She leaned in for the kind of kiss she’d so far avoided. Her body pressed against his, she kissed him fully, deeply, and once she’d started she found it nearly impossible to stop. He buried a hand in her hair. Pulling away for a moment to gaze at her in wonder, before finding her lips once again. His fingers creeping steadily up her thigh, slipping under her dress, as she melted into his arms. Ryan adored her. She could hear it in his voice. Feel it in his touch. And as his fingers flirted with the edge of her thong, she wondered if it was actually possible to die of happiness.
His breath grew heated and quick, as he coaxed a finger under the lace, only to have her panic and push him away. “Aster, please,” he moaned, his voice hoarse. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” He pulled her back to him, reclaiming her lips in a way that had her torn between ripping his clothes off and doing him right there in the Riad, and pulling the brake while she still could. Losing her virginity in public was never part of the plan.
“Ryan.” She placed her palms on his shoulders and pushed him away until there was enough space between them for her to think clearly. “I can’t do this—not here—not like this. . . .” She paused, unsure if she should mention he was about to be her first. Some guys liked that sort of thing, while others did their best to steer clear. She decided against it. The night was already more perfect than she’d imagined; she wouldn’t allow anything to change that. “We need to slow down. Or at least I need to slow down.” She took a deep breath, then rushed to explain. “I’m still at work. I can’t exactly spend the whole night in here with you. Though that’s not to say that later, after the club closes, we can’t . . . finish what we started . . .” She flashed a flirtatious grin, aware of her heart pounding so loudly it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it.
Ryan considered her for a long, thoughtful moment. Then, without another word, he rose to his feet, extended his hand, and shot her that world-famous smile that made a million hearts melt, hers included.
“Where we going?” she asked, afraid he was trying to lure her away, despite what she’d said.
“Dance with me, Aster. You’re at least allowed to dance, right?”
She grasped his hand and let him lead her onto the dance floor.
“Though believe me, once you’re off the clock, I have every intention of picking up exactly where we left off.”
THIRTY-TWO
THIS IS HOW A HEART BREAKS
Layla stood by the bar and checked the time on her phone. “You going to the party?” Zion asked, coming over to join her.
Layla took in his shaved head, gleaming brown skin, perfect bone structure, and bronze-colored eyes, and shrugged. Zion was ridiculously beautiful, and he knew how to work it. But somehow it wasn’t nearly as annoying coming from him as it was from Aster Amirpour.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to pass up the chance to celebrate Queen Bitch Aster?” Zion goaded her.
“It’s not about Aster,” she reminded him. “It just happens to take place at Night for Night. Ira promised he’d rotate the parties.”
“Well, don’t tell Aster. She thinks it’s her club. Just like she thinks it’s her party.”
Layla rolled her eyes. It was nice to share a common enemy. Not to mention Zion was the only one on her team still talking to her. Brandon was gone, and Karly had never warmed up. Though she often suspected it was probably because Zion didn’t view her as a threat. Sure, she’d managed to bring in Heather Rollins, but Zion consistently filled up the club with so many insanely gorgeous models, it eclipsed her more modest gets.
Not like she cared. Thanks to Heather and all the Madison gossip she fed Layla, the blog was taking off. Still, in order to maintain her insider access, she needed to stay in the game, which made her just as determined as Zion.
“Is that your get?” Zion shook his head and made
a disgusted face, as he nodded toward a man who could only be described as beige. “Honey, that’s not even normcore, that’s borecore. And it looks like mister tall, pale, and nondescript is heading your way. I’ll leave you to it.”
Layla watched as the man approached, the colorful overhead lights casting crazy shadows over his face. With his pleated khakis, tan walking shoes, and white golf shirt, he looked so out of place among the trendy young club kids, she wondered for a moment if he was somebody’s dad.
“Are you Layla Harrison?” His pale gaze moved over her.
She nodded, watching in confusion as he reached into his back pocket and handed her a folded sheet of paper. “What’s this?” She squinted at the official-looking typeface.
“Restraining order.”
She blinked and shook her head, sure she’d misheard.
“From this point on, you are not to go within fifty feet of Madison Brooks.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Layla trembled with frustration and rage as her fingers crunched the paper into her fist. “I trip and spill my drink and now I’m a stalker? Is she for real?”
“Stalking charges are no joke. Neither are the slanderous stories you post on your blog.” His face was impassive, gave nothing away.
“It’s not slander if it’s true,” Layla grumbled, before she could stop herself.
She shook her head and looked around the club, convinced Zion or Karly was playing some kind of prank. Until she looked at the tall, plain man again, saw the way his gaze narrowed on hers until his pale eyes nearly disappeared.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked. His bland face looked vaguely familiar, though she had no idea why.