Free Lying and Kissing by Helena Newbury

wasn’t that their clothes were flashy but cheap—they were flashy and expensive. Designer bags, big rings and pendants—everyone was displaying their wealth. The men were slightly more subdued, but there was still plenty of jewelry on display. I saw a few women glance at me and then away, disinterested—I was too drab to be competition. And then they’d see Luka, behind me, and their perfectly-painted lips would open in shock.
    “Do you come here a lot?” I asked over my shoulder. All of the women around me were supermodel-gorgeous, all long legs and high cheekbones. I wondered whether he’d met Elena or Svetlana or Natalia here.
    He shrugged. “Sometimes. Is good place to let off steam.” I could tell he was relaxing because his English slipped slightly. Then he smiled. “But it’s more fun with someone new.” And, as I turned to look at him, his fingers brushed my cheek. They left a scorching, tingling trail behind, like the feeling you get when you touch ice fresh from the freezer and it burns instead of freezes.
    He took me downstairs and headed through the crowd to the bar. I could feel the energy rise up around us as we plunged in. Back home, I didn’t exactly spend much time in clubs, but I’d been to some at college. Some of it was familiar: the swell and ebb as the crowd reacted to the music, the wide-eyed grins and panting faces as they worked out the stress of the week. As Luka had said, a good place to relax.
    But the clubs I’d been to hadn’t had dancing like... this. On the fringes of the crowd, away from the hardcore thrashers, couples were going far further than just necking and groping. A couple of guys had their shirts mostly off and some of the Russian beauties were grinding against hands slid up their skirts and thrust into their tops. It really was like the underside of heaven—people who looked like angels, bathing in sin. A wave of fear mixed with heat rippled down my body. Was this why he’d brought me here?
    His bodyguard joined us and followed behind, eyes everywhere. No one in the crowd questioned his suit and tie or thought his stony expression was weird amongst all the excitement. In a place like this, I thought, they’re probably used to bodyguards.
    We neared the bar, where the crowd was three deep. I prepared to settle in to wait, but Luka just stepped forward. As he moved in behind people and they turned to see who it was, I saw their faces go deathly pale. They slid aside, a few of them waving him forward, most of them too scared to speak. Within seconds, there was an empty stretch of bar six feet wide.
    Luka acted as if he hadn’t even noticed, as if that’s just what crowds did by themselves. It hit me that it probably felt that way to him, by now. I tried to smile politely at the people who’d parted for us, but they just gaped at me. One or two of them wouldn’t even dare meet my eyes.
    It started to sink in just how feared this man was. The one who—I caught my breath—suddenly had his hand on my ass.
    I braced my hands on the bar and jerked back in surprise. It was wet, and freezing cold. Literally. The whole thing was a giant, sculpted block of ice, glossy smooth and slippery. Intricate tunnels had been bored through it and, at a few words from Luka, the bartender lifted a bottle of vodka and poured a generous shot into a hole in the bar’s surface. The clear liquor raced through the twisting tunnels, heading downward.
    “You better catch it,” said Luka with a grin. “Or it’ll spill.”
    I looked down. The tunnel ended at the front of the bar in a little ice spout. Probably, you were supposed to hold a glass there to catch your drink. But Luka hadn’t given me a glass.
    “Hurry,” said Luka. His eyes were sparkling.
    The spout was at roughly groin level. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. I could see him watching me, gauging my reaction. It was a test, to see if I’d play by his rules.
    Drinking a shot like that, with everyone watching, was not the