‘Clare, do me a favour and hold the room for five. I just need to take care of something.’
‘Sure.’
I’m already heading for the exit, the restrooms, giving a polite ‘I’ll be back in just a moment...’ to anyone who pauses to speak to me.
I know I don’t need to beckon him, that he’ll be hot on my tail. And he is. As soon as my hand presses into the restroom door he’s at my back.
‘Escaping?’
I turn and smile up at him. ‘Wait here.’
His brow pinches together. He’s unaccustomed to being commanded—that’s obvious. But he does as he’s told and I walk through the door, scanning the stalls. They’re all empty and I don’t hang around. I pull open the door and reach for the skinny black tie that reminds me so much of the defiant teen I loved.
‘Come.’
I walk backwards and he moves with me, feeding the power swimming like liquid heat through my veins, my core.
‘What is this, Eva?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I hope it’s you calling in a ten-year debt.’
I keep moving, ignoring the brief spike of pain, of heartbreak. Knowing I’m about to replace it with something far more satisfying.
‘Do you remember that night?’
His jaw clenches, his eyes ablaze, and I know he’s reliving it.
‘Yes,’ he grinds out.
His tension is palpable and I take conceited pleasure in it.
‘I remember.’
I push open a stall door, thankful for the opulent finish, and nudge him inside. A toilet wouldn’t be my ideal place to feed this need, but it’s certainly the most convenient. And, as far as toilets go, this is designed for a certain clientele—a sleek private vanity area, with space for a woman’s multitude of possessions or her derriere, should the need arise. How very convenient.
I back him inside, blindly locking the door behind me. ‘Do you remember how you left me?’
He falters and shakes his head.
‘No?’ I raise my brow at him, my fingers toying with the slit in the silk that rides high up my thigh.
‘I do remember.’
His voice is tight. It reverberates through my spine as I circle the exposed skin and raise the slit higher. ‘What do you remember, Lucas?’
‘I remember you wore a white number that barely covered your arse.’
I can feel the effort it takes him to form the words and my confidence edges ever higher. I hook my fingers into the fabric of my dress and spread it open across my thigh, loving how his eyes track the move, his breath hitching.
‘What else?’
‘I remember how your skin felt beneath my palms...the taste of champagne on your tongue.’
He gives a small shudder and his fists flex at his sides. I know he wants to reach for me, but something is stopping him. And I’m glad. I want to be in control. The one driving this...
I lift the fabric until it exposes the lace of my nude thong and watch him swallow heavily.