Chapter 17
1602 Words
Something warm and electric slid down Charlie’s spine. She swallowed, heart thudding. “Later,” she echoed, softer than she intended.
Rowan’s mouth curved—not a smile this time, but something darker. Satisfied. His fingers brushed her wrist as he stepped back, brief and intentional, a spark of heat that lingered long after the contact ended.
Caleb and Asher followed him without a word, the three of them melting back into the crowd like they’d never disrupted the night at all.
Charlie stood there for a second too long.
Mia leaned in, eyes wild. “YOU DID NOT JUST HAVE A MOMENT WITH THAT MAN AND WALK AWAY.”
“I—” Charlie exhaled.
At the bar, Rowan rested his forearms against the counter, eyes tracking the VIP section once more before he spoke.
“Two bottles,” he told the server calmly. “The good ones.”
The server’s eyebrows lifted. “Tab?”
Rowan slid his card across the bar. “Send them to the bachelorette party.”
The server glanced toward the girls, then back at Rowan, clearly reassessing everything. “Of course.”
Rowan took a step back as the bottles were lifted, already chilling, his attention returning to the crowd—but his focus never truly leaving her.
An hour later, the energy had settled into something smoother—less frantic, more dangerous.
Rowan, Caleb, and Asher occupied their own VIP booth now, jackets off, drinks in hand, talking easily. Laughter came more freely than it had in days. For once, there was no immediate threat pressing at Rowan’s back, no border alarms humming in his bones.
Still—his attention never strayed far.
He saw her the moment she stood.
Charlie slipped away from her group and headed for the bar, red heels steady despite the drinks, black dress catching the light as she moved through the crowd. She didn’t look lost. Or careless. Just… confident. Relaxed. Like she belonged to the night.
Rowan’s gaze followed her without apology.
Caleb noticed, of course. He always did. “You going to let her go alone?”
Rowan took a slow sip of his drink. “She can handle herself.”
Asher smirked. “That wasn’t an answer.”
Rowan didn’t respond—but when Charlie reached the bar and leaned in to order, laughter spilling from her lips as she spoke to the bartender, his wolf stirred, alert and intent.
Across the club, Charlie felt it again.
That awareness.
She glanced over her shoulder—and found Rowan already watching her.
Their eyes locked.
Rowan stood.
Caleb didn’t bother hiding his grin. “Well. About time.”
Rowan ignored him, already moving—cutting through the crowd with calm, predatory ease. People shifted without realizing why, bodies parting as he passed. By the time he reached the bar, Charlie had just accepted her drink, fingers curling around the glass.
She felt him before she saw him.
Heat at her back. Space disappearing.
Charlie lifted her glass slightly. “I’m grabbing water for Anna and Mia, thank you for the champagne” she said, then hesitated—just a flicker—before adding, “Have a shot with me?”
For a split second, hope sparked in her chest.
Rowan’s mouth curved, but he shook his head. “No shot for me.”
The words were gentle. Final.
Her smile stayed in place, but something dimmed behind her eyes. “Right. Of course.” She gave a small shrug, like it didn’t matter. Like she hadn’t wanted him to say yes more than she cared to admit.
Rowan noticed. Of course he did.
“I’m working,” he added quietly, meeting her gaze. “Even when it doesn’t look like it.”
That helped. A little. Still, disappointment lingered—warm and unwelcome—as she turned back to the bar and ordered waters.
When she glanced over her shoulder, Rowan was still there, watching her with an intensity that made her pulse stutter. Not distant. Not disinterested.
Restrained.
He leaned in just enough for her to hear him over the music. “Don’t look so crushed, Charlie. If I start drinking with you, I won’t stop at one.”
Her breath caught. She swallowed, then lifted her chin. “Who says I’d mind that?”
His smile turned dangerous. “That,” he murmured, stepping back, “is exactly the problem.”
Charlie picked up the waters, heart racing, and walked back toward the girls—aware of his eyes on her the entire way, aware that the night was far from over.
A while later she came out of the rest room, Charlie froze.
It hit her all at once—the sight of Rowan at his table, relaxed back against the leather booth, a gorgeous woman pressed far too close to his side. She was all curves and confidence, massive breasts threatening to spill out of a glittering top, her manicured hand resting possessively on Rowan’s forearm.
The woman laughed, leaned in, and said something Charlie couldn’t hear.
Rowan smiled.
Then—casual, unguarded—he tipped back the shot the woman handed him.
Charlie’s chest tightened.
She hadn’t expected it to sting like this. Hadn’t expected the heat of jealousy to flare so sharp and fast it stole her breath. Her first instinct was to laugh it off, tell herself she was being ridiculous. They weren’t anything. He didn’t owe her a thing.
Still.
Her fingers curled around her clutch as she turned away, forcing her feet to move.
The music felt louder suddenly, the lights harsher. She made it back to the girls on autopilot, plastering on a smile she didn’t quite feel.
Mia noticed immediately. Of course she did. “What happened?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
Charlie took a sip of champagne, shrugged too casually. “Nothing. Just tired.”
But her gaze betrayed her, flicking once—just once—back toward Rowan’s table.
Because even across the room, even with another woman’s hand on him, Rowan’s eyes lifted.
And locked onto hers.
His smile faded.
The woman beside him said something, laughed again, but Rowan didn’t look at her. His attention was entirely on Charlie now—sharp, unreadable, intense. As if he’d felt the moment her mood shifted. As if the shot hadn’t meant what she thought it did.
Charlie broke eye contact first, heart pounding.
The music swallowed them whole.
Charlie was laughing again now, head tipped back as she lifted the champagne bottle to her lips and took an unapologetic swig. Cheers erupted from the girls around her, Anna nearly losing her tiara as she danced, Mia whooping loudly, Chloe clapping overhead.
Charlie let the rhythm take her.
She swayed her hips, slow and loose at first, then more confident—body rolling with the beat, shoulders relaxed, eyes half-lidded. The tight black dress moved with her, catching the light, every curve on display without her trying at all. She didn’t care who was watching.
But Rowan did.
From the edge of the VIP area, he stood still, drink forgotten in his hand. His gaze tracked her every movement—the way her hips circled, the way she laughed when Mia bumped into her, the way she lifted the bottle again and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
His jaw tightened.
She looked free. Glowing. A little reckless.
Dangerous.
Caleb leaned closer, following Rowan’s line of sight. “You’re staring,” he said mildly.
Rowan didn’t look away. “I know.”
On the dance floor, Charlie spun, hair flying, cheeks flushed. For a brief second, her eyes lifted—cutting through the crowd like she felt him there.
They met.
Her smile faltered, just barely, then turned slow and wicked. She took another drink, lifted the bottle in his direction in a silent, teasing salute, and went right back to dancing—hips swaying even more deliberately now.
Rowan exhaled slowly.
Charlie let the music take over, running her hands slowly over her arms and down her hips, owning the movement—lazy, sensual, unashamed.
Rowan watched, pulse thudding, control slipping one dangerous inch at a time.
A man stepped into her space, smiling as he asked her to dance.
Charlie glanced at her friends, then nodded, letting him take her hand. As they moved together, she laughed easily, body loose and warm from champagne—unaware, or maybe very aware, of the way Rowan’s gaze sharpened the moment another man’s hands settled at her waist.
The stranger pulled her a little closer, moving easily with the music. Charlie let it happen—laughing, spinning once under his arm, champagne warmth buzzing through her veins.
But her attention drifted.
Across the room, Rowan had gone still. No smile now. No casual lean. Just focus—dark, intense, locked on the way another man’s hands hovered at her waist.
Charlie felt it. That pull. That awareness.
She danced anyway. Letting herself be seen.
And somewhere deep in Rowan’s chest, something low and dangerous stirred, the urge to cross the room and remind everyone exactly who she belonged to—whether she knew it yet or not.
Rowan took a step forward—and Caleb’s hand closed around his wrist.
“Don’t,” Caleb said quietly. “You’ll cause a scene.”
Rowan’s jaw flexed, eyes never leaving Charlie. He was still deciding when the man leaned in, mouth brushing close to her ear, saying something that made her laugh—soft, breathy.
That was it.
Rowan shrugged Caleb off and moved.
- Writer
