Fifth Avenue Devil

Chapter 23

Twenty-Three

Annalise

G od. What am I doing here?

The answer is simple. I’m going out without Nate. It seems like lately, all I do is go to work and then have passionate sex with Nate at his place. While I’m all for the multiple orgasms Nate gives me, a thought has nagged me for the last couple of days.

It feels like I’m starting to depend on Nate Fordham to have a good time. And I can’t have that. Nate and I have a very specific relationship. One that was outlined in a contract, for god’s sake.

I need to exist outside of Nate and his expectations for a night. And it just so happened that my cousin Dana texted me an invite to go clubbing. She always sends them, but I’ve never answered.

Until tonight.

I swallow tightly. The bass pulses like a second heartbeat. It thuds against my chest as I step into the room. Neon lights streak across a throng of people on the dance floor. The bodies in motion lit from above are a strange new art form. The air is thick. I smell designer fragrances mixed with the tang of sweat.

Do I really want to go any further?

My mother's voice, a ruthless echo of etiquette in my head, screeches at full volume in my head. I swivel my gaze and take in the scantily clad dancers. At the bar, a group of men down a shot. A woman in a ruby-red dress makes out with a man twice her age.

There are so many things that Monique Gellar would hate with a passion. But the Annalise she raised to sit primly, legs crossed, and lips sealed, is not here tonight.

The strobes catch my reflection in a nearby mirror as I follow my cousin past it. Blonde curls bounce untamed around my petite shoulders. A sparkly white minidress clings to my frame. I even catch a glint of rebellion in my eyes. For once, I'm not the nice girl.

I’m someone else entirely.

My cousin Dana catches my hand. "I’m so glad you came out!"

“I’m glad you invited me,” I intone. But I’m pretty sure that the pulsating music’s chaotic sounds swallow my words.

Dana is undoubtedly crowing in victory at the sight of me finally stepping off the pedestal of perfection. Our whole lives, I’ve been the good one, while Dana has been the one my parents whisper about.

Poor girl, caught out partying at all hours. She’s only thirteen!

I remember, all too well, the satisfied smirks my parents shared in secret. They were gleeful because they liked to see others struggle. Or maybe because they knew that their little girl would never dare to be caught out late?

What would Archer and Monique say now? I don’t even have to wonder.

“Hey! Keep up with me, please! I don’t want to lose you in this crowd,” Dana says. “I know this is your first time at a club, so it’s vital that you stick to me like glue.”

My stomach does a flip. Dana’s perfect smile, and perfect pinup blonde locks, do little to reassure me.

“Okay,” I mumble. Inside, I’m wondering if this was a terrible idea.

Dana grins. “No need to look like I’m marching you to the firing squad. Cheer up! It’s a party!”

Taking my hand, Dana sails back to our secluded VIP nook. In the dark, a champagne bucket and glasses sit, chilling.

Her grin is as effervescent as she pops the cork and pours champagne for us both. A waitress swishes by our table and sets down a tray clinking with shots of clear liquid.

Without a word, Dana passes the woman a hundred. My cousin turns to me, her excitement evident. She waves her hand over the tray. “I ordered some tequila for us.”

I shake my head. “Uh, no thanks. I’ve never had tequila before.”

"Come on, Annalise, live a little," she teases. She nudges a shot toward me. It’s an invitation to sin, wrapped in good-natured camaraderie.

I hesitate. Isn’t this exactly why I agreed to come here? To loosen up and experience something I haven’t before?

"Should we toast to new experiences?” I ask.

"Damn right," Dana shouts over the music. We clink the small glasses together and take the shot. I only get half of it down my throat before the burn of the alcohol makes me gasp. I cough and try to suck in a breath, spitting the rest of the shot onto the floor.

“Whoops!” Dana laughs, pounding my back. “It’s okay. That’s why I got a bunch of shots.”

She hands me a couple of cocktail napkins. I splutter as I dab at the tequila that I spilled on my dress. “Sorry, Dana.”

"Seriously, don’t give it a second thought. Just sit back and get comfy.” She squeezes my arm. “I'm stoked you called me. This place?" She gestures expansively to the club full of gyrating bodies and pulsating lights. "This is where I reign."

"You come here a lot?" I ask. I flush. Do I already sound drunk?

"Yep. I’ve been coming here for a decade," Dana says.

My eyes bulge out. Dana is only twenty-four. Is she saying that she came here at fourteen years old?

The sound changes and she lets out a howl. “Oooh, I love this song! Come on, Annalise. We have to dance!"

She stands up and does another shot. When I hesitate, she puts the shot glass to my mouth and tips it up. I can only open and accept the flood of alcohol she pours down my throat. My mouth fills quickly and the extra tequila sluices down my chin.

I wipe my mouth as I swallow. It suddenly occurs to me how much taking tequila shots is like having a man come in your mouth. The thought makes me gasp with laughter.

"Ready?" Dana asks. It isn't so much a question as a summons. The dance floor awaits.

"Ready as I’ll ever be," I declare. I can feel the alcohol now. It’s igniting a rare recklessness within me.

I think I like tequila , I decide.

Hand in hand, we leave the safety of the VIP lounge. The entire dance floor is laid out before us. A pulsating mass of bodies moves in sync with the beat. Dana plunges into the fray. She’s absolutely uninhibited, and as she pulls me along it’s all I can do to hang on for the ride.

She finds a spot for us and throws her hands up in the air, swaying to the music. I feel like I’m nothing but sharp elbows and awkward steps. Watching the people around me shimmy and swirl euphorically only makes me more anxious.

“I’m a bad dancer!!” I shout into Dana’s ear.

"Practice makes perfect! Nobody's watching," Dana shouts over the music. She moves her head in time with her arms. "You have to feel the rhythm!"

I paste a smile on my face and carry on. Slowly, I realize that most of the people around me have their eyes closed. That helps me to feel like they’re not staring at me. A current of electricity starts to seep up from the soles of my feet to the tips of fingers. The beating pulse of the music envelops me.

It’s freeing to discover that no one cares. Not about my clumsy steps. Not about my money or my job. Here, I am truly anonymous. I’m free from the scrutiny that accompanies my last name.

I dance with abandon. The seductive allure of being a secret hidden in plain sight lures out a side of me that I didn’t know existed!

"Look at you!" Dana laughs as she twirls around me. "Who knew the ice queen could melt?"

"Watch it," I retort, playfully.

But she’s right. I feel alive in a way that I never have before.

We dance for a few more songs before Dana cups her hands around my ear. “Let’s take a break!”

I nod enthusiastically. We retreat to our velvet-lined haven in the VIP section. The music softens once we sit in the leather booth.

Dana wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. "We've set that floor on fire."

“That was so fun!” I crow. I fan my face, feeling flushed.

“It only gets more fun the longer you stay.” Dana winks at me and offers me a glass of champagne.

I giggle and sip. This time, when Dana takes another tequila shot, I do one along with her. I’m feeling loose and hot, and I’m grinning ear to ear.

Why have I never done this before? I wonder.

As I sink into the plush couch, a familiar face causes a jolt of electricity to arc through me.

Nate —imposing and impossibly handsome—casually sits down in our booth. His gray eyes seem silver in the sporadic flicker of the strobe lights.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Dana purrs, sliding over to Nate with a confidence that borders on audacity. "Nate Fordham, as I live and breathe."

“You two know each other?” I ask. Suddenly, I’m wracking my brain to remember if Dana ever mentioned having a crush on a Nate. But I come up empty.

Nate leans forward, pinning me in place with his gaze. “We’ve met,” he concedes. “We don’t know each other that well, though.”

I gulp. “That’s… nice.”

“It’s a rare pleasure to get Nate here all to ourselves,” Dana yells. “Don’t have to get up early, I assume?”

“No.” He doesn’t even make eye contact with her.

I’m sweating over here.

She bombards him with questions, each more intrusive than the last. He parries them with the ease of a man accustomed to dodging prying inquiries. His politeness is disarming. But it's clear to me that he's not here to play twenty questions with my cousin.

At last, Dana gets bored and excuses herself to go to the restroom. I don’t move to join her, and she huffs as she turns to go.

"How did you find me?" I ask once she’s out of earshot.

“Maybe I wanted to relax in this loud, hot room. Ever think of that?” He tilts his head.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I think you’re full of it, Nate.”

He chuckles, a low, resonant sound that dances down my spine. "I have eyes everywhere, Annalise. I wasn’t looking for you, but I still found you."

"Here I am. Now that you’ve found me, what are you going to do about it?"

An unspoken challenge hangs between us. A test of wills that's as intoxicating as the top-shelf liquor that’s flowing in this club.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" His reply nonplusses me.

I stand up and do another shot. Nate’s eyebrows rise. I smirk at him. “I think you’re just here to torment me. And I hate it. Come dance with me.”

"I enjoy watching," he drawls. He eyes me with an intensity that scorches my skin.

"Scared you can't keep up?" I tease. I’m probably going too far, but I don’t care.

"I’m just here to watch the show." He sits back, draping his arms over the back of the couch.

Frustration nips at me. I down another shot and liquid courage fuels my determination. The fire left behind in my throat is nothing compared to the feeling Nate ignites in me.

"Your loss," I toss over my shoulder. I hope the words are an invitation.

But he doesn’t follow me as I push out onto the dance floor.

For a minute, I shimmy and slide around the dance floor. But soon, a man starts to dance closer and closer. I welcome him, moving my hips in a way that I judge to be seductive. It works, because his hands soon find purchase against my hips. His fingertips graze my skin through the fabric of my dress.

I should feel uneasy. This is a stranger, after all. But instead, I feel a provocative thrill. I’m desired .

I can't see Nate. I know he's watching, though. I flirt with danger with every swaying step, daring this man to pull me closer.

Really, I’m daring Nate to react. To see what’s normally his for the taking getting rubbed up against and grinded on.

The stranger's grip tightens. He is making a possessive claim that sends a jolt of alarm through me. Too much, too soon. His eagerness seems like a stark contrast to Nate's controlled detachment.

"Easy," I warn. “You’re hurting me.”

But the man seems deaf to my warning. He growls and tries to grab my face. I think he’s trying to kiss me.

“No!” I hiss. My heart is a hummingbird in my chest.

The stranger's hands clamp down even harder on my body. My breath hitches. I try to extricate myself, but he's a determined wall of a man.

Panic crests within me like a tidal wave ready to break. "Let go," I plead. “You–”

Out of nowhere, Nate explodes onto the scene, a storm of fury and dark hair. Like a crack of thunder, his fist sends the stranger crumpling to the floor. The stranger howls and holds his jaw, but the sound is lost into the sound vortex of the club.

Nate leans down to my ear. "Nobody touches what's mine," he growls. His voice, low and primal, resonates with a possessiveness that shoots shivers down my spine. "You’re mine, Annalise."

He grips my hand. The nightclub becomes a blur of lights and shadows. As we escape into the cool Manhattan night, Nate doesn't pause. His purposeful strides carry me to a sleek SUV idling at the curb and I follow him inside.

He doesn’t say a word to me as the driver pulls away from the curb. His presence is an electric current charging the air between us. He studies me, his slate-colored eyes taking my measure.

Without warning, Nate surges forward. His lips crash against mine. My hands come up to press against the wall of his chest.

The kiss is a maelstrom, fierce and demanding. It scorches through my doubts, ignites my desires. It brands me as irrevocably his .

I melt against him and surrender to the overwhelming sensation.

Nate is all I want. Despite my feelings that I might be getting hooked on him, the fact remains. He’s my protector. My tempest. My billionaire, with eyes only for me .