I exhale, give a little prayer of thanks, then I scan the crowd again.

A man with dark hair shifts in the booth and there is the anonymous man of my wet dreams, the one who’d never had a face before Callan.

Some girl is hovering over him and I feel a pang of jealousy. Really, she’s welcome to all his cigarettes, thank you. I could use the extra minutes of life.

I head to the opposite corner of the club and Janine follows as she skims the hot guys available. “Table or mingle?”

“Dance,” George says, and he takes my hand.

“Drinks first,” I tell George.

Armed with our cocktails of choice, we end up on a spacious floor under flashing strobe lights, mirrored chandeliers, and in between a hundred dancing people. I listen to the music, a wicked song by Adam Lambert, and I move to the rhythm, closing my eyes and sipping my drink.

Chills run down my spine all of a sudden.

I open my eyes and I see, past elbows and shoulders and moving forms, him watching me from his table.

I have a sudden image of me dancing for him the first time we had sex, when I didn’t know who he was, and I can’t stop dancing. I move my hips and hold his copper gaze.

He starts smiling as if to himself and raking me with his eyes, as if he’s a biologist studying an animal in a zoo.

I sigh and take a sip of my drink when I realize it’s empty already.

He continues watching me with this little smile.

Slowly, he rises and stalks toward me.

Oh. Crap. Shit.

I take George’s drink and down it all. He looks shocked. “I like my girl to know how to party. Want me to get us another one?”

“Um, yes, or several,” I yell out over the noise as he heads for the bar.

I realize he’s left me alone on the dance floor while Callan moves through the crowd in my direction. I’m left with nothing to do and nothing to drink but the sensuality of his physique. In a panic, I turn to the couple dancing to my right and begin to sway with them to the sound of “King of Sabotage” by Ferras.

“Olivia,” I hear behind my ear.

I hold my breath, but then turn and grin. “Derek.”

“Drake.”

“Fancy seeing you here, Drake. At this den of iniquity.” I signal around said den of iniquity.

“This den is not for little girls.”

He grabs my hand like it belongs to him.

And my hand fits right in his like it belongs there.

My eyes widen as he purposely leads me through the crowd, holding my hand the entire time, and I know I should pry it away but I can’t. He’s staring at me and I am staring at the expanse of skin revealed by the undone top buttons of his shirt.

We step outside, onto a terrace.

He leads me to a sitting area and tugs me down to sit next to him, and only then releases my hand.

I don’t know what to do with it all of a sudden, curling my fingers into my palm because it tingles. Because his touch lingers.

He continues staring at my profile in quiet desire for something. What, I don’t know.

I’d say sex, but I already had that with him.

I look at him, and he looks at me, lifting his brow.

He looks at me so piercingly I have no choice but to look back.

My eyes dart around the room restlessly. “I don’t want my friends to see me with you.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re my coworkers and you’re the boss.”

“Not your direct boss.”

“We’re interns, that’s like a whole different caste system. I want to make friends while I’m here. In case you haven’t realized, a lot of people are scared shitless of you at Carma.”

He lifts a brow.

I reach into his shirt pocket and pull out a lighter and a cigarette.

“Why haven’t you come to the terrace?” he asks as he watches me light up. He also sounds displeased.

“You went to the terrace?” I counter.

“I always go the terrace. Why would I stop going? It’s my terrace, Olivia,” he murmurs. He’s watching me intently.

“I had work to do . . .” Then I smile. “Wow, you noticed,” I say, exaggerating his smarts.

There’s a twitch to his lips. “Barely. You hardly talk—so you can understand why it would be hard for me to notice.”

The word hard rolls off his tongue rather too sexily.

I frown. Callan rests his chin on his hand and scrapes his thumb along the line of his jaw thoughtfully as he studies me. “Are you avoiding me?” He sounds bossy now. He edges closer, his shoulder close to mine, his eyes smiling but curious. “Did I grow fangs and an appetite for the blood of girls with secret clusters of freckles?” he asks.

“Well, you did show me your appetite is rather hefty.”

“I’m not the only one with a hefty appetite. You couldn’t take me inside you fast enough the other day.”

I open my mouth and can’t even think of what to say.

“Look this can’t happen,” I finally say when I recover. “My brother will kill us.”

“What the devil doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” He leans in and licks inside my lips.

Everything no man has made me feel, this one does. I’m crackling like a raw wire, torn to the fringes, explosion-ready. “You’re shameless.”

“I am.”

“Reckless and irreverent!”

“Yep.” He smiles. “I just want to get to know you, Olivia,” he whispers in my ear, then he looks at me, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I want more of this.” He licks into my lips again and holds the back of my head as he parts my mouth with his.

“I don’t know when you’re teasing and when you’re not,” I whisper, slipping my fingers into his hair.

God! I missed him.

“Then you better get to know me too.” He grins, then he cups the back of my head so gently you’d think I was made of crystal.

He kisses me, softly this time, carefully. I melt into his kiss, scratching my nails against the back of his neck. I groan from the pleasure.

“You’re so fascinating, Livvy.” He smiles as he withdraws, and he looks at me so tenderly, as if he wants to protect me.

“Callan . . .” I begin, unsure of what to say.

He seems to sense my fear and he lets me go. He pulls out a cigarette now and lights up, and I look at it yearningly as he offers it to me.

I shake my head. Nope. I do not want to smoke from his cigarette. Just watching him do that soft sucking motion to the end of his cigarette makes me sweat. I’m already soaked between my legs and ready to beg him to put his finger inside me.

Callan hasn’t even taken a second drag when I stand to leave. “I need to go back to my friends before they see me with you.”

He stands and puts out his cigarette then he shoves his hands into his pockets as I head to the doors. “Livvy,” he says.

I turn, and the wind is in his hair the way I want my fingers to be. The wind pushes his button shirt against his chest and his slacks against his long, muscled legs.

“I’ll take you home.”

I groan at how stubborn he sounds. “You took me to the ball twice already, Callan, thank you.” I turn back again.

“Come here,” he says, his voice stopping me.

“Excuse me?”

He sighs and drags a hand over his hair. He stretches out a lovely muscular arm with short blond hairs, his palm up, and wiggles his fingers, a little exasperated. “Come here. Give me your phone.”

I frown but obey.

“Text me when you get home.”

He types something on the phone.

“I’m not going to text you,” I protest as I take back my phone.

“You’re going to text me or you’re leaving right now with me.” He nods like there’s no doubt about him getting his way.

“I’ll text you,” I quickly agree and head inside, telling myself I won’t call him, hating the grin I saw appear when I hastily agreed.

I tell my friends I’m heading home early and take an Uber. When I’m back in the apartment, I brush my teeth and get ready for bed and tell myself I can’t let that personal connection and easy conversation happen again. I want to avoid calling him but here I am, scanning my contacts.