He might have overestimated the cut and underestimated the size of her breasts, he conceded as he adjusted in his seat to accommodate the suddenly hardened flesh between his legs.
“I didn’t cut up all of your t-shirts. I assumed the competition shirts were valuable and stored them in my room.”
“What about my rash guards? And all of my bikinis?” she demanded.
“Those are in my room, too. You may—”
She dashed to his side of the condo before he could finish that statement. Noise filled up the front room, the violent rattling of the door he’d locked…followed by several curse words.
“Done?” he asked when she reappeared in front of him a few moments later, visibly fuming. “Ready to apologize?”
“I’m sorry!” she snapped. “There! Are you happy? Can I have back my shirts?”
This woman…she made punishing her so much more delightful than it would otherwise be if she’d simply learned to temper her emotions and not make everything she felt so patently obvious.
“Of course,” Han answered. “All you have to do is ask me for one nicely. And as long as you promise to give it back as soon as you return to the apartment, I’ll grant your request.”
She stared at him in complete shock. For one beat. Then two. Then she exploded. “You have got to be kidding me! You want me to beg? For my own damn clothes and underwear?”
“Bikinis,” Han reminded her. “Remember, you don’t believe in underwear.”
She stared at him for a hot, dangerous second. Then shouted, “No! No freaking way. I’ll buy my own tees and underwear myself.”
He shrugged. “I thought you were saving every penny to pay me back. But if that is how you would prefer to spend your money, so be it. I don’t mind. Meanwhile…”
After hours of waiting, he finally rose from the couch. “I’m sure you noticed the new dresses hanging up in your closet. Put one on and do your makeup and hair. I expect you to be ready to go in thirty minutes and dressed appropriately.”
“You can’t be serious,” she said.
Han stepped closer to inform her, “I assure you, I am. And Jasmine…”
He leaned to murmur in her ear the same as he did the first night they met. But this time, his words weren’t nearly as sweet.
“I suggest you think twice before defying me again.”
JAZZ
So that was how I ended up walking into Compulsion, a trendy nightclub smack dab in the middle of Waikiki, hand in hand with the criminal whose Valentine’s date had referred to him as Han Zhiwei. This was my second time coming to the club. Brad’s manager had made us put in an appearance here once to get photographed by some paparazzi he’d hired to “catch us” out on a sweet, no-alcohol-whatsoever, date.
There was no hired paparazzi there that night. But way more heads turned as we followed Chen toward the set of stairs that led up to VIP. I couldn’t be sure if the other patrons were staring at Han or me. He was as Fae King beautiful as ever in a crisp white suit paired with a blood-red shirt. And I wore nothing but a tiny silk mini dress.
And I do mean nothing. My pride hadn’t let me ask for a bikini to wear underneath it, but I immediately regretted taking that stance when I climbed out of the car outside.
The dress was well-made with a liner and an engineered bodice that wouldn’t let me sag underneath its crazy low neckline. However, I was deeply aware of the silky fabric scraping against my nipples and sensitive private parts. And no matter how much I tugged at the skirt’s hem, I couldn’t help but notice all the air on places I usually kept covered.
Let me tell you, it was a real struggle to hold my head up as we followed Chen through the club with Yaron pulling up the rear.
And I felt particularly exposed when we arrived at a VIP section where five more of Han’s guys were already seated.
But I refused to give that okole puka the pleasure of seeing me cringe and squirm as they greeted Han in cheerful Cantonese.
The roped-off section mainly featured square cushioned stools, but someone had staged two winged-back chairs near the balcony railing. Two empty thrones just waiting for their king and queen.
Han indicated that I should sit in the chair closest to the railing. I did so as carefully as possible, but I still felt the AC on my hoo-hah when I crossed my legs and tucked them underneath me. Thank goodness it was dark, or I’m sure the other guys would have gotten the full Sharon Stone.
I glanced around. Where we were sitting afforded us a perfect view of not only the dance floor below but also everybody else in the VIP section, which wrapped around the entire club. This was the perfect place to see and be seen.
