Monster

Chapter 2

Two

Evelyn

Eleonore was one of the fanciest clubs I’d ever been to. I picked up my marks at clubs often enough, but they were usually the type with loud dance music and a mixture of drugs and semen lining the bathroom stalls.

When I walked up to Eleonore, the red carpet guiding the way to the doors muted the sound of my clicking heels, and instead of jarring dubstep blasting out whenever a patron passed through the double doors, the soft, lilting notes of jazz music wafted into the night.

I smiled hesitantly at the huge bouncer taking up most of the step in front of the door. Even though I’d worn the kind of camouflage that would help me fit in here—a black dress that managed to still look classy, even though it certainly marketed my cleavage nicely—I didn’t exactly feel at home. Even when I wasn’t working for Brigs, my usual attire consisted of jeans and a t-shirt. Or, of course, my uniform when I worked my day job as a waitress. Eleonore managed to make me feel like I was sticking out like a sore thumb before I’d even gotten inside.

But the bouncer simply unclipped the red velvet rope for me, stepping aside as he let me through.

“Thank you,” I said as I passed him, offering him a smile as well.

If he heard me, he ignored me. Well, suit yourself, Grumpy.

I left my coat with a girl working the wardrobe and continued in through another set of double doors, these ones made from glass with gilded bars functioning as door knobs.

I had to pull myself together to not let my jaw hit my chest at the barrage of impression that washed over me on the other side. At the far corner was a beautiful bar, which looked like it was made from hardwood and polished so perfectly even the soft lighting in the club reflected off it. The plush, deep-red carpet from the entrance and corridor turned to parquet flooring that led to multiple high tables and chairs in front of a small dance floor and a stage. Not many people graced the chairs—it was a Tuesday night, after all—but on the stage a band played the enticing jazz rhythms I’d been able to hear since entering the club.

I soaked in the atmosphere, enjoying the sophisticated ambience as much as the music itself. I’d always loved jazz.

But I was here for a job, and it didn’t involve standing around wishing for things to have worked out differently. I sighed, pulling myself out of the revelry.

A quick scan of the few patrons at the tables told me that my mark wasn’t among them, nor was he part of one of the two couples slow dancing in front of the stage, seemingly lost to the rest of the world. Thank God. That could have been awkward.

I looked back over at the bar and frowned at the flirting couple near the end closest to me. They were blocking my view of the other side of it, so I decided to walk on over and check it out. If nothing else, a drink was always a good way to calm my nerves before I picked up my mark.

On the other side of the couple, a tall man sat at the very far end, one shoulder leaned against the wall. My heart sped up with a burst of adrenaline. Could it be him? I craned my neck in an effort to see him better, but he was facing away. All I could see was ebony hair and incredibly wide shoulders underneath a black shirt.

“What can I get you, miss?”

I jolted at the unexpected voice and flashed a nervous smile at the barman. Something about the underplayed extravagance set me on edge, as if everyone would be able to tell I came from several rungs down the social ladder.

“Vodka and tonic, thanks,” I said, trying to keep my tone indifferent and effortless.

When he grabbed for the bottle of Grey Goose, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from protesting. Instead, I smiled sweetly when he passed me my drink and added a generous tip. Brigs always covered expenses, and if Tall, Dark, and Mysterious at the end of the bar didn’t turn out to be Marcus Steel, then I might need the barman’s help to locate him later.

Mustering my courage, I took a quick sip of my drink and then walked over to the seat right next to the guy I was hoping was my mark.

“It’s a lovely band,” I said as I slid in on the bar stool, somehow managing to get on it relatively gracefully. Being a short girl doesn’t make wrangling of bar stools an easy task.

Talk, Dark, and Mysterious didn’t so much as spare me a glance.

Maybe he didn’t hear me?

“Do you come here often?” Okay, so it was cheesy, but from my experience, it worked.

His only reaction was to take a swig of what looked like cola from his own glass.

Right, then. So he was an arse. I pinched my lips and reminded myself I preferred it that way—my job was better when the guy Brigs had me lure into a trap was a jerk. It made it easier to pretend like he deserved what happened to him after I left him with Brigs’ goons.

Emboldened by my annoyance, I skipped past the usual smalltalk and instead slipped my drink-free hand underneath the bar and onto his thigh, letting my fingertips graze the bulge between them.

The strength of his muscles clenching underneath my touch surprised me—I could feel the power in his thigh against my palm and half-expected him to shoot out of his chair.

It wasn’t what I’d expected. Surprise, sure, but the deathly silence from my unwilling companion made an eerie sense of foreboding tingle down my spine and raise every hair on my body. Slowly, I looked up, my irritation with his previous lack of response replaced by anxiety.

Marcus Steel’s ice-gray eyes met mine when my gaze made it all the way up.

Only the man staring down at me was nothing like his picture. Sure, his ruthless good looks were the same, from the black cascade of tousled hair to the soft lips and defined features, but what was behind that icy gaze, the photo hadn’t managed to convey. If it had, I would have tried much, much harder to get out of this assignment.

Everything about that look screamed danger, making the reptilian part of my brain wake in a shock of adrenaline.

I trembled as every nerve ending strained to its fullest, making my skin so hypersensitive I could feel the warmth radiating from him. The faint trace of his cologne hit my flared nostrils, along with something else. Something unidentifiable that heated the lower parts of my abdomen and made me squeeze my thighs together, even as a primal fear dug its claws in deep.

Oh. Maybe “it” wasn’t so unidentifiable, after all.

There was no doubt in mind, after no more than three seconds’ eye contact, that this man was trouble.

But he was also one hundred percent alpha male, and despite the overwhelming sense of peril that rushed over me staring into his eyes, my body was seemingly also perfectly in tune with the other aspect of his nature.

The unexpected flood of arousal dampened my initial fear enough that I remembered I probably needed to say something soon.

“Hi,” I croaked. Not the smoothest of lines, but given how my hand was still grasping his thigh, too petrified to let go, I figured it was better than nothing.

Marcus didn’t respond, and his face remained completely impassive.

“I’m Evelyn Embry,” I continued, my voice still not much louder than a hoarse whisper. The second my name left my lips I could have smacked myself. I hadn’t meant to give him my real name—it was page-freaking-one in dealing with a mark. But his overwhelming presence had made it slip out without conscious thought, and now there was nothing I could do to take it back. Hopefully, he would have forgotten it before he ever realized my true intentions.

His eyes finally moved then, flicking briefly to my hair, across my face and—finally—to my amply displayed breasts, where they lingered for just a second before he looked back up again. His gaze made a hot blush follow the path of his eyes, and I couldn’t hold back a shaky exhale as I stared into his darkened eyes. His pupils seemed larger, as if the light in the room had dimmed, even though the shine from the polished bar told me otherwise.

“What you’re selling, little sister, I’m not buying.”

I blinked at the rumbling timbre of his voice. The softness in it completely contradicted everything else about his presence.

“I’m not selling anything.”

His eyes briefly landed on my hand on his thigh. My fingertips were still brushing ever so lightly against the bulge of his c**k.

“Oh! No, I’m not… I’m not a p********e,” I stammered, my blush increasing ten-fold. Yeah, of course he would think the stranger groping him would be looking for a client. Eleonore wasn’t your run-of-the-mill nightclub—uninvited touching wasn’t expected.

This wasn’t working out at all like I’d planned. I finally managed to remove my hand from his thigh, placing it awkwardly on the bar between us.

“I just…” I looked up into those glacier-cool eyes and felt all my barriers come crumbling down. How did a single person shake me so thoroughly? I felt n***d underneath his stare, and it both frightened and aroused me more than it had any business doing. “I wanted to meet you.”

“Why?”

Not the question I’d expect from a guy who looked like Marcus Steel.

“You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” I frowned. “Why do women normally want to meet you?”

His face remained impassive, but the darkness in his eyes intensified, pulling at those warring sensations in my gut: the cold dread of adrenaline, and the hot, champagne fizz of pure s****l attraction. “They don’t.”

I raised both eyebrows. “I find that really hard to believe.”

Finally, he turned away from me, relegating his full focus to his glass as he took a swig. “They’re scared of me.”

Well, that I could believe. I looked back at my own drink, mulling over my plan of attack. Now that he wasn’t staring at me so intensely, I could think clearly again—even if every cell of my body was still keenly aware of his proximity.

“I want to know you,” I said, glancing out the corner of my eye for a reaction.

Marcus put his glass down, still not looking in my direction.

“You’re scared of me, too.” The deep rumble in his voice sent shivers up my back. If he knew I was flirting, he wasn’t responding. But he wasn’t ignoring me, either.

“Yes,” I said, deciding honesty was my best course with this man. Gently, I placed my hand back on top of his thigh, a bit lower this time. Again, he tensed at my touch, but not as rigidly as before.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that I want you more than I’ve ever wanted another man in my life.” I glanced up at his profile, flustered by the knowledge that this wasn’t just a line delivered to ensnare a mark, nor was it a lie. “Maybe that’s what scares me.”

He looked at me then, and this time, the darkness in his eyes bore the faintest trace of heat. But it wasn’t the kind of l**t I’d seen in a man’s eyes before. It was far more volatile, far more frightening than anything I’d known before, and even the barest hint of his desire set my body aflame with unrivaled need.

“No, Evelyn. That’s not why you’re afraid.”

“Is it because you’d try to hurt me?” I whispered, my voice breaking.

His nostrils pulled up, a flash of anger mixing with the heat in his gaze. “No.”

A breath of relief I hadn’t realized I’d been holding rushed out of my lungs. I believed him. I had no idea what it was about him, but something at the very depths of my being knew he wasn’t lying. I grasped my drink and downed the rest of the glass in one, burning mouthful. Then I slid off my seat and stood to face him on shaky legs.

“Come.”

Despite the minimal movement of his mouth, I recognized his question in the gesture.

“You’re taking me to your place.” I slipped my hand from his thigh up to his arm, resting it on the soft fabric of his shirt. “And then you’ll let me get to know you.”

The slightest crease appeared between his dark eyebrows, his gaze flickering to my hand on his arm before he found my eyes once more. The desire in his own was more prominent now, and I had to clench my thighs together to quell the sudden rush of warmth blooming out from between them. God, I wanted him. In that moment, I didn’t care about my assignment or Brigs or any of the s**t I was mixed up in that’d landed me here. I didn’t even care that that barely bridled ferocity in his icy gaze flamed as he looked me over once more, taking in my curves as well as my face.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he rumbled.

“Then show me,” I said, swallowing thickly as he stared me down.

Marcus exhaled through his nose. Then, moving as smoothly as a large cat, he got off the chair and held his hand out to me.

Gingerly, I put my palm in his.

When he closed his hand around mine, I knew I would never be the same as I had been before I met Marcus Steel.