“Yeah, well, he knows this one at least,” Curly replies.
Moira’s hand pauses on the rim of the wine glass, her eyes flickering back toward me.
I chance a look at Curly, warmth filling my chest from the way he defended me. From the way his simple words made me feel a little less stupid, a little less like just another dumb girl with a crush.
“Hmm,” she hums. “Well you’ll be waiting a long time tonight, sunshine, because Hook isn’t even here.”
Curly tilts his head. “He was earlier.”
“Well, that was earlier.” A grin sneaks across her face, her white teeth gleaming. “He had me give him a proper goodbye before he left for the night.”
I can tell she’s trying to get a reaction, so I don’t give her one, but it doesn’t stop her words from slamming into my middle, planting roots and spreading their seeds.
“Moira.” A shadow appears behind her, James stepping into the light of the bar. His eyes glint, his black hair tousled like his hands have tugged at the roots. Or maybe Moira’s. “You should know better than to lie to my special guests.”
Her frame stiffens, the polishing rag and wine glass frozen in the air.
“Hook,” she speaks slowly. “You’re back.”
A bolt of satisfaction splits through the cloud of doubt. She called him Hook. Not James.
His head tilts as he stops next to her. “Never left.”
He grabs the wine glass from her hand, holding it up to the light as if he’s checking for smudges. The air grows thick, a few voices from the remaining patrons splicing through the tension, and soft music floating through the speakers. But none of us move. None of us speak.
“Hmm.” He tsks, setting the glass down on the bar top. “Your job is lackluster, I’m afraid.”
“Hook, I—” she starts.
He spins toward her, the move so sudden it makes my breath stall in my lungs. I’ve never seen this side of him before, and while it should put me on edge, I realize the heat brewing deep in my belly is arousal.
“Did I give you the assumption that I would enjoy you speaking of me when I’m not around?” he asks.
Her eyes widen, lips parting. “No, I—”
“No,” he snaps. His eyes flicker toward me, the harshness of his gaze softening. He cracks his neck, running a hand down the front of his suit and gesturing toward the glasses. “These look terrible. Start again, and if there are any spots at the end, don’t bother coming back tomorrow.”
“What?” she scoffs.
But it doesn’t matter because she’s already lost his attention, his eyes zoned in on me as he strides over, a smile breaking across his face.
My mind whirls with the scene I just witnessed, lost between what I should feel and how I actually do. His hand touches the open back of my dress, chills skating down my skin at the warmth of his palm.
Breath coasts across my face, James’s lips pressing softly against my cheek. “Darling, you look edible. I regret wasting my night in meetings instead of showing you how thoroughly I enjoy you in that color.”
Blood rushes to my face, heating me from the inside out.
Call me petty, call me vengeful, but I can’t stop the way my eyes glance to Moira, satisfaction burrowing in my chest at the way she’s watching him touch me and whisper in my ear.
“Hi.” I grin up at him.
“Are you ready to go?” His thumb presses into my bottom lip.
“With you?”
“As if I’d allow you to leave with anyone else.”
His hand encases mine, pulling me from my seat and into his arms.
And regardless of all the things left unsaid between us; all the ways I still need to get to know him, I let him lead me out the door.
20
James
People do what I tell them. It isn’t a novel concept, in fact, it’s when they don’t that is the rarity. However, it’s normally out of either fear or respect that has them bowing to my whims.
So, seeing Wendy walk into my bar wearing the exact baby blue dress from the first night I saw her, it does things to me. Sends pleasure skating through my insides, knowing that she did it for no other reason than to please me. Like a good pet.
It was more difficult than I expected to sit in my office, watching her on the security feed; testing to see if she’d wait for as long as I needed. But once I saw her interact with Moira, I knew I needed to end my experiment. Can’t have a silly waitress messing up my plans by scaring the girl away.
Although, I do think she might be rather difficult to get rid of. While the media has always painted her as Peter’s pride and joy, she’s succumbing to me so easily. Almost like she’s desperate for the attention.
If I could still feel things the way a normal person does, her attachment would cause sympathy to swell in my chest. I assume, after all, it’s trauma of some type that has her clinging so quickly. But my heart no longer pumps the way it should. And while my blood still runs red, any soul I once had has been eaten by the acid that runs through my veins.
Even as a boy, there was something about me that attracted the darkness in even the lightest of souls; drawing it to the surface until it cascaded from their bodies and drenched my skin, burning like black tar on a sunny day.
And maybe that’s why I find Wendy so refreshing. Why it’s so easy to get lost inside of her. Because she’s the only person that hasn’t been swallowed whole by my sickness.
Not yet, anyway.
“Where’s Smee?” she asks, sprawling out on the couch in my living room.
I settle in close, offering her a glass of water and crossing my foot over my opposite leg. “I’m not sure.” I glance around. “His time is his time, I try to stay out of his personal life, and expect him to do the same. I’m sure he’ll turn up at some point.”
She nods, taking a sip of water before setting it down. “That’s nice. You seem like a good boss.”
I grin, my hand reaching out and running up the bare skin of her thigh. “I think you’ll find I’m phenomenal at giving direction.”
She giggles. “And so humble too.”
Smirking, my fingers tease the hem of her dress. She trembles under my palm, and my cock hardens at how responsive she is to my touch.
“I—” She swallows, shaking her head. “I have some questions.”
Annoyance flickers in my chest, but I pull back, raising a brow. “Alright.”
Her fingers twist together as she stares down at her lap—something I’ve realized she does whenever she’s nervous.
“What do you do for a living?”
The question surprises me. I foolishly assumed that if she hadn’t asked by now, she wouldn’t. I lean back, my arms spanning the length of the couch. “I’m a businessman.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, so is my father. But I mean, what do you do?”
The mention of her father sparks a blaze inside of me, and I’m suddenly desperate to know everything about him from her point of view. “Your father?”
“Ugh.” She palms her face. “I wasn’t actually planning on talking about him. But yeah. He’s a ‘businessman.’”
“Oh.” I run my tongue over my teeth. “Maybe I’ve worked with him.”