MANWHORE by Katy Evans
I
look very different than the girl Saint met in his office. But I don’t feel any
different. My nerves are frayed to the edges as I give my name to a bouncer at
the entrance and I’m allowed into the club, every part of me snug and tight in
my dress as my black heels hit the floor.
Whereas
M4 was all museum-like, the Ice Box is pure dark decadence. Ice sculptures sit
on pedestals around the room. Cages with body-painted dancers hang from the
ceiling. A bar with white and blue lights stretches from one wall to another.
Strobe
lights flash across the space as I get jostled by the crowd. The bass thumps as
the song “Waves” by Mr. Probz plays for the dancing crowd. Drinks are flowing
on shiny silver trays, and the drinks are so adorned—by fruits, olives, salt
glitter or colorful liquid swirls—they’re like artworks. This isn’t a normal
swanky club. It’s the rich boys’ club and everywhere you look are beautiful people
wearing beautiful things.
“I met him! God! When he said hi I thought I’d
faint…!”
My
nerves eat at me as I hear that, because I know for sure they’re talking about
him. Trying to breathe, I wind deeper into the club, wishing for Gina so bad I
ache. The room is packed with women, some clearly on the hunt, others already
paired with someone, a few hanging out with their friends. I breathe slowly, in
and out, telling myself I can do this. It’s just a club. I can have some fun.
It’s been a while since I’ve gone out to a club, and never a club like this,
but it doesn’t matter. I can interview people, and if I’m lucky, I can do more
than that.
After
scanning the area and trying to find the best spy-spots, I go to the top level
and that’s when I get the best look at what’s happening downstairs at the most
crowded corner.
And
speak of the devil. My heart stops a beat when I see that dark head of his, and
that loathed, burning knot in my stomach squeezes with a vengeance. I swear no one in my life has ever made me this
nervous.
He
sits with his arms stretched out behind him, a wine glass and two women vying
for his attention as he chats with his friends. His masculine face is
illuminated in certain angles when the lights flash—his beauty unprecedented.
Okay.
Breathing. Do I want him to know I’m
here or not?
A
watery sensation seems to spread down my limbs as I force myself to go
downstairs. I wind a path to the ladies’ room and worm myself through the
throng of bodies toward a wide mirror above a set of modernist floating sinks.
A group of women preen at themselves while I look our reflections. To my right,
a woman pouts her red lips, and to my left, her friend pouts her pink ones. Me?
I’m still me, but I look extravagant, like I was born here. I look very different
than the young girl in coveralls he met. Will he even recognize me like this?
“You
going to the after-party?” Red Lips asks Pink Lips as they retouch their
lipsticks.
“No
key yet.”
“Lookie
lookie.” Red Lips waves a keycard in the air.
There’s
squealing in the room and she tucks the key into her bra. “Mine!”
“So
there’s an after-party?” I ask them.
“At
Saint’s penthouse,” one says, nodding.
“How
do you get invited to this party?”
“A
hundred keys are distributed during the evening.”
A
sudden thought of stealing the very key she’s just tucked into her bra flickers
through my mind. I mean, it’s just a key. It couldn’t possibly be a felony.
“Babe,” she tells me, “stop giving my key the
eye! I’ve been waiting three years to get a key like this. Go and work your ass
out there if you want one. Only the finest asses make it.”
“Thanks,”
I say, turning to look at my ass in the mirror questioningly. Gina says I’ve
got a great ass. It’s perky and the perfect handful, some would say. But would
Saint say that?
I
sigh and lean against the wall, then I spot all the little writings on an open
stall door. I narrow my eyes, forcing my focus.
Malcolm for my baby-daddy
I sucked Saint’s cock
Tahoe rammed me right here
Callan licks cunt like a caveman
I
head back into the noise and try to find a good spot for spying when I see him
again. The two women won’t leave his side and now my stomach for some reason
feels jumpy, annoying me. One of the blondes takes a shot from the waiter,
licks the rim, and then adds salt.
Saint
edges back and watches her with an expression of casual boredom, but his lips
are curled, as if he’s having some fun.
I’m
so engrossed watching—a little too fascinated and a little bit disgusted—I
don’t realize a guard has walked up to me until he’s right in my face. He
signals to the back of the room—to where Saint’s best friends are now watching
me. Saint isn’t even looking my way. Oh no, he’s too busy being entertained,
still wearing that almost-bored smile. Maybe they need to take their tops off
to get him excited?
All
three men fit in perfectly with the lavish surroundings, but I can’t look at
the other two. Only at Malcolm. Malcolm’s dark good looks blend with the
shadows like Hades in his own little corner of hell.
Suddenly
he laughs over something one of the blondes does and he turns a little, his
eyes landing straight on me—and stopping there.
I
feel his stare like a hit of adrenaline. I want to look away, but I can’t, I
feel trapped. I don’t know if I made this up but I could’ve sworn his chest jerked
as if he sucked in a breath.
Does
he recognize me?
Do I want him to?
Suddenly
the atmosphere is so heavy I can’t breathe. My lungs feel like rocks and I
really can’t breathe. As he rakes me
in one fast, complete sweep of his eyes that makes my stomach grip nervously,
he takes in my pumps up to my long blonde hair, and I become aware of my dress
hugging the top of my thighs, my hips, my abdomen, my breasts and even my ass.
Oh god. I force myself to follow the guard in his direction, every step accelerating
my heartbeat. In that black suit and without a tie, the top button of his shirt
open and his hair a bit rumpled, Saint is the embodiment of luxurious and
decadent and sin. He is Sin Itself and I feel like an absolute…virgin.
He
stretches his long legs out before him, his stare fixed on mine without any
seeming inclination to move away.
“Mr. Saint,” the guard clears his throat. “The
gentlemen had me summon her.”
Although
his smile doesn’t waver, the look on his face is completely remote and
unreadable.
“Here she is, gentlemen,” the
guard then tells the other two—the blond and the copper-haired men looking at
me like lunch.
“Tahoe,”
the blonde says.
“Callan,” the copper-haired says.
Saint merely pats the blondes on
the butt and sends them on her way, then he reaches out to take my elbow
somehow in an instinctive gesture that brings me a strange sense of comfort. I
don’t know anybody else here, so when he tugs me to his side, I go down and sit
next to him on the edge of the long booth.
And
that’s when he leans his dark head over to me and murmurs, “Malcolm.” His voice
is so deep and rumbling, I shiver.
“Rachel,” I lamely offer.
He
raises his eyebrow and stares at me. What
are you doing here, Rachel? he seems to ask.
I’m
wondering what to say, when Tahoe lifts his drink and drains it. “You’re up
past your bedtime.” The Texan oil baby. Oozing charm, drawling out the words.
I
don’t know why but I’m acutely aware of the position of Saint’s body in
relation to mine. He just straightened fully in the booth and somehow shifted
so his arm is very noticeably stretched out behind me.
“Like
they say, no rest for the wicked,” I answer Tahoe with an extra-wide smile, my
heart pounding over Saint’s nearness.
Suddenly I can smell him. Just him.
Among all the mingled scents in the room, it’s Saint somehow in my lungs, in
every breath. He radiates a vitality that draws me like a magnet. It unnerves me but something in his presence, so close to
me, soothes me too.
“Apparently
there’s a dress code—Saint had to drop his tail and horns at the door,” Callan
jokes as a waiter sets a drink before me.
“Oh
yes.” I tug the hem of my skirt self-consciously, “I had to drop half my
dress.”
“Did
you now?” Tahoe asks.
“T.”
One
word, one letter, from Malcolm.
“Yeah,
Saint?” Tahoe returns, lifting his eyebrows.
“Dibs.”
I
almost spit out the drink. I cough and slam my hand to my chest, and Saint
calmly reaches out to take my drink from my hand and sets it aside. “Okay?” he asks, ducking his head and peering
into my face.
I
give one last cough and squeeze my eyes shut and nod, and when I open my eyes,
Saint is the only thing I see. I find him staring at me in such a penetrating
way I can feel the stare in my bones.
“Did
you just get to the party, Rachel?” he asks.
As
he waits for my reply, he reaches for my cocktail and extends the glass out to
me. His wrist is thick and looks so strong, so golden, his skin smooth, his arm
dusted with a little bit of hair as I cautiously take it from him, our fingers
brushing.
Tahoe
reaches for his coat pocket and waves whatever he extracted in the air. “Saint!
May I?”
Excitement
leaps in my chest when I realize it’s the
key!
“Not
happening, that’s not her scene,” Malcolm murmurs besides me.
“Aw!
Come on, let me give her a key. She’s a dime, man,” Tahoe drawls.
I’m so disbelieving, I’m not even
breathing as Malcolm slowly stands. I follow him up, staring up into his face in confusion.
“What
do you mean it’s not my scene?” I demand. I feel like there’s no gravity when
he stands so close to me. I’m dizzy. Confused. And unexpectedly hurt.
For
the first time since we met, he looks at me like he’s actually losing his
temper…with me. He leans closer and puts his lips close to my ear. “Trust me
when I tell you, it’s not your scene. Go home,” he whispers. He sends me a look
laden with warning and walks away, blending into the crowd.
Tahoe
and Callan stare at me, speechless. “That’s a first,” Tahoe mumbles and heads
away.
I
feel myself burn in humiliation and confusion. Worse is that, when I go
outside, the same man who drove us around the day before walks over to me.
“Miss
Livingston, a pleasure to drive you,” he says, hanging up his phone as if Saint
just called him. He is a huge man, with a bald head, an earpiece, and no
expression. A second later, he’s opening the car door of the Rolls for me.
Seriously?
Did
Saint call him just now and ask him to escort me home?
Aware
of people staring and seeing me being led to Saint’s car, I climb into the back
of the car and I murmur my thanks simply because it’s not this man’s fault.
The
car smells new and expensive and, like him.
A bottle of wine and water bottles ride with me. There’s music in the
background and the temperature is just right. The perfect luxury of it all
tempts me to run my hands down my dress and look down at myself in confusion.
What is wrong with me?
I
feel as if he pulled the rug from under me and reminded me what I’m up against.
The top of the species. Somebody ruthless.
I
can’t take the heat in the back of my ears and on my cheeks. I sag on the
backseat and set my forehead on the window. Focus, Livingston! Exhaling, I grab
my phone and try to write down all the details about what I saw, but I can’t
right now. I just can’t do anything but ride here, in his car, wondering why I
feel so vulnerable.
RELEASE DATE: March 24th
MANWHORE
book #1 of ‘the
manwhore series’
Is it possible to
expose Chicago’s hottest player—without getting played?
This is the story I’ve been waiting for all my life,
and its name is Malcolm Kyle Preston Logan Saint. Don’t be fooled by that last
name though. There’s nothing holy about the man except the hell his parties
raise. The hottest entrepreneur Chicago has ever known, he’s a man’s man with
too much money to spend and too many women vying for his attention.
Mysterious. Privileged. Legendary. His entire life
he’s been surrounded by the press as they dig for tidbits to see if his
fairytale life is for real or all mirrors and social media lies. Since he hit
the scene, his secrets have been his and his alone to keep. And that’s where I
come in.
Assigned to investigate Saint and reveal his elusive
personality, I’m determined to make him the story that will change my career.
But I never imagined he would change my life. Bit by
bit, I start to wonder if I’m the one discovering him…or if he’s uncovering me.
What happens when
the man they call Saint, makes you want to sin?
Hey!
I’m Katy Evans and I love family, books, life, and love. I’m married with two
children and three dogs and spend my time baking, walking, writing, reading,
and taking care of my family. Thank you for spending your time with me and
picking up my story. I hope you had an amazing time with it, like I did. If
you’d like to know more about books in progress, look me up on the Internet,
I’d love to hear from you!
Email: authorkatyevans@gmail.com
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