3: Five Dollar Whore

DAMIEN

It’s brutal, really—being mistaken for your twin by the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes on. Every instinct screams to set her straight, but I bite it back. Because I can see it in those hazel eyes that the only reason she hasn’t brushed me off already is because she thinks I’m him.

Fucking hell.

So I give her a lazy grin, lean an inch closer. “And tell me, sweetheart… what exactly did you expect from Christian Voss?”

She narrows her eyes, then reaches out. I hold my breath through the three charged seconds it takes before her palm—burning hot—skims my cheek. My hand lifts, ready to catch hers, but she veers at the last second, fingers snagging on the scruff along my jaw.

“Your hair’s longer.”

My lips curve. “Dangerous observation. You planning to punish me for it?”

Her mouth tilts, not quite a smile. “No. Just unexpected. It… looks good on you.” She lets go like she’s already over it, dismissing me with a flick of her hand. “Didn’t think you’d dress like this either. Or be… not so insufferable.”

I tilt my head, drinking her in, amused at how little she realizes she’s feeding the fire. Her bluntness only makes me want to press harder, to see what else she’ll give away. And now that I’ve locked onto her eyes—those sharp, daring eyes, with that tiny beauty mark beneath one—I couldn’t look away if I tried. My fingers itch to claim it, just to see how she’d react.

“You know, it’s unfair.”

Her brows lift. “What is?”

“That you know my name. Everyone here knows my name. But I don’t know yours.”

“Desperate, are we?”

She’s right. And fuck if that doesn’t get under my skin more than it should. I want it—the intimacy of it, the claim. My grin turns sharper. “Always. Fix it, sweetheart. What do I call you when I take you home?”

“When?” Her eyes flash, a flicker of heat across her face before she reins it in. She licks her lower lip, as if testing how far she can go. “Ash,” she whispers, her lips curling at the edge. “You can call me Ash.”

Ash. Short. Dangerous. Already burning its way into my head.

I lean down, close enough that my breath fans across her ear. “Ash. Reckless choice, giving me that.”

Her hand ghosts over my chest, feather-light, leaving fire in its wake. “Maybe I like playing with fire.”

Christ. If I don’t kiss her in the next five minutes, I’ll go insane.

“Careful,” I murmur, voice dipped low, “you keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you like me. Tell me, beautiful—are you drunk, or just reckless?”

Her laugh is soft, but sharp-edged, like she’s daring me to take it the wrong way. “Reckless? Please. If I were reckless, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you.”

My brow arches. “You think this is safe?”

She leans in, close enough that I catch the trace of smoke and citrus clinging to her skin. Her perfume isn’t sweet—it’s bold, intoxicating, the kind you feel in the back of your throat. “Safer than most things I could be doing right now.”

I huff out a laugh, low and amused, though my blood spikes hotter with every word. “That sounds like an invitation.”

“Or a warning.” Her gaze flickers down my chest before snapping back up. She wants me to notice.

Christ. I drag my tongue across my teeth, my smirk cutting slow. “I like warnings. Makes it more fun when I ignore them.”

She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. “Arrogant, after all.”

“Confident,” I correct, leaning in until the space between us barely exists, her knee brushing mine under the bar. “Big difference.”

Her breath catches, the tiniest hitch, and I know I’ve got her. Still, she keeps her mask on, like she’s used to winning games like this. “Tell me, Voss,” she says, voice dropping, velvet-soft and dangerous, “do you always work this hard for attention?”

“Only when the prize is worth it.” My gaze lingers deliberately on the beauty mark under her eye, then lower, tracing the line of her mouth until she shifts in her seat.

She stills, holding my stare like she’s testing how far I’ll push. Then she tips her head, slow, deliberate. “And what if I’m not interested?”

I let the silence hang, watching her lips curve when she realizes I’m not buying it. I dip closer, my voice pitched just for her. “Then you wouldn’t still be sitting here.”

That cracks her. A quiet laugh spills out, breathless this time, not nearly as controlled. “You think you’re clever.”

“I know I am.” I reach past her, slow enough that her shoulders tense, and pluck her empty glass from the bar. Our fingers graze; her eyes darken. I hand it to the bartender without looking away from her. “Another?”

She shakes her head. “If I say yes, I might make a mistake.”

I grin, sharp and wolfish. “If you say no, you’ll regret it.”

Her lips part, and for a second I think she’s going to argue. Instead, she bites the corner of her mouth, studying me like she can’t quite decide if I’m trouble or exactly the kind of trouble she wants tonight.

I lean back, giving her space, letting the tension stretch thin as wire. “So, which is it, beautiful? Safe… or reckless?”

She doesn’t answer. She stands, smooth and decisive, tugging her clutch under her arm. When her hazel eyes lock on mine again, they’re blazing. “Follow me and find out.”

Fuck. My pulse stutters, then kicks hard. I toss a bill on the bar, don’t bother checking the change, and fall into step behind her.

Her heels strike against the marble, each step sharp as a countdown, pulling me through the crowd, past the glitter and laughter and fake handshakes. She doesn’t look back, doesn’t slow down, doesn’t need to—she knows I’m there.

At the front doors, the night air hits—cool, biting, electric. She lifts her chin at the waiting line of cars, not sparing me a glance. “Well, Voss? You leading, or am I?”

I smirk, sliding my hands into my pockets, though every muscle in me is wired tight. “Ladies first.”

She gives me that look again—half challenge, half promise—and glides forward, a queen cutting through the night. I catch up, close enough to breathe in her perfume again, dark and citrus-sweet, the kind that’ll haunt my sheets if I’m lucky.

“Where to?” I murmur, low enough only she can hear.

Her lips curve, slow and devastating. “Somewhere I won’t regret until morning.”

Dangerous. Fucking irresistible. I gesture to the valet, snagging my keys with a grin. “Then let’s make it a night worth regretting.”

* * *

“Good morning, beauti—”

My hand lands on nothing.

For the first time in a long while, I wake up alone. I should feel good about it — no sneaking out before she wakes up, no awkward goodbyes. But lying here now, I just feel… dumped.

Ash. That was her name.

The girl with the beauty mark under her left eye and the kind of smile that makes a man forget his own name.

I think about her laugh, the way she’d looked at me last night like she was memorising me. Damn. I actually want to see her again.

“Where’s my phone?” I grumble, patting around until I find it on the nightstand. Something slips off and hits my face.

I look down.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Five crumpled dollar bills.

And a tiny note: Thanks. For last night.

For a second, I just stare. Then I start laughing.

“She did not—” I wheeze, shaking my head. “Five dollars? That’s all I’m worth? A five-dollar whore?”