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Lyle. That was Parker's initial suspicion when she felt the eyes on her; undeterred, however, she waved for a drink and then another and was fuzzily cognizant by the time her date arrived.

He was a blond, industrious, over-achieving thirty-something-  yet another in a very long line of men who claimed to love her; Parker, likewise, claimed to be altered in a rather profound way by the revelation.

But not enough to leave the Centre.
 
The night club was high end, opulent, spacious; the dance floor was a fluid, pulsing sea of bodies.

So, baby brother likes to watch, does he?

Parker spun, arched her hips forward, into Mr. Over-achiever's crotch. He owned several franchises along the eastern seaboard, had powerful ties, washboard abs and startling green eyes.

And he was at her disposal 24/7. He was the brand of stress reliever that couldn't be found in any pill or cigarette.

He pulled her into his arms, observed in deferential awe as her manicured nails traveled the length of her body, through her hair, worn loose and slightly wild, and into the air.

She closed her eyes, longed to close her mind- or more specifically exorcise Jarod, all thoughts of him, from her mind.

Married? Well, fuck him if he wants to be tied down. To La Señorita Iceberg. I should've known he'd marry the first little mamacita to come along and pop his cherry.

Typical Jarod.

But to the woman's credit, she doesn't reek of strawberry lip gloss like the thin slice of shortcake he was fucking when we jumped from that train.

No. Nia smells of earth. Of fresh mountain air. Poor Franken-rat. He likes them small. Docile. Eternal damsels in distress.

Sorta like baby brother.

Oops.

Speaking of which.

Hips forward. Back arched. Xander groaned, danced them into a dark corner. One spaghetti strap slipped down her shoulder and her partner lowered it further, pulled a breast into his mouth.

"Oh, fuck." Parker hitched her dress, needed only to spread her leg. Their mouths parted long enough for him to tear open the condom.

And then a low, long hiss of gratification as he entered her.

Their frenzied dance lasted all of three minutes; they came amid halting gasps and groans.

"My place or yours?" He asked afterwards while she sipped her whiskey. "Yours."

"Then, let's blow this place." He whispered and led her outside, where three men dressed in dark suits waited. Bouncers?

"Mister Xander Huntington?" One of them inquired.

"Who wants to know?" He asked.

"IRS." The most grisly of the trio answered, revealing his badge and nodding amiably. "Sir, we have a few questions to ask you."

"What is in this in reference to?"

"One of your recent international acquisitions, Sir."

Xander turned, met Parker's gaze, and shrugged. "I-"

"We'll talk tomorrow." Parker assured him and then continued on to the limo. "Home, Matthew." She informed the driver. 

"Yes, ma'am."

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