Taste of Revenge

Nathan

Liz's voluptuous figure disappeared into the hall. Nathan clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away.

This was no time for distractions. Marcus Chen, the idiot who owed his father money, had just slipped off toward the restroom.

He followed, unhurried. Chen was bent over the sink with the water running. Nathan grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall. The mirror rattled with the impact.

"A week late. I warned you not to play games with me."

Chen stammered out pathetic excuses, but Nathan drove his fist just below his ribs, where he knew it would hurt most.

He doubled over, breathless, a pathetic sound tearing from his throat before he crumpled, gasping against the tiles.

Just then, the door swung open and Richard Crawford appeared in the doorway. His face tightened, though he tried to mask the panic with that fake smile Nathan so despised.

"James mentioned you'd be golfing. Are you going to...?"

Nathan cut him off with a look empty of all expression. Crawford was nothing more than a parasite feeding on the scraps his father tossed him.

"No."

Richard let out a nervous laugh and opened his mouth again, but a weary sigh from Nathan stopped him cold.

"Get out."

The sound of Chen's coughing filled the room as the other coward disappeared.

Nathan leaned over his victim; the movement alone was enough to make the man pull a wad of bills out between sobs.

"It's all I have right now. I swear, before the weekend..."

"It'd better be." He cut him off. "Or your legs become my playground."

The sobs at his back meant nothing to him. He was so sick of doing this kind of work.

He walked back into the hall and over to Walter, who was drinking calmly at the bar. His friend raised an eyebrow.

"Did you sort it out?"

"Of course."

His friend nodded. They didn't need more words. Nathan took a swallow of the vodka Walter offered and let his gaze sweep the room. The same fake bullshit as always.

In the crowd, a dark-haired woman waved at him. Though she wore a modest dress, her curves struck him as familiar.

"She's been watching you for a while now." Walter laughed. "Come on, King, why not give her what she's after?"

"She'll come for it, no doubt."

He turned his back and focused on his drink again. A short while later, the brush against his arm told him the woman was already beside him, holding out her hand.

"You've been alone too long, Nathan Kingston. Shall we dance?"

He didn't remember her name, but neither of them seemed to care, so he followed her to the dance floor.

Her every step was provocative; she knew how to move, and he enjoyed the soft press of their bodies. She slid her hand down from his shoulder, and Nathan gripped her waist in response, drawing a soft gasp from her.

She swayed against him and ran her fingers across his chest, smiling playfully as she held his gaze, trying to pressure him, but Nathan refused to take it further.

The longer he made her wait, the better it would be for both of them tonight. He proved it a moment later when she pulled him down to her level.

"You and I should find a little privacy."

Nathan nodded and took her hand, giving Walter a parting gesture; his friend shook his head, amused.

* * *

As they stepped out into the parking lot, the woman hung on his arm, her sweet perfume wrapping around him.

He was about to open the car door when he saw Liz wobble on her heels near a car, trying to carry Emma. The little girl slept peacefully in her mother's arms, and the nanny looked as exhausted as she was. He went over without thinking.

"Let me help you."

Liz parted her lips to protest, but Nathan had already taken Emma. The girl's little arms wrapped around his neck with a trust he didn't deserve.

He settled the little one into the seat with meticulous care and, as he closed the door, met her evasive gaze.

He was acting like an idiot; he'd managed to keep his distance for years, and in a single night he'd thrown it all to hell over a couple of tears.

Still, seeing her there, fidgeting nervously with her purse while he watched, pulled a smile out of him.

He knew exactly the effect he had on her, and he had no intention of softening it.

He took a step forward, invading her space until she held her breath, and leaned in slowly to brush his lips against her cheek.

She shivered, and Nathan smiled to hide that he was fighting not to grab her and kiss her for real. He should have done it in the garden.

"Good night, Angel."

The nanny let out a nervous giggle, amused by her boss's obvious embarrassment. But the moment Nathan fixed his eyes on her, the woman's expression died on the spot; she hurried into the car.

The slam of the car door snapped him back to reality. He forced himself to walk toward the woman waiting for him.

Before getting into his car, he drew in a hard breath of the cold night air.

"My place?"

The woman looked at him expectantly, and it worked. He laid his hand on her bare thigh.

"A hotel."

He let her pick the music for the drive but regretted it when she started singing, so he sped up.

"In a real hurry, aren't you?" The woman's ego was sky-high, but Nathan didn't answer.

He only meant to take what she was offering. It didn't take long to reach the Imperial, his family's property, and he stepped into the private elevator just as the woman threw herself at him, kissing him with urgency.

But he thought of Liz. Her silhouette. The softness of the way she moved. That natural elegance that seemed to set her apart without effort.

He shut his eyes tight while the woman's hands kept moving. He had to concentrate.

A soft moan escaped her, and for a moment he imagined it was Liz melting under his hands.

The image clung to him like a stubborn shadow, and damn it, he enjoyed it.

But the pleasure didn't last, because Liz wasn't his. She never would be.

Her laugh. Those damn eyes that looked at him as if he were something more than a criminal. Years. All of it had been screwing with his head for years.

Then he'd had to watch her marry a manipulative idiot.

He ran a hand through his hair. On the night of Liz's wedding, he'd pictured himself at the altar with her instead of Richard. Stupid.

He'd spent the next three years avoiding her at every family event, turning down every invitation where she might be.

He shook his head, driving out her ghost while the other woman demanded his attention with an urgency that dragged him back to the present.

The elevator doors opened onto the penthouse, and she walked ahead of him, hips swaying.

He followed, jaw tight; he needed to get on with his life, reach the agreed-upon amount, and get out of that city where he couldn't breathe without thinking of her. Where every damn day was torture, watching what he could never have.

His voice came out hoarse, unrecognizable.

"On your knees."