What the fuck was that? I can’t believe that not only did he have me naked – but I let him. I shiver as I glance down at myself and realize I’m still naked. Crawling across the floor, I drag my jeans and shirt back on as I stand up and try to fix my unruly curls, giving up in about ten seconds and letting them cascade over my shoulders. I slump on the floor and stare blindly around the bar. I’m not sure which is worse: Allowing Stone to get to me, or his ultimate rejection. Humiliation gives way to anger, and I clench my small hands into fists. How fucking dare Stone make me second-guess myself. How dare he make me feel like I’m not good enough. So what if he doesn’t want me, it’s not like I want him. Liar, my mind taunts. You’re such a fucking liar. I groan again as I remember my promise to Ruth about going to the club tonight. I haven’t been back to town since I escaped from Troy a year ago. Am I ready to go back now? Can I face my fears? I briefly consider faking a stomach ache, crawling into bed and hiding. But there’s a slightly perverse side of me that doesn’t want to leave Ruth alone with Stone. I have to go, even if it kills me.

And it just might.

The front door opens, and I look up as the woman from last night steps in.

“I’m sorry,” she says, seeing the empty place. “Are you closed?”

“No, of course not,” I tell her, quickly getting to my feet and hurrying over to the bar. “What can I get you?”

“Just a glass of white wine, thank you,” she says, taking a crumpled ten-dollar bill from her purse and putting it on the bar.

As I pour the wine, I glance over at her as she releases a deep cough that seems to resonate from her chest. Her hands are shaking as she takes a clean tissue from her purse, dabbing at her mouth before quickly scrunching it up and dropping it back in her purse. But not before I see the blood.

“Grace, isn’t it?” I ask with a smile, placing the glass on the bar and taking the money.

The woman takes an appreciative sip and nods, closing her eyes as a quick look of pain flashes across her face. I don’t know how, but she looks even older today than she did last night. At least forty. There are dark circles under her eyes like she hasn’t slept, and without the added benefits of makeup, I can see fine lines around her eyes and mouth. I ring the drink up and hand over the change. “Are you all right?” I ask, watching Grace carefully. The woman is much too pale.

“I’m fine,” Grace says with a weak smile. “I haven’t been feeling too well lately.”

“Where’s your son?” I ask.

Grace takes another sip of wine and puts the glass back down on the bar, clasping her trembling fingers together as she speaks. “He’s having a sleepover tonight,” she explains quietly. “I thought it’d be good for him.”

“Grace,” I say, lightly touching the older woman’s hand. “You’re not well. I’d have to be blind to miss that. Let me take you to the doctor.”

Tears spring to Grace’s eyes, and she brushes them away impatiently. “I’m fine, I promise,” she says, giving me a tight smile.

I’m not convinced. Grace is clearly not fine, but it’s not my place to pry. “Okay,” I give in, nodding my head. “But if you change your mind, you tell me, okay?”

“Thank you, Shannon,” Grace says, patting my hand before draining the rest of her wine and standing on unsteady feet. “Thank you for the wine.”

“Listen,” I start as the woman turns around.

Grace pauses and turns back to look at me. “A couple of us are going into town tonight. I know you’re not feeling well, but maybe some company would change that. I’m sure Ruth and Stone wouldn’t mind.”

Grace flinches, but smiles and shakes her head. “Thank you, but no. I think the best thing I can do for now is just go to bed and try to sleep.”

“If you’re sure,” I say, watching as Grace makes her way to the door and steps outside. I have a nagging feeling in my gut that the woman needs help. My cell phone beeps in the back pocket of my jeans and I pull it out, grinning when I see it’s a text from Keets.

K: Wot U doin’ 2nite?

S: Going 2 town with Ruth & Stone

K: U sure that’s wise?

S: It’s just a few drinks, don’t B such a worrywart

K: What bar? I’m coming

S: Dunno. B @ Saddles 30mins

K: K. C U then

I pocket my phone and grab my jacket from behind the bar. After locking the door securely behind me, I slide behind the wheel of my car and drive the short distance to my apartment. As I enter through the front door, I strip off my jacket and flick on the living room light. The apartment isn’t much, just one bedroom above a bakery on the main street. I’ve tried to make it as homey as possible, with white lace curtains and small knick-knacks on the countertops. Walking to my bedroom, I flip on the light and rummage through the dresser at the side of the room. My fingers hover over clean jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, and a grin spreads across my face as a deliciously naughty idea pops into my head. This is the first time I’ve been to a club in a year, and I’m going to look the part.

At just twenty-nine years old, I’m no stranger to the club scene, but as I towel my curls dry after a quick shower and change into a black leather mini-skirt and shiny gold top that’s completely backless, save for the tiny string that ties it together, I begin to wonder if I can really do it.

The last time I’d been at a nightclub, Troy had caused such a scene we’d been thrown out. He hated when another man looked at his woman, and he’d never had a problem punching someone he thought looked at them the wrong way.

What happened with Stone this afternoon flashes in my head. He’d been a predator, pouncing in my weakest moment. Anger boils in my blood as I think of how he used me, then humiliated me. I shouldn’t go tonight, I should curl up under the blankets and just sleep it off. I’m too hurt, too angry . . . But it’s too late to back out now.

Quickly applying a coat of pale pink gloss to my plump lips, I fluff my curls, selecting a few to pin back off my face. Pulling on a pair of knee-high, black leather lace-up boots, I complete the look with a pair of large gold hoop earrings.

I’m ready.

The club is jumping, and everywhere I look people are dancing. But I only have eyes for her.

My cock has been impossibly hard from the minute I saw her in that tiny skirt. What the hell kind of game does she think she’s playing? Doesn’t she know every single man in the club has his eyes fixed firmly on her ass? This afternoon I’d fucked up. I’d wanted her so badly that I hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences until it was almost too late. She'd been fucking perfect, naked and spread across the back of that mechanical bull. I slip my hand under the bar and adjust my jeans as my cock grows long at the memory. She’d smelled amazing, and I’d wanted nothing more than to bury my face in that sweet pussy until I felt her come apart under my tongue.

Instead, I convinced myself that she deserves better than a wounded, angry soldier.

She’s angry, and I don’t blame her. My hand drifts up to touch the cheek she slapped today, a faint smile playing at the corners of my mouth. She’s a little wildcat, that’s for damn sure.

I take a long swallow of my beer as I watch her dance with Ruth, trying to squash the jealousy that churns in my stomach as she grinds her ass against her friend . . . I wish it were my cock. She’s so damn beautiful that I can’t stop staring. My eyes narrow as I watch a slick, young man slide up beside her, grab her hand and spin her toward him. I see the shock on her face as the man grabs her hips and grinds against her. It takes a minute to find her rhythm but then Shannon is dancing with him, allowing his hands to grip her ass as they move. Her eyes seek mine out across the room. A silent challenge. I don’t need to be told twice. Draining my beer, I slam the empty can down on the bar as I stand up and make my way through the dancing couples. My eyes are fixed firmly on her. Shannon’s eyes widen as I get closer, and she glances at the drunken man still holding her. Does she think he’ll save her? I snort. Tapping the man on the shoulder, I indicate to Shannon. “Let me cut in,” I say, staring the man down. Unfortunately, the man is so drunk he doesn’t listen to reason. “Shove off, old man,” the guy slurs, turning his attention back to Shannon. I don’t ask a second time. The guy never sees it coming. When my fist connects with his jaw, he goes flying onto the floor.