Three Little Mistakes (Blindfold Club 3)

“Thanks, Alan,” I said, dismissing him.

Her eyes blinked, drinking me in, and she seemed to study me just as intensely as I did her. I wasn’t prepared for how . . . well, adorable she was. There wasn’t a better word for it. Thick, glossy hair that went nicely with her fair skin, even though she wasn’t a real blonde. Bright eyes. Lush, pink lips. Oh, yeah. The men at my other club would write blank checks for that face. And Heather had given her notice, which meant I needed to fill a spot . . .

Stop evaluating her and focus.

“Are you all right?” I asked. There was no need to force concern. I was genuinely worried about what had happened to her.

“I’m okay.”

I wasn’t expecting such a strong voice from a slight girl, but then again, I’d gotten a taste of some of her fire downstairs, hadn’t I?

“I own this club, and I want you to know I take security very seriously. I’d like to apologize on behalf of my staff for the incident. If you need to see a doctor, someone can—”

“I said I’m okay.” Her voice was clipped, as if annoyed. If she wanted to blame me for what happened, I understood and respected it. She should have been safe here, and I’d failed that obligation.

“Can I get you anything?”

She pulled the ice pack away and held it up. “Someone brought me this, I’m good.”

But, oh no, she wasn’t. The bruise was already bright red.

“That’s gotta hurt like hell. I have Advil in my desk somewhere, for the swelling.” I yanked open a drawer and rummaged through it.

The ice pack returned to the injury. “No offense, but I’m not interested in taking pills from a stranger. I’ve got some in my purse anyway.”

The drawer creaked as I shut it and set my gaze on her once mor

e, starting at her heels and working my way up. Petite frame and in good shape. A narrow waist that called for hands to latch onto it. To pull her backward onto my—

My head clouded with lust and left me disoriented. What was with me? What was this reaction?

“Do you want to call the police and file a report?” I asked. Please say no.

“No!” She made a face as if her own response had startled her. “No, I’m fine. Wrong place at the wrong time, let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

She was underage. Her alarmed expression said the cops coming here was the last thing she wanted. Yeah, me too.

“Look, Mr . . .”

“Joseph.” It came out of my mouth before I thought better. Last name would have been more professional, but for some insane reason I wanted this girl to know my name. Normally her innocent, fresh-faced look wouldn’t do anything for me, but the strong voice, her sharp eyes, and the unexpected slap had piqued my interest.

“Joseph,” she repeated. “I’m not going to sue your establishment. To be honest, I’m not supposed to be here, and I’d kind of just like to go home.”

The girl had given me an out, but I couldn’t let it go. “Can I see your ID?” When she shot me a dubious expression, I added, “I still have to document this, in case something happens down the road or you change your mind about bringing charges.”

I was sure the expression I gave said this wasn’t negotiable. Her hand dug in the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the driver’s license, extending it. I crossed the space to her, and now the full claustrophobic effect took hold. This girl in front of me was small, and yet she filled the room. Her gaze was fixed on me, and a fleeting emotion passed through her. Anxiety? Did I make her nervous, or had my request simply done that?

The ID was real, and most definitely not hers. I tightened the hold on the plastic card until the edges bit into my fingers. “I’m keeping this,” I said, glancing at the name, “Molly Givens.”

“What? Why?” Her expression didn’t falter. Didn’t change a hair.

“Because you shouldn’t be in here when you’re not twenty-one.”

Her face soured. At first, I thought she looked pissed at being busted, but no. This was something else.

“All right, Joseph,” she snapped. “Maybe that’s not my ID, and I know I look young, but I promise you, I’m over twenty-one. I turned twenty-one two years ago.”

“You’re using a fake ID when you’re twenty-three? That makes sense.”