Kira Sinclair – Captivate Me (страница 8)

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BECKETT STARED OUT of the one-way window that looked over the twisting, gyrating mass of bodies below. Not even the double-paned glass could block the loud, thumping music blaring through the club.

Lights flashed, white, gold, green and blue, spinning, twirling and pulsing rhythmically.

Arms crossed over his chest, hips spread wide, he surveyed his domain. From his vantage point he could see the bar was three deep in people yelling for another round of drinks. He’d thought about scheduling another bartender, but with three working already it would have been a tight squeeze to get another person back there.

The customers didn’t seem to mind the wait. Not when there was a line of people outside chomping at the bit to get in. Waitresses in deep-red bustiers, black satin boyshorts and silk thigh highs circulated through the room. Tonight, in a nod to Mardi Gras, they wore black feathered masks and had ropes of beads draped around their necks.

The three waiters working the floor all walked around naked from the waist up. That wasn’t his requirement, but the guys quickly realized they made better tips that way. Besides, between the packed bodies and the heat generated from the dance floor, they all said it was cooler.

Beckett didn’t care, as long as it didn’t cause problems. Women were just as likely to have roaming hands as men, and sometimes when they drank they forgot their boyfriends were sitting there watching them fondle his staff.

Satisfied that everything was working smoothly tonight, Beckett’s focus shifted from the floor to the walls and rafters. It was an old warehouse he’d converted, and there was plenty of room to handle the upgrades he wanted.

V&D’s app was a twist on an interactive social media platform that dovetailed nicely with the theme of Exposed—sumptuous and gritty, in-your-face access.

Watch Me would connect to cameras set up to record and broadcast live feeds directly from each of his clubs. People anywhere could not only watch the party, but also interact.

He already had contractors ready to install huge screens that would plaster the walls and ceiling. Several of them would project other locations—the New York feed would play on screens in Chicago. Someone from Iowa or Paris could hook up the feed and play it at their own makeshift party. And then upload videos of their experience, which would play over the screens in Seattle.

It essentially made the world one big, connected party.

To take it a step further, there was in-app communication. A guy in Geneva could message the beautiful girl in New Orleans he just watched dance and even send her a drink from the bar.

Global exposure and connection.

He could see it. Technology being used to bring people together instead of separating and isolating them.

What he couldn’t understand was how Alyssa Vaughn didn’t see the potential. Or didn’t want to see it.

The memory of their meeting had conflicting emotions rolling through his body—frustration and urgency. His muscles tightened, his hands balled into fists.

The way her pale eyes had flashed at him, angry and full of disdain.

He’d thought of revealing who he was, but he didn’t think she would have appreciated that revelation in company. And by the time the meeting was finished, he’d been so irritated and aroused he’d decided to keep the secret indefinitely.

He still had no idea what he’d done to her, but it was obvious her aversion to him went deeper than a simple business decision.

And he couldn’t help but wonder how often she’d done something like that striptease last night. Was he a first? Or one in a long line of wanton experiences?

From out of nowhere, a surge of jealousy had his eyes narrowing dangerously. That line of thinking would get him nowhere.

Needing the distraction, he slipped out of his office and through the cleverly concealed door in the wall, down onto the floor. He wasn’t drunk or interested in dancing, but he had to weave through half the club to get to the bar.

On his way through, he lost count of how many times his ass was grabbed or palms slid across his chest. Someone even managed to slip fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Clamping his hand around the offending wrist, he pulled the digits away from his skin. They were attached to a beautiful blonde, her body covered in a dark red dress that plunged in the front and stopped about four inches down her thighs. She smiled at him, blue eyes full of invitation.

Despite the way he used his grip on her arm to hold her away, her body undulated suggestively, as if she were plastered hard against him.

“Hi, sugar. Care to buy me a drink?” she asked, her lips smirking with promise.

It was impossible not to compare this woman to Alyssa. Blatant sexuality against bone-deep sensuality. This woman had everything she offered on display. There was no mystery. No challenge. He could have her upstairs across his desk in three minutes flat—only because it would take that long to get back to the office.

It had been a long time since Beckett had wanted easy.

Alyssa was all mystery, her wild streak hidden from prying eyes just as surely as the heavyhearted ink on her ribs. Everything about her was a question and contradiction.

If today had been their first meeting, he probably would have walked away thinking she was innocently gorgeous, but positively untouchable. No doubt, he would still have been attracted to her, but he’d have figured she wasn’t the kind of woman who could match him.

But last night...that changed everything. He’d seen beneath the perfect veneer. And he wanted more.

Maybe that’s why he found himself turning around. And instead of heading to the bar to check on his employees, was out the door.

4

BECKETT LOUNGED ON the street, his eyes glued to the door of Alyssa’s building. The press of people, swirl of madness and cacophony of sound surrounding him should have been distracting. But he couldn’t tear his gaze from her door.

He shouldn’t be here. Logically, he realized this was a bad idea. But, for some reason, his feet wouldn’t obey the order to walk away.

Standing on the sidewalk outside her building was rather stupid, especially since he had no way of knowing if she was even home. Most people weren’t. Not on a Saturday during Mardi Gras. The party raged right outside her front door and she was probably lost somewhere in the crowd, enjoying it.

While he was staked out here staring at her apartment like he might suddenly develop X-ray vision.

He’d wanted her last night when she’d given him a glimpse of herself. And he didn’t just mean the smooth expanse of her skin. The fever of her desire. The way she’d reveled in his eyes on her. Her teasing and tempting. Bold and sensual. Daring.

It was the siren beneath her prim and proper exterior that held him captive. Instinct told him it was something she didn’t share with many. He craved the moment she’d surrender and give in to the need snapping hot and dangerous between them.

Being pulled along by the frenzied atmosphere, Beckett had joined in, donning the same mask from the night before. A cup of beer clutched in his hand, he settled back against the wall. And forced his gaze to focus on the crowd instead of the apartment across the way.

He was mentally arguing with himself, trying to convince himself that he should leave, when she was suddenly there. Pausing just outside the door that protected her building from the madness, she stared into the throng, getting her bearings.

A small smile tugging her lips, she pushed through the crowd, heading for Canal and the Endymion parade that would roll through soon. She was too late to get close, people had been camped out for hours to save spots, but she didn’t seem to care.

Unlike last night, she was no longer weighed down by exhaustion. An answering bubble of amusement rippled through his chest. He wanted to see her happy.

He wasn’t sure why, but that realization surprised him.

Although that joviality didn’t last for long. Not when, following her and debating whether or not to approach, he watched another man push into her personal space. The guy, most likely a college student—and from the looks of him an underage one, drunk off his ass—slammed into her.

Worry and anger twisted in Beckett’s gut. Ignoring the glares and shouts, he started shoving at the wall of people blocking him from Alyssa. But he couldn’t get to her fast enough.

His gaze never strayed, though. Huge clumsy hands wrapped around her hips, jerking her closer. Alyssa rocked back, going up onto the heels of the turquoise cowboy boots that hugged her calves. Who owned shoes that loud? He definitely wouldn’t have expected it of the cool-and-collected Alyssa he’d faced off with across the table today.

Now the minx who’d teased him last night...those boots fit her perfectly, all wild and outlandish.

Drunk Frat Boy ran a hand up her naked arm, from wrist to shoulder. He squeezed, urging her against the wide expanse of his chest. Beckett had spent the past several years of his life watching men and women dance around each other, playing the attraction game. It was clear to him this guy wanted Alyssa. He wouldn’t put it past the dude to have bumped into her on purpose.