Two way mirror

LIV

Klaus doesn’t say a word.

He strolls over to a low-slung black leather sofa at the center of the room and drops onto it.

Sinking lazily into the cushions, he spreads his long legs out in front of him, drapes one arm across the backrest, and props his other elbow on the armrest.

Slowly, he brings his hand to his face, dragging his scarred thumb across his bottom lip.

It’s the exact same deliberate, unhurried gesture he used to gut me across the coffee shop.

"Is that something you do to seduce people, or to intimidate them?" I blurt out before my brain can filter my mouth.

A corner of his mouth twitches upward.

"Depends on who's watching."

Not that I care. Because I don't.

"How do you know Ben?" I demand, staying planted near the door. "What did that note mean?"

"Slow down," he drawls, his blue eyes lazily tracing the rigid line of my spine.

"I don't have time for your mind games, Klaus. You dragged me down here. Now talk."

"I didn't force you to do a damn thing," he counters, leaning deeper into the leather. "You got into that town car all by yourself. Because deep down, if you didn't already have second thoughts about your perfect little boyfriend, you wouldn't be standing in my club right now."

He has a point.

God, I hate that he has a point.

"Just tell me what it is."

He doesn’t answer.

He just sits there in the dim light, his dark, piercing gaze tracking the rapid rise and fall of my chest.

He looks like a wolf waiting for a trapped rabbit to exhaust itself.

It is maddeningly unnerving.

"What?" I finally snap, crossing my arms tightly over my winter coat.

Before he can reply, the door clicks open behind me.

I flinch as a woman wearing nothing but a pink thong and a delicate lace bralette glides into the room.

Right behind her are two waitresses carrying a silver tray loaded with a crystal decanter and rocks glasses.

The first woman pauses, her gaze sweeping slowly over my wool coat, my dark jeans, and my sensible flat boots.

A slow, deeply amused smile spreads across her glossed lips.

"A different craving tonight, Klaus?" she purrs.

"She’s a guest," Klaus replies evenly.

"Interesting. I like the new roleplay theme." The woman chuckles softly, her eyes glinting with some inside joke I clearly missed the memo on. "I'll be ready to take notes whenever you need me."

She flicks two fingers toward the waitresses, who quickly set the silver tray down on the low glass table in front of the sofa.

"Leave the bourbon. Let's go, girls."

They slip out as quietly as they entered, the lock clicking back into place behind them.

The second we're alone again, a hot, prickly wave of humiliation washes up my neck.

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes and let out a harsh, bitter laugh.

I am so stupid.

Two years of waiting for a proposal, and I let a bored billionaire con me into his sex dungeon on a Friday night.

I rip my hands away from my face and glare daggers at him.

"Is that what this is? Did you bring me up here to give me a front-row seat to your kink life? Because I genuinely could not care less."

He finally moves.

Leaning forward, he pulls the crystal stopper from the decanter and casually pours two fingers of dark amber liquid into a glass.

"You're shaking, sweetheart," he notes quietly.

"Don't call me that," I snap. "I'm not shaking."

He takes a slow, unbothered sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine over the rim of the crystal.

"Are you stalking me?" I challenge.

He gives me a dry, unapologetic look. "How else would I know your full name, your address, and your dress size if I wasn’t?"

My jaw drops half an inch.

He isn't even denying it.

The shameless arrogance of this man is staggering.

"How much is Apex paying you?"

He pauses, the glass hovering an inch from his mouth. His dark brows pull together slightly.

"Who?"

"Apex Publishing. Don't play dumb with me," I say, taking a bold step toward the sofa. "I know Davis paid you to drop that napkin, send the dress, and lure me out here. They’re trying to rattle me and isolate me from Ben so I don't sign my next manuscript over to his company. It’s a pathetic, sleazy stunt, and guess what? I'm not falling for it."

Klaus stares at me for three dead-silent seconds.

And then, he laughs.

It isn't a polite chuckle or a cold smirk. It is a deep, chest-rumbling, genuine laugh that echoes off the dark walls.

He tips his head back against the leather sofa, running his free hand through his damp dark hair.

The sound disarms me.

For a split second, the terrifying underworld boss vanishes, and he looks devastatingly, dangerously human.

It makes my heart skip a treacherous, unwanted beat.

"Oh, you are priceless, Olivia," he murmurs, shaking his head as the laughter dies in his throat.

Then, all at once, the amusement bleeds out of his face.

He sets his glass down on the table with a sharp clink.

And he stands.

In one terrifyingly fluid motion, he crosses the space between us before my brain even registers that he’s moving.

I don't even get half a step backward before his hand shoots out.

He doesn't grab my arm. Instead, his long, calloused fingers wrap firmly around the back of my neck. His thumb pressing over my racing carotid pulse, and he hauls me flush against the hard wall of his chest.

I gasp, the intoxicating collision of sandalwood, aged bourbon, and scorching masculine heat flooding my lungs.

My hands fly up, slamming flat against the black cotton of his dress shirt to shove him off. It’s like pushing against poured concrete.

"Get your hands off me, or I swear to God I will scream for security!"

"Shhh," he murmurs, dipping his head until his mouth is inches from mine. "Security answers to me."

His face is so close I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, see the lighter rings of icy blue around his pupils.

His gaze drops briefly, heavily, to my parted lips before dragging slowly back up to my eyes.

His grip on my nape is unyielding, not choking, not bruising, just a claim of control.

"No one is going to hear you in here," he says, his voice a low, rough vibration that travels straight through my palms on his chest. "And frankly, sweetheart, you aren't the one on the menu tonight. So take a breath."

"On the menu? Excuse me—?"

Still holding me by the neck, he reaches out with his free hand and flips a brushed-steel switch on the wall beside us.

A low hum vibrates through the floorboards.

Beside the sofa, a black panel slides into the ceiling, uncovering a full-length two-way mirror looking directly down into a brightly lit private suite below.

"Look," Klaus commands softly.

Using his grip on my nape, he turns my body so I'm trapped between the front of his chest and the glass.

I look down into the suite below us.

A man is sprawled across a plush pink velvet sofa. Straddling his lap is a blonde woman in pink lingerie, her hips grinding in a slow rhythm against his pelvis.

Her fingers are tangled tightly in his hair as she kisses down his neck, and his hands are clamped greedily over her bare waist, hiking the lace higher up her thighs.

My stomach rolls.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to twist my head away, but Klaus's thumb strokes a slow, hypnotic line down the column of my throat, keeping me facing the glass.

"Why are you forcing me to watch strangers have sex?!" I choke out. "You're sick—"

"Does he look familiar to you?" Klaus interrupts, his voice deadly quiet right against my ear.

Every muscle in my body turns to stone.

"Or let me guess," he whispers, his breath hot against my temple. "You're going to stand here and try to convince yourself you don't recognize the way your own boyfriend touches a woman."

My blood turns to ice water.

Slowly, dread clawing up my windpipe, I force my eyes open.

I look back through the glass.

I look at the man's broad shoulders, the navy coat tossed carelessly over the arm of the sofa. I look at the neatly swept-back brown hair.

Then my eyes drop to the hand gripping the woman's bare hip.

Strapped to that wrist is a limited-edition silver chronograph. The twelve-thousand-dollar watch I bought him for my boyfriend’s birthday with my last royalty check.

Down below, the man groans, tilting his head back against the velvet cushions as the blonde bites his collarbone.

The air is ripped brutally from my lungs.

Ben?

My first love. My safe harbor. The man who was supposed to propose to me.

My knees give out.

I pitch forward toward the glass, my legs turning to ash, but Klaus moves faster than gravity. His strong arm bands like iron around my waist, catching my weight before my knees can hit the floor, hauling me back until my trembling spine is anchored flush against his chest.

Ben is right there.

Not at a hotel with Marcus. Not shopping for an engagement ring. Right there, underneath another woman.

I can't breathe. I can't blink. I can't tear my eyes away from the train wreck of my life.

Behind me, Klaus holds me up.

I can feel the slow, steady, rhythm of his heartbeat thudding against my shoulder, a cruel, grounding anchor while my entire reality bleeds out on the floor below.

Then Klaus leans down, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of my ear.

"Tell you what, Olivia," he whispers into the dark. "That's not even Roxy."