Dirty Secrets

by Landish, Lauren

  The second song’s the challenge, the pole routine that has me working my body hard. The stage lighting lowers to a deep red as I do my final tricks, glad that my new pole class has at least given me plenty of practice time to perfect my new favorites.

  Of course, whatever new thing I’m doing is always my favorite. I climb up high, locking my left leg on the pole and arching my back. Lifting my right leg behind me, I arabesque and let the spin ensure everyone’s eyes are on me.

  Stopping the slow turn, I arch even further, reaching back to grab my right foot and lift it even higher behind me, the arabesque becoming a vertical split known as the Eagle. I hold the pose, feeling the stretch in my legs as there’s a round of applause.

  Without warning, I release and let my leg and head fall simultaneously, giving the impression that I’m out of control, but it’s a planned part of my choreography to get upside down on the pole.

  I switch positions, letting my legs free to spread wide as my right elbow locks around the chrome, my left elbow goes around my leg, and I clasp my hands for support.

  It’s a yoga pose called Bird of Paradise that’s been adapted for the pole, and it’s the perfect complement to my sexy ballet-inspired set. I hold the position, letting the slow spin show off the lines of my legs before I gain momentum, doing a fast flip so I’m upright once again, my legs on one side of the pole as I bicycle along on invisible pedals, getting closer to the floor with every rotation around the pole.

  Finally, I touch down on pointed feet, and I flip my dark curtain of hair, resting back on the pole as I lower to the floor to gather the piles of bills.

  My outro music plays as I crawl along, smiling and flirting with the people at the rail.

  In this moment, I feel accomplished. I’m successful at the studio, the classes are going phenomenally well, even better than Donna and I had thought, and the feature here is an obvious hit.

  But as I reach the edge of the curtain and look back, I feel fucking empty. I didn’t dance for the money in my hand, though my bills will appreciate it. I danced for another reason, one I’m only willing to admit to myself. The thought triggers me to look up to the windows, something I’d purposefully avoided doing during the routine. But I can’t help it now.

  To my surprise, the windows are not all blacked out. Instead, on the far left, there’s one transparent window, framing Dominick as he stands tall and proud, stoically watching me.

  Our eyes meet, gasoline on the fire inside me, but I’m not sure if it’s anger or want. Seeing him so close, but so far, brings back the times we both knew what we wanted but stayed away.

  It seems pointless and stupid that we wasted so much time then. But what am I doing now? Am I making a stand, protecting myself from the fallout of a life where he takes my wild freedom and I allow him to put me in a cage?

  Or am I wasting time, time I could be with him?

  I can see it in his eyes, feel him holding back from me even across the rowdy space between us. Finally, he lifts his whiskey in salute and swallows the whole shot in one go, then turns away.

  An instant later, the window is black.

  Chapter 23

  Dominick

  I hadn’t even pretended that I wasn’t going to watch, didn’t lie to myself that way.

  I’ve been starving, desperate for even a hint of her, a whisper of her scent, her passion, her fire. It’s worn me down and nearly broken me.

  But tonight, I am going to feed the dark part inside of me that wants her, needs her, owns her. She struts the stage, made up in sultry paint and red lingerie that her natural beauty doesn’t need, and I know she did that for one reason only.

  To fight me.

  To show me that she can be whoever she pleases.

  But it pleases me too.

  I want her to embrace every facet of her personality . . . the sweet and the sultry, the submissive and the sassy, the bold and the brash, and the bared and the buttoned-up.

  I don’t want a two-dimensional figure, a shadow of a woman. I want her to explore every interest she has. I just want her to explore them with me.

  I will admit that I want her protected, but not in a cage. Or at least not a restricting one. I want her to realize that the cage I want to offer her is the same wildlife preserve that I live in, a place where she can be all she dreams of, safely free in her wild chaos.

  I want her to soar and test her limits. I want her to be my queen.

  An image of the chess set I gifted her falling to the floor at her feet flashes through my mind, a lance of pain in its wake. I’ve wondered too often if any of the pieces were broken, and if they were, what it means to my heart.

  With a forced breath, I return to the moment, here and now, watching my Allison dance. I could do this all day, every day. Her grace and elegance astound me and make me see beauty in function, light in the dark.

  But Logan is correct. Allie has lost weight, which concerns me. The shadows under her eyes are well-disguised with stage makeup, but I can see the weariness on her.

  She hasn’t looked up yet. I know because I purposefully left one window clear so that she could see me watching, a symbol of the transparency she wishes for between us. It’s a small gesture, but she’ll understand.

  It’s not until the end, as she’s almost off-stage, that she looks up and our eyes meet. My heart stops at the pain I see in her expression. I hate that I put it there and wish that she would let me soothe it away and take care of her.

  But I don’t know how to compromise on this, balancing the risks to her life over her discomfort with being kept safe. And as much as I hate to admit it, she wasn’t able to handle the truth of my life and how pervasive my love for her has become. I’d known she wasn’t ready, but I’d truly hoped that we’d get there one day soon. But fate had forced my hand.

  I lift the tumbler of scotch and swallow my drink in one gulp, the taste smooth on the jagged shards inside me, before turning away. I hit a switch, and the windows blacken to their normal matte exterior finish, leaving me in nearly soundproofed privacy.

  I sit in contemplation, knowing she’s in the building, so close but unattainable, at least for now. I want to rush down there, to throw everyone out my way and reclaim her, remind her that she’s mine. But I don’t move a muscle, forcing myself to stay in my chair, gripping the low armrests to ground myself.

  When my phone buzzes, I almost jump, lost in my own thoughts of how to right things with Allison, to get her to return to my side. Glancing down at the lit screen, I see Logan’s name and just two words, but my heart stops.

  She’s coming.

  I glance up to the security displays and see Allie on the stairs, coming to my office. I consider whether I should turn the monitors off, not wanting to put salt in the wound, but I decide against it. She must know that this is the truth of me, of my life.

  Even my own home is bugged. If she is to share this life with me, she must accept that reality. It’s a big nature park, but it’s still restricted.

  Her knock is soft and tentative, which hurts, ironically. Part of me wishes she would have just kicked in the door and started kicking ass. That she is hesitant, maybe even fearful of me, is a jolt to my soul.

  “Come in,” I reply, my voice steady even as my heart races. I have sat at the table with the biggest, baddest men in the underworld, have killed in cold blood for nothing more than my family name, and am by all accounts a scarily icy opponent in any conflict, but this woman is my complete undoing.

  She has reduced me to weakness, pierced all my defenses, and left me teetering on the edge of oblivion even as she’s worn herself down the same way.

  Shakespeare’s infamous quote skitters across my mind. Though she be but little, she is fierce.

  And my Allison is fierce, strong enough to stand at my side but also strong enough to stand against me and bring me to my knees. A worthier opponent I could never find, but also a more brilliant ally does not exist.

  She closes the door behind her, comi
ng to stand before me with her shoulders back, prepared for battle. She still has on the somewhat smeared remains of her makeup. Even stage makeup cannot withstand the amount of hard work she’s been doing, and her mussed hair flows over her shoulders in battle snarls. If I were a betting man, I’d wager her sexy red lingerie is underneath the oversized black sweats she’s currently wearing.

  She’s trying to get out of here as fast as she can. Trying to get away from me.

  She lifts her chin, challenging me. “I’m not here to discuss personal matters, only business. We need to go over receipts for the night so I can get my share.”

  Though my every instinct is to rush her, press her into a chair, and beg for forgiveness with my tongue buried in her pussy, I know it’s not the right move. Not for her, not for me, and not for us. Not now.

  “If that’s what you wish,” I say, feigning acquiescence. “Please, sit.”

  I gesture to the chairs in the sitting area of my office, not wanting my desk between us. If this is the only taste I have of her at this instant, then I don’t want even a scrap of paper between us.

  She sits primly on the chair’s edge, not relaxing even an inch. “So, fifty dollars a person entry tonight times . . . do you have a head count from the door yet?”

  I eye her, keeping my face neutral. “The fire marshal said our capacity is maxed at 350. Logan will have exact figures after closing, but I’m certain we hit it, maybe exceeded ever so slightly.”

  She does some quick math in her head, ticking off things on her fingers to help out. “So the door take is at least $17,500, and my share at twenty-five percent is . . .”

  I already ran the numbers on a calculator earlier. “About forty-four hundred minus tip share. Not a bad night.”

  “Says you,” she huffs before looking to the side, whispering quietly to herself, “Took everything I had to walk in here tonight.”

  Finally, I’m getting to her, ruffling her feathers and pulling her away from her desire to stay all-business. I lean forward, wanting to use this moment of honesty not as a weakness but to show her that I’m just as broken by what’s happened between us.

  “Allison, I’ve had to near-physically restrain myself from breaking down your door for the last two weeks to force you to listen to me. It took everything I have to let you walk on that stage tonight without being marked by me. And it’s taking every drop of control I possess to remain in this chair and not drop at your feet to worship you like the queen that you are.”

  I clasp my hands between my spread knees to watch her eyes come to me, her lips trembling as she realizes what I’ve said.

  “Dom, don’t,” she finally gasps, shaking her head. “I can’t.”

  “Don’t what?” I challenge her, my voice thick with emotion. “Want you, need you? Because I know one thing, Allison.”

  I get up slowly, not wanting to startle or frighten her, and close the small gap between us. Bending forward, I place my hands on the armrests on either side of her and lean down to whisper hotly in her ear.

  “You have damned me. I am yours. And you are mine.”

  She turns her head away, and though I suspect it’s more to keep her lips from mine and create some space between us, she only succeeds in giving me greater access to her neck.

  I lay soft kisses and licks along the tendon stretched tight there, letting her ragged breath be my guide. She whimpers as I get close to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, so I bite gently, not breaking the skin, but so that she feels the gentle tug of my teeth. I taste her sweat, drawing her flesh into my mouth and sucking to pull blood to the surface, wanting her to see that I am with her even when she’s alone later.

  Because I know that she will leave me again.

  It will take time. She is fighting herself as much as anything else, but she is still mine.

  “You already know that you hold my heart, and though a part of you wants to rip your heart from me, I can’t let you go. I love you, Allison. Always,” I whisper, and a tear slips down her cheek. I chase it with my tongue, catching its saltiness and savoring it, though I don’t want her to cry.

  She turns to look at me, her chocolate eyes pleading with me to stop this madness, but I can’t. With her bright red lips so close, I can’t stop myself from tasting them.

  She cries out against my lips, her hands going to my shirt, and though I think she initially intended to push me away, instead, she pulls me closer and kisses me back. Between kisses, she speaks in stilted utterances, foregoing breath. “I shouldn’t. It’s wrong. I can’t be . . . who you want me to be.”

  Confusion races through me, and I pull back from her, searching her face. Her eyes meet mine again, and then she breaks, the tears wrecking the last of her makeup as sobs shake her body.

  Reaching down, I gather her into my arms, holding her like a child in my lap as she shudders, her face hidden in her hands as I inhale the clean heat of her heavenly scent. When she can breathe again, I tilt her chin to look me in the eye.

  “Allison, what are you talking about? You are already exactly who I want you to be. I’m not trying to change you.” I rub her back, trying to comfort her, but she’s still looking at me uncertainly. “I love you, Allison Bancroft, just as you are.”

  She shakes her head, taking a deep breath before answering. “But you are trying to change me. I’m not some kept woman, Dominick. I don’t need guards and trackers and cameras. And secrets.”

  The last word is hissed like a cobra’s venom on her tongue. It strikes home, lashing me like a whip, and I fall back, the chair the only thing holding me up.

  “Allie, for two weeks, I’ve thought of nothing but that word. My life, it needs secrets. My empire is built on them, a foundation of knowing everything about everything. When I’m with you, I feel different, but the truth is I am not a good man, Allie. But you make me want to be. You make me wish that I were some regular Joe with a nine-to-five job, a minivan, khakis, and a golden retriever or something that could offer you an easy life. But I can’t give you that. All I can give you is me. And I am a cold, cruel, manipulative bastard who is in charge of a corrupt city.”

  She looks at me, but I’m rolling. I can’t let her interrupt me. I don’t have the strength to do this again.

  “My life, every moment is filled with risks. I am not trying to make you a ‘kept woman’. I am trying to make you my woman, which means keeping you safe. I know my world isn’t yours, and I wanted to introduce it to you slowly so that exactly this didn’t happen. All the security isn’t because of you. It’s because of me, and it tears at my black, black heart that I’m responsible for doing this to you. But I need them so that nothing happens to you. Because I couldn’t bear that.”

  She watches me as I shudder, completely unfazed by my anguish and not scared of the monster that I am. “But what if it was the opposite? What if I tried to get you to leave your world, get that 9-to-5 and be a regular guy like you said? You couldn’t do it. You’re not willing to change for me, but you want me to change for you.”

  I look at her incredulously. “You really think that?”

  I stand up, holding her in my arms, but turn to set her back in the chair so I can pace. I don’t like it, the way she’s studying me, but I need the movement to organize the chaos of thoughts in my head.

  I don’t like chaos. I am orderly and methodical, but in this moment, I am the tempest incarnate, swirling and uncontrolled. My steps echo in the quiet room, my eyes bouncing from her to the floor and back to her.

  “I am a monster, Allie. Can you not see that? Ask anyone and they’ll tell you the worst mistake of your life was to look at me the first time we met and see something other than the truth. I don’t smile, I don’t feel. I just rule like the calculating manipulator I am, whether I want the responsibility or not. Except with you. With you, I’m not a monster. I’m just a man, so quickly buoyed or crumbled by your every word. Weak, vulnerable . . . afraid. And in love. With you.”

  I chance looking at her and h
ate the way she’s staring at me. Like she doesn’t know me at all. Walking closer, I get down on my knees, bowing my head to the floor in total and complete subjugation to her.

  “I am sorry I didn’t tell you everything about the surveillance. Truly sorry. Please, that’s everything. I swear it is. But you have to know that if you want me the way I want you, you will have to endure those things, and you’ll have to trust me.”

  I hear her whisper softly in the silence, piercing my heart with every word. “Rule three. Trust.”

  Before I can ask her whether that means she does or doesn’t trust me, the door bursts open and Logan appears. Quickly, I leap to my feet, but he looks on unfazed, all-business.

  “Sorry, sir. Emergency. We need to go. Now.”

  I’m instantly back in The Boss mode, though I step in front of Allie, putting myself between her and Logan so that she can pull herself together.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Logan glances to Allie and replies sotto voce. “Pete called. There’s trouble. He’s involved.”

  Allie doesn’t see it, but I catch the way he jerks his chin toward Allie. There’s only one ‘he’ Logan would mention in relation to Allie other than me. TJ. I turn to Allie. “Stay here. Please. The guys are downstairs to keep you safe, but I need to deal with this.”

  She doesn’t agree or disagree before Logan interrupts. “Sir, it might be best to bring her.”

  I look to him, eyes narrowed as I analyze his motive for wanting to bring Allie close to anything that might be construed as trouble. He doesn’t back down, though, his voice still low and calm but unafraid.

  He grins, though it is grim. “Sir, that minute we talked about giving her . . . it’s up. Decision time for both of you.”

  Logan is a smart man. It’s why I’ve entrusted so much to him, and even without the full picture of what I’m walking into, I have faith that he has my back and my best interests at heart.

  Turning to Allie, I hold out my hand. “Let’s go, Allison.”