Chapter Seven – Mr Dark and Dangerous (II)

London

How do people describe arousal?

Some say it's the heady, sexual tension they feel when they're really into the opposite sex…or same sex. It really doesn't matter.

Others describe it as the delicious stimulation they get when special attention is being paid to their most private organs.

Arousal, to me, are the mind numbing spasms that rock my body when I turn slightly to find a particularly intense gray gaze fixed on me. Arousal is this desperate and rather illogical need to strip him of that suit and feed his butt-naked form to my greedy eyes.

The prickly sensation in my neck intensifies. I'm being watched alright. By a certain devilishly handsome Greek god. My heart begins a crazy gallop against my chest and I grip the table tight, willing my enraged heartbeat to slow down. He's seated a few tables away, with the same handsome gentleman that spoke with him earlier. He twirls the remnants of wine in his glass with lean fingers, his fingers rubbing against his lips in that knee weakening gesture. I'm beginning to wonder if he's doing it in purpose.

My mind is running at a thousand miles per second, with heated imaginations of all the sinful things those lips could do to my person.

"Get a grip on yourself, you swoon." I berate myself silently.

I make a show of listening to Marcus' rumbling about that the history of the hotel's arched architecture, trying to ignore the heat that this stranger's intense gaze ignites deep in my belly. I give him a strained smile when he makes a joke about the fancily dressed, mock soldiers out front. Is it hot in here?

Not able to resist anymore, I throw another cautious glance over my shoulder, stunned to find all his attention trained on our table– on me. He's not even pretending to listen to whatever his cute friend is saying. He isn't even eating his food. He's simply leaned back against his seat, drilling holes into my person. A lock of curly, dark hair has fallen against his forehead and in that moment, I would give anything to sink my fingers into those lush curls.

I look back unashamedly, transfixed, magneted, simply unable to look away. His friend waves a fork in his face and when the dark god still dosen't pay him any attention, he follows his line of stare until his bright blue eyes land on me. I may be a confident London raised broad, but I do not think I can handle two outrageously handsome men looking through their noses at me. It's a bit intimidating. The dark god's friend stares at me for all of two seconds, his eyes narrowing slightly when it moves past me to fixate on Marcus.

He looks away and back at his spell bound friend, his lips twitching in a grin. The dark god is currently twirling pasta on his fork. I fix my eyes briefly on his lean fingers as he spins the fork. I never once imagined I would be jealous of a utensil but here we are. Trust this stranger to make an activity as simple as eating look so erotic.

His concentration is broken when a female waitress arrives with a bottle of wine. He looks up briefly, giving her a small smile and she turns a very bright shade of red. Welcome to the club, my darling.

I look on as she makes a show of "accidentally" brushing her fingers against his when he reaches for the wine, nearly burst into very unladylike laughter. I seriously wonder if she believes she's in some kinda fairytale where a single touch can send love sparks flying. She holds onto the bottle even after he's grasped it and a ball of red hot anger shoots through my veins. The shameless croon.

She finally lets go of the bottle, gives a little exaggerated curtsy and catwalks away, a deliberate swing to her almost non-existent hips. She's waif to the point of disappearing but I can bet a thousand pounds that she's currently on a diet.

I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes. I'm sure Mr. Magnificent over there loves his women all thin limbed and sharp boned, not a single roll of extra flesh in sight. I watch as he expertly pops the wine, his now bright gray gaze still pinning me in place. He raises the glass to his lips and I decide that I've seen enough. Better to look away when I'm still able to restrain myself from squirting girly fluids all over the place.

I turn sharply, surprised to find that Marcus has grown silent. He seems…furious, his body physically vibrating with tension, eyes nearly shooting sparks. His gaze is trained on a sight just beyond my shoulder. I do not need to look back to know that he's probably engaging in a starring contest with the Greek god. I tap my glass on the table to draw his attention.

"Are you okay?" I ask when he finally peels his eyes from the stranger and focuses on me.

"Yeah, sure."

I scoff.

"You do not look okay. Don't patronise me, Marcus."

He gives me a thoughtful look.

"It's him, isn't it?"

I do not bother to act oblivious to who he's taking about. Mr. Dark and Dangerous was definitely the man by the doors earlier. I heave an exasperated sigh.

"Yes, he is. I know he looks way too intense but…"

"Stay away from him." He cuts in.

At the rough tone of his voice, I pull a mental brake on the ten-category descriptive speech on the hot stranger I was just about to deliver.

"You sound like you know this guy."

Marcus picks up his wine.

"I don't. But I know his type."

"You've got me in a bit of a pickle, Marcus. What exactly is his type?"

His eyes darken,

"You're better off not knowing sweetness, trust me on this one."

I mentally restrain myself from spitting profanities all over the table. What the hell? Just another secret I'm "better off" not knowing. I'm not a fucking child!

Marcus, probably following my train of thought grasps my fingers in his from across the table, proceeding to run soothing circles over the pad of my thumb.

"I'm not keeping stuff from you, Sweetness. I just know guys like him from school. That's all. He's not someone you need to worry your pretty head over."

I heave another sigh. An angry one this time.

"No one gets to decide what goes through my 'pretty head', Marcus. I'm not a baby. Why does everyone think a bit of information would kill me?"

I huff, tired of arguing. It's my bachelorette night, for God's sake.

"You know what? You're right. I'll forget about it."

I see the look of relief that crosses Marcus' face and I cannot help but wonder. Who exactly is this man? Marcus has succeeded in piquing my interest, now I just have to know.

"Great." He says, "C'mon. Let's waltz."

I groan.

"Marcus. I'm still suffering from a food coma."

I do not think I would be able to sway to any kind of music at the moment, soft or not. I feel like an overstuffed baby whale.

Marcus, on the other hand is having non of it. My eyes widen in horror as he stands smoothly to his feet, tugging me by the arm.

"Come on, Sweetness. It'll be fun. Don't be a spoil sport on your very last night of fun."

I gasp.

"Did you just call me a spoil sport, Marcus?"

His eyes twinkle with mischief.

"Sure did. Now, come on."

I'm barely able to form two sentences when I'm hauled from my chair and held flush against Marcus' chest. I laugh. I can't help it.

"Alright, Marcus. You win. Go slow though."

He leads me gently by the hand, towards the almost deserted dance floor. Asides from us, only two other couples occupy the space. I suddenly feel self conscious.

"Marcus," I whisper when he puts an arm around me and begins swinging in time to the band's soft music.

"Hmm?" He replies softly.

"Can we, um, go seat down, then come later when they're atleast ten other couples dancing and I do not run the risk of swooning from all the looks and stares?"

Marcus twirls me expertly on the vast, ballroom style dancefloor, running an accessing glance over the other patrons of the restaurant.

"Now you're just imagining things, Sweetness. Everyone is minding their own business. No one's looking our way. And even if they are, I have the most beautiful girl in this room in my arms, so let them look."

I blush lightly at his compliment. But I do feel watched, though. I look beyond Marcus' shoulder and sure enough, the Greek god has a very furious look trained on Marcus and I. I begin to tense from all the absurd attention he's been sending my way over the course of the evening. What if he's a guard sent by my father? Even when Marcus sways me to the other end of the dancefloor, I still feel his gaze like a hot, fevered touch on my skin. I try to distract myself by centering my entire attention on Marcus, laying my head on his hard chest.

"So, we've toured the streets of London, eaten an extra large burrito, dined and wined at the finest restaurant in the city and we're currently dancing to the most sensational music. What next, Marcus?"

He smiles, rubbing a finger against my lower back in a soothing touch.

"From here, I'm taking you to a strip club." He deadpans.

For a moment, I'm not sure I hear him right. My head flies off his chest, almost connecting with his chin.

"A strip club? Like where prostitutes dance with no clothes on?" I ask, obviously horrified.

Marcus gives me a reproachful look.

"They're not prostitutes. Well, most of them aren't. They're just women who entertain a bunch of horny men with very arousing dance moves for a couple honest bucks."

I do not know why he feels so strongly on the subject and at this point, I do not think I want to know.

"Why on Earth would you want to take me to a strip club?"

His smirk returns,

"Have you not heard, Sweetness? No bachelor or bachelorette party is complete without a little dip and swing on the good ol' sex pole."

I huff, trying to imagine myself swinging "seductively" on a length of fancy stick. Not happening.

"Where is this strip club?"

"It's right here. The Blue Diamond has a private strip club. It caters to exclusive customers only."

My eyes widen even more. It's safe to say that I'm completely stunned.

"The most prestigious hotel in London has a strip club? Dosen't this place have a history with royalty or something?"

Marcus laughs at my obvious dismay. I barely restrain myself from kicking him in the shin.

"You're such a prude, Sweetness. Trust me, even royalty do get a bit horny sometimes. And anyways, some rich business man, name unknown, bought it a few years ago. Like I said, it's an exclusive club. Most people do not even know it exists. It is open to special clients only.

"Okay." I say slowly, "how did you find out about it, then?"

He winks, pausing to send me on another little twirl.

"I have my ways, baby."

Something is still niggling at the back of my mind though.

"Wait. If the club only caters to exclusive clients, how on Earth are we going to get in?"

In the background, the band's music becomes slightly faster and Marcus sways me in time with the quickening rhythm.

"That's the fun part. We do not have exclusive tickets so we're either going to steal them, or we'll have to sneak in. It's your night so I'm making it your call, princess."

Stunned, I will my ears to erase the atrocities it has just heard. Surely Marcus does not expect me to commit this…this crime!

"Marcus!" I berate him, slapping his shoulder lightly with my palm,

"You are crazy, really crazy if you think for one minute that I'm going to be breaking into a private club, run by the most expensive hotel in London. Do not even think about it."

He rolls his eyes.

"Okay. Let's buy an exclusive ticket then."

I send a long suffering look to the heavens.

"Why, Marcus, I never knew you were this smart. Why didn't you come up with this particularly brilliant idea all along?"

He laughs, his chest reverberating with the sound.

"Drop the sarcasm, princess. It dosen't suit you."

My mood dampens when I remember Yulia said those exact same words this morning.

"So I've been told. Anyways, how much is an exclusive ticket?"

Marcus looks into my eyes and deadpans,

"Two million"

I take a step back in shock. Marcus' arm firmly wrapped around my waist prevents me from going any further.

"Two million. You mean a single ticket sells for two million pounds?"

"Yes, sweetness. Remember, it is only open to wealthy, exclusive clients. Even better, there's a private lounge within the club. Clients pay five million to gain membership for a year."

"What?!" I spit. "There are hungry children in Africa and people spend five million on a strip club? That is just outrageous, Marcus. Extremely outrageous."

Marcus' eyes gleam with mirth. He is obviously enjoying this. The old croon.

"You see, princess? The only way we can access this club is if you choose an option from the two I gave you earlier. And before you ask, yes you must choose. Or I would just end up making a choice for you."

I tap my head gently against his chest. This is more than I can take.

"Can't we just go somewhere else?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

"Nope. I want your last night out to be fun. It's here or nowhere else."

I sigh, defeated.

"If I let you choose, you're going to make us steal the tickets, aren't you?"

I lean back just in time to catch his smug smile.

"That's the easiest option. You know me too well, princess."

"Fine. Let's break in."

"Oh, good cheer!" Marcus exclaims, giving me another victory twirl. This night is going crazier than I thought.

"If I go to jail, I'm haunting your arse for life." I warn.

He laughs,

"Sweetheart, no one says 'arse' anymore. You have me. We're not going to jail."

I place my head once more against his chest, moving slowly to the now soft music.

"Thank you, Marcus."

He stills,

"Whatever for?"

"You know, for being a wonderful friend. For being willing to get into trouble just so I can enjoy my bachelorette night. I'm very grateful to you. Beyond what I can say."

His arm around me tightens. We're no longer dancing, just holding on to each other on the dancefloor. I'm aware that to outsiders, we look like the usual, romantic couple. He's my bestfriend in the world. I couldn't care less.

"You will always have me, Skylar. Remember that."

I ground out an incoherent reply, content to simply hold on to him. I'm about to remind him that I will be shipped to Russia via marriage very soon when a force wrenches him from my grasp, almost knocking the wind out of me.

I whip my head back to find the dark god holding Marcus by the neck with a face like thunder.

What the hell?