By Chanta Rand
Mary stepped out of the limo and stood on shaky legs as Stirling clasped her hand in his. The man’s kiss had nearly made her knees buckle. She held on tight, hoping she didn’t fall and bust her ass wearing these five-inch stilettos. The sparkly pumps were a far cry from the comfortable sneakers she normally wore. Tonight her mission was dress to impress. By the way Stirling’s tongue was hanging out, she’d succeeded.
Before they could reach the door, a photographer sprang up like a jack-in-the-box to snap a photo of them. Stirling wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, settling into a picture-perfect pose. It wasn’t hard to smile, especially feeling the heat of Stirling’s palm scorching through the material of her dress. Desire snaked through her veins like liquid fire. She was still thinking about his promise to find out what her other lips tasted like. If his kiss was any indication, this man would live up to every fantasy she’d ever had about him.
Moments later, clinging to his arm, she stepped through the door of the posh Palladium Club. Bittersweet sweet pride replaced passion as her eyes swept across her handiwork. Even beneath the dim light of the glittering chandeliers, she saw her stamp of classiness everywhere. She was responsible for everything—from the velvet, burgundy drapes parted with gold tassels to the gold tablecloths and white lily centrepieces. She’d even picked the venue. Her dumbass boss didn’t have the connections to secure a party here. Ironically, when she booked this place (at a substantial discount), she never thought she’d be attending with a man who made her panties wet.
A waiter approached, carrying a tray laden with flutes of Cristal champagne. Stirling plucked two flutes from the tray and passed one to her. If he kept this up, she’d be as drunk as her boss had falsely accused her of.
No sooner had she tipped the glass to her lips, did the man suddenly appear. His jaw dropped the moment he set eyes on her. Within seconds, his short, stubby legs stormed into her personal space.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I thought I made it clear you no longer work for me.”
Before she could reply, Stirling’s six-foot-plus frame stepped in front of her boss. “I’m Stirling Drake. Ms. Reynolds is my date. Is there a problem?”
The frost in Stirling’s voice generated enough ice for an igloo.
“Oh, um…my mistake,” her boss stammered. “I, uh…didn’t realize—”
“Shouldn’t you be attending to the guests instead of harassing my date?”
If Little Napoleon were of fairer complexion, he would have turned beet red. But his coffee-color skin betrayed no emotion. Only the slight twitching of his right eye let her know he was pissed. She’d seen the tick plenty of times—because she was usually the one pissing him off.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Drake.” Her boss practically saluted. “Is there anything…else I can do for you?”
“You’ve done enough. In fact, the best part about you letting her go is that I get to have her all to myself.”
Her boss walked off, clearly flustered and embarrassed. Mary giggled, fighting the sudden throbbing between her legs. “What exactly do you have planned for me, Stirling Drake?”
A devilish grin crept across his handsome features. “Magic, baby. We’re going to make beautiful magic together.”