"Can I get you something to drink, miss?"

She turned her head to see the bartender, his elbows leaning against the table and an exaggerated smile on his face. Her lips, painted in a thick layer of ruby red, twitched up into a flirtatious smirk, her body leaning forward, the already visible cleavage enhancing as her elbows pressed her breasts together, as if on accident. But none of her movements were accidental, they all had a purpose.

Her eyelashes, long and thick and casting spidery shadows down the planes of her face, batted up and down at him. His smile faltered, a lump visibly forming in his throat. Keeping her gaze on him, she dug her hand into the small clutch resting on the counter, a small frown replacing her smirk as her expression feigned sorrow.

"Goodness," she gasped, bringing her freshly manicured nails to her forehead. Her voice was sweet and melodic, and the bartender found himself almost swaying to the precious sound in his ears. "I think I left my credit card at home. I don't have any cash either." Her hands skillfully hid the contents of the clutch from him, only her eyes able to see the crisp stack of pounds. Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout, her dark eyes, nearly as black as the suede heels adorning her feet, looking up to him. He swallowed hard, and she found herself refraining from laughing at the way his eyes would stray from her face every so often, to an area just a bit lower.

His eyes made their way back to hers, the smile finding its way back to his lips as he regained his smooth composure. "This can be on me, gorgeous."

Before she could respond, he turned from her, his slightly shaking hands working right away to get her the best drink he could concoct. Sighing, she swiveled in the bar stool, her gaze returning to what it had been so interested in for the past hour. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the scene before her, the relaxed poker game she had been eyeing from her seat at the bar now a gaze-catching sight.

Her eyes stayed on the man that had caught her attention from the start. Her spine straightened, gaining her an inch or two in height so she could get a better view. Her previously flirtatious expression was now calm with focus, watching as a glass of wine was brought to a pair of rosy lips.

"What is this?" she heard his hoarse voice say calmly, the rim of a glass brushing against his rosy lips. Even from her seat at the bar, she could feel the rawness of his voice, her inner thighs suddenly pushing together and the grin on her face widening.

"It's-uh, Muscat," the guy cowering beneath him spoke, his voice quavering. Her eyes caught the arrogance in his emeralds eyes that seemed to be glowing brighter with every nervous tremble of the man before him.

Playing mindlessly with ends of her ravenous curls, she watched as the glass was brought to his lips and he took a small taste of the wine. He pulled the glass back, an unfazed expression on his angular features. She eyed the strength of his jaw, which was set stiffly, and then roamed the length of his body. His build screamed regal, from the broadness of his shoulders to the leanness of his legs. Her tongue peeped out, gliding slowly against her bottom lips as thoughts of what his body looked like without a suit on threatened to ruin her cool stature.

"Here's your drink, babe," came a voice to silence the deafening images running through her mind. She averted her eyes back to the bartender as he slid a fruity drink her way, a hopeful twitch in his smile. She rolled her eyes, grasping the glass and returning her attention to where it belonged. She didn't come to the finest club in London to settle for the bartender. The role she was seeking could only be played by someone like Green Eyes; someone powerful, wealthy, and enticing.

"Get the fuck out of my club," she heard him growl at the man before him, her lips brushing against the glass as the fruit drink slid down her throat. She pulled the glass away, a faint stain from her lipstick imprinted on it, just as the trembling man Green Eyes had been glowering at, fled from the scene, disappearing in the crowd of dancing bodies.

Her dark eyes looked up to the high ceiling above her for a moment, a silent praise to whomever had granted her this perfect opportunity. This man, beast more of, seemed like none other she had ever caught in her viscid web, a challenge in the least. But with every challenge came a reward, and this reward could possibly be what her heart had been set on the moment her Louis Vuitton's set foot in the Wild Things. Her knowledge of this club was limited to the light chatter that floated along the streets of London. It was well-known that the occupants of the Wild Things were one of two people- those who were wealthy and those who desired wealth.

One last sip from her drink, the glass set on the counter top beside her, and her body was soon amid the others. She felt eyes on her, multiple pairs in fact; on the sway of her wide hips, on the gentle bounce of her longs curls, and on the cleavage of her dress. There was an exaggerated seductiveness to her gait, but an alluring classiness to it as well. She wasn't some street whore, flaunting herself for crumpled notes to be placed under the straps of her bra. She was anything but, rather. The pearls wrapped around her neck, a rich Chanel fragrance clinging to her smooth skin, a pair of thousand pound heel; she alluded the image that she belonged in the group of the wealthy. But she didn't; she didn't belong anywhere.

-----------

The last bit of his wine trickled down the length of his throat, his jugular bobbing as he swallowed. Crook was at the bar, probably already on his third glass of Scotch, and it seemed no one was up for another game. Reaching for the black, silk tie around his neck and loosening it, Styles pulled his phone out from the pocket of his slacks, sending a message to John for him to come. His mind was only barely numbed by the few glasses of Pinot-Noir he had consumed throughout the evening, but more than anything, he was feeling bored and tired, the excitement in his night ending just at the time Keller had fled. No poker, no women; there was nothing left for him here.

Be there in 15.

Styles frowned, the skin of his forehead in minute creases as he read the message from John. Fifthteen minutes? His teeth ground together, a vein in his neck ticking at the lack of punctuality from his limousine driver. Letting out a heavy breath from his rosy lips, he responded to him.

Next time I expect my ride the moment I ask for it.

Frowning, he sent the message, running a hand through his hair, which was probably more of a messy mane now that the gel in it had dissipated over the past few hours. Anyone else who might have been in the situation would probably expect no less from John, for this was only his second week at the job. Styles' previous driver had been fired for smoking an entire pack of Marlboro in the limo while waiting in the club parking lot. If there was one thing Styles hated more than being late, it was cigarettes. The stench made his nostrils flare and his fists clench, an undying anger swelling within him. It is said that our memory is best triggered by our sense of smell, and his reaction to the wafting smoke only proved that. Needless to say, one could imagine the extremity of the situation; the driver was fired within seconds, a new limousine was requested, and that night Styles had tossed and turned in his sleep with the dreadful scent still lingering in the shaft of his nose, his emerald eyes not being able to close even once.

"You seem a little distraught for someone who just won a poker game."

The soft voice, laced with mockery, played in his ear as he stared angrily at the device in his hands. The source was from behind him, his head slowly turning to the beauty that, unknown to him, had been watching from the bar the entire evening. Styles kept a collected mask, eyeing the girl before him slyly.

He stood up tall, in all his majestic glory, staring down at the petite woman with a menacing glare. He senses suddenly got a wift of a velvety fragrance, probably her perfume, and he found himself inhaling the scent.

She looked up to him, unfazed by his height or hard expression. In fact, it only fueled her further. The ruby lips pulled up higher into a confident smirk, the hand grasping her clutch resting on her hip as she stuck it out. As expected, his green eyes followed the curve of her hip, shamelessly even, before slowly returning to her sardonic face.

"I'm sure you would be distraught as well if your poor excuse of a limo driver failed to do his job," he spat lowly. His eyes failed to blink as he peered down at her, his features only hardening more as he watched her smug eyes roll to the high ceiling, as if he was some sort of a joke.

"Well, I'd be pleased with having a limo driver at all, let alone having just won thousands of pounds. Be grateful, will you?" Her hauty grin widened, the bleached teeth revealing themselves from underneath, the dim club lights from above reflecting against their unnatural whiteness. She let her eyes glance at the ground below her, where a shattered wine glass laid in all its pitiful glory, surrounded by a small pool of the liquid it had contained. She let her black heels move a bit, pressing into one of the shards, obliterating it to microscopic pieces.

"Quite a mess here, don't you think?" she said, looking back up to the beast of a man before her. His gaze was unmoving, glued to her as if she was his prey. However, in her mind, it was the other way around. "Perhaps we should call for the owner to clean this up."

Her throat went noticeably dry as she watched the smooth muscle escape his rosy lips, licking them before he spoke. If she didn't have sinful thoughts about him already, she certainly did now.

Styles took a small, yet firm step towards the woman before him. With her perfume clouding his mind, and the black set of eyes that seemed to be challenging his every move, he began to wonder how he had failed to notice her before. Surely if he had seen her, it would've been him throwing cocky remarks with a devilish smirk, easily swooning her into his bed for the night. For the first time, though, he was being approached. Did she even know who he was? Perhaps her haughtiness would subside if she was aware of the title that came along with the man towering over her.

Their bodies were inches away from each other. The intensity between their gazes, those two stubborn gazes, was so thick one could smell it. From this close, rather than ways away at the bar, she could now inspect every inch of him. His suit was silky and smooth, not a single wrinkle in the black fabric. The tie around his neck, black as well, had a small gold engraving that peeped through at the knot. She recalled the same engraving on her last conquest, a small smile ghosting her lips at the memory. Then, she noticed the black ink peaking from underneath where his suit stopped at his prominent collarbones, a dark swirl that she couldn't make out without seeing the entirety of the image. Tattoos, she hummed to herself. This should be interesting.

A large hand reached up for her face, slowly creeping towards the smooth flesh. Her curious eyes feasted upon the sight of a gold watch on his wrist, small diamonds cresting it. She nearly peeled her dress of at the thought off how much that must've cost. Her gaze left the watch and returned to the emerald orbs in front of her as rough fingertips grazed the skin over her temple. A warmth sprouted in her, but just as fast as it came, it left, his hand dropping back slowly to his side.

He smirked.

"I'm afraid I am the owner, love."

..................