Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“Any chance you could point us in the right direction?” Lincoln asks, cool and polite.
She shrugs, wiping a champagne spill on the mirrored bar. “Not unless you’ve got an in with Rolfe. Otherwise, you’ll just have to hope he notices you.” She turns away to fill another patron’s order, effectively dismissing us.
I sip my drink again, the tangy sweetness calming my nerves even as my pulse refuses to settle. “So he does host parties here,” I say softly to Lincoln.
He nods, his gaze flicking over the crowd. “We’ll need an invite to get anywhere near him. And from the sound of it, that’s no small feat.”
I swirl my drink, watching the pink foam dissolve into the liquid. “We need another approach. Maybe we can find someone who’s on the list for his next party, and… make friends?”
Lincoln glances sideways at me, the corner of his mouth lifting just a fraction. “That’s a start. But we should be careful. If he’s here, or if his people are here, we don’t want to tip them off that we’re after him.”
My heart pounds faster, the thrill of the chase sending electricity along my skin. I lean closer, lowering my voice to match the pulsing beat around us. “So how do we do that without being obvious?”
His hand slides onto my thigh beneath the bar, a feathery brush that sends a shockwave of warmth through my body. “We look like we’re here for… other reasons,” he says, his eyes glittering with silent promise. “We blend in.”
The air thickens between us, my breath catching. This is exactly why we came here under the guise of a couple, but the act feels dangerously real. My skin prickles where his fingers rest, and a flood of need courses through me. For a moment, I forget to respond, too caught up in the sensation of his touch.
Around us, the club’s energy intensifies. A pair of dancers in the center of the floor move sinuously to the music, their bodies pressed together in a way that leaves little to the imagination. A moan floats from a corner booth, where silhouettes merge in the flickering strobe lights. My cheeks warm—this place is definitely bolder than anywhere I’ve been. Yet, I feel a rush of curiosity, a sensual awareness that maybe I’m not as opposed to this atmosphere as I thought I’d be.
Lincoln’s hand shifts slightly, rubbing a slow circle against my thigh through the thin fabric of my dress. My breath stutters, and I catch his gaze. There’s something primal there, something that says he’s not unaffected by our charade either.
I steel myself, pushing away the urge to get lost in the moment. “We… we can ask around,” I suggest in a whisper. “See if anybody’s heard about his next party.”
He nods, clearing his throat as he removes his hand—almost reluctantly. The loss of contact is oddly disappointing. I take a bigger gulp of my drink to distract myself from the lingering spark on my skin.
We leave the bar area and wander deeper into the club, weaving through clusters of people. It’s a kaleidoscope of sights: a woman in a crimson latex dress laughing in a man’s ear; a tall, regal woman with silver hair perched on a chaise, watching a couple dance provocatively on a platform. Every so often, Lincoln murmurs a question—something casual about the nightlife here, or if they’ve heard about special events. We get a few shrugs, a few cryptic comments, but no clear lead.
“Why don’t we check the roped-off area?” I say, gesturing with my chin. “Might be more VIP types who actually know Rolfe.”
Lincoln’s eyes track the roped barrier. Two security guards stand at attention there, scanning the crowd for wristbands or some other sign of permission. People slip past them occasionally, disappearing into the curtained alcoves, or further down to the rooms at the end. I can’t help but wonder what goes on in those private booths and rooms—probably deals, rendezvous, and maybe far more.
“We’ll need a reason to get in,” Lincoln says.
I toss my hair, trying to exude confidence. “We can make one. Just follow my lead.”
Without waiting for him to respond, I hook my arm through his and guide him toward the barrier. One of the guards, a blonde woman with a stud in her eyebrow, arches a brow as we approach. She doesn’t move, though, which I take as a sign to speak.
“Hi,” I say, summoning a flirty smile. “We’d love a booth—somewhere more private.”
Her gaze sweeps over me, then Lincoln, measuring us up. “Membership or wristband?”
I feign ignorance. “We weren’t given a wristband at the door. Is there a cover we can pay instead?” I slide a glance at Lincoln, who calmly opens his wallet, producing a few crisp bills. He’s quick on the uptake, thank God.
The guard looks uninterested. “We don’t do covers here. You need an invitation to enter this section. No exceptions.”