3

The woman across the room was a vixen. A fire breathing dragon with sinful curves and luscious lips. Lips Caleb Wolfe desperately wanted his own on. It wasn’t hard to imagine them in other places. One in particular, which was already standing to attention in his slacks. The look she’d cast that innocent fool could level entire cities, and now those eyes—those big brown eyes—were on him.

The turntable the Earth moved on slowed to a stop. Music ceased. The moron next to Caleb, who he only entertained in the hopes of earning his business contract, faded into muffled obscurity. It seemed nothing could make him drag his gaze away from the dark-haired beauty just five meters away.

She wore what he’d heard previous girlfriends describe as an LBD, which apparently never failed. This was certainly the case here. Hers was satin with a droopy neckline showing off ample cleavage, a double layered short skirt and a lace up back. A pair of black stilettos encased her feet, and a tiny black leather bag hung from her left shoulder.

He lifted the corner of his mouth in a smirk. He knew he had her from the wide-eyed way she took his body in. Her throat worked, and he was a millisecond from summoning her over. But her gaze fell to the drinks she was double fisting, and then she spun away, moving through the crowd with her hips swishing like a mating call. He spotted a back tattoo crawling up her spine—words of some kind in a language he couldn’t make out.

Noise filtered back in, and the turntable started rotating again.

“Fuck,” Caleb muttered, wiping a hand over his mouth.

“Everything alright, Wolfe?”

Reluctantly, Caleb turned back to his guest. Ed Dingle carried an air of small man syndrome, probably because he was barely pushing 5 foot 6 on a good day. He was into his fifties, balding, and pudgy. Total catch. “All good. Would you excuse me? I find myself in need of a trip to the little boy’s room.”

“Of course, don’t let me keep you!” Ed smacked Caleb’s thigh, and he tried not to bat him away.

“Cheers,” Caleb said gruffly, and rose from his seat in their private booth.

He moved into the throng of clubbers, dodging rogue elbows and bumping hips. The vixen would have disappeared entirely, if it weren’t for her holding her two drinks aloft like her life depended on it.

Caleb tracked those hands through the crowd and into a room blasting The Boy Is Mine by Brandy & Monica. He might hate it more if he didn’t spot the way this woman moved her body in time to the music, a tall blonde matching her rhythm and now holding the second drink.

When the song ended she said something in her friend’s ear and started moving again—back towards the bar. Could she be looking for him? One could hope.

He followed her back through the club, his business deal long forgotten. Perhaps not very professional of him, but this woman had bewitched him. He’d die if he didn’t have a taste of her by the end of the night.

She stopped dead in her tracks as she beheld the now empty booth. Even Ed Dingle had vacated to get his grubby hands on an oblivious student by the bar. Given the way his mouth sucked on her neck, Caleb could only assume he wasn’t giving any thought to his wife.

He watched, fascinated, as the woman he’d been trailing deflated. She let out a sigh so sad it was nothing but endearing.

Feeling emboldened, Caleb approached her back. When he lifted her long dark hair off her shoulder she visibly stiffened, and goosebumps raised across every bare inch of her skin.

He lowered his mouth to her ear, tracing the back of his finger down her arm. “Looking for someone?”