I’m not breathing. My hot, tattooed probable criminal is walking toward me looking as if he’s about to devour me whole.
It’s too hot. I’m too hot. More immediate though is the warm, tight clenching that’s begun low down in my belly—or lower. Yes, definitely lower. Nearer to my thighs and in between them. Instinctively, I move toward the desk for something solid to lean on as he comes to a stop not far from me. I swallow as I take in the full sight of him, slowly savoring the image, tasting it on my tongue.
Absent of blood, he’s dressed in a perfectly tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled up to show off an expensive watch, and immaculately cut gray trousers. He looks exactly like the dangerous, fierce, edgy male model I remember.
It’s comforting to know my memory didn’t exaggerate his face or his body or the deep intensity of his eyes. It’s his mouth I can’t stop staring at though. Full lips curled up into a sexy, knowing smile as his eyes glitter deliciously in the dim light.
I’m aware my mouth is open too wide, so I close it. I can’t do anything about the unbelievable heat flooding my body. I’ll just need to deal with it.
As we continue to stare at one another, it occurs to me that he looks as though he’s enjoying himself; enjoying watching me disintegrate in front of him. Oh, god, is that what I’m doing—disintegrating? Oh, please let me look more in control than I feel. I could try speaking, saying something—anything.
Before I get the chance to think, he speaks.
“Doctor.” He grins playfully. His voice is low and sexy like I remember it. Do I remember it being sexy? Am I admitting that now? I mean, he’s still not my type. He’s still the sort of man I’m sure I’ve been warned to stay away from.
“You?” I manage. Christ, it’s pathetic. My parents paid a lot of money for an expensive education, and that’s all I have. Three whole letters.
His mouth twitches mischievously. “Me,” he says.
I nod once, unable still to find words. I really want to act like the Cambridge Medical School-educated woman I am, but he’s having a strange effect on my head ... and my ability to form sentences and breathe.
“I don’t ... understand. How are you here?” I ask. What I really mean is, how am I here with him, but that’s a more complicated thought than my mouth is able to verbalize.
He smiles a full smile before flicking his tongue over his lower lip. I feel a quiver over my entire body. Christ, what a smile. I knew it would be special. With a mouth like that, it had to be. It’s gorgeous, sexy, and a little wicked. His teeth are a straight white line with two sharp pointed canines at each side. They make me wonder if he bites. I feel a tingling on my neck as the image gains momentum.
“I own this place,” he says, sounding faintly embarrassed.
I frown, confused. “You’re not the dizzy barman?”
He looks marginally confused before smiling again. “Nah. Sorry to disappoint you.”
Finally, my brain gets it. Finally.
“Wait—you sent the invites? To my surgery? It was you?”
He nods, watching me closely.
“Why?”
When he speaks again, his voice is lower, less playful. “I wanted to see you,” he tells me. “To thank you for what you did.”
His manner is a strange mix of forced politeness, as though he isn’t used to it, as if the words and even the tone are unnatural to him. I like it though. It’s rough around the edges, and it tickles my ears and skin.