by Lisa Oliver
“You were thinking of someone.” Enzo teased.
“I don’t have anyone to think about,” Ronan said, tossing his hair back over his shoulders. “Between rehearsals, workouts and coming up with new routines, I don’t have time for dating.”
He felt slender arms around his waist, and for a moment he let himself be hugged. Being an Omega without a pack made things difficult for his wolf half, who craved affection. Ronan had plenty of friends, but he didn’t allow himself to be touched very often.
“You’ve got me,” Enzo said with his cheeky grin.
“And you’ve got two men already. I’d fall out if I crawled into your bed. Where are the two reprobates anyway? The show starts in fifteen minutes and they haven’t warmed up yet.”
Enzo dropped his arms from Ronan’s waist and wandered over to his dresser, suddenly fascinated with Ronan’s hair brush. “I…er…I might have mentioned I was feeling peckish.”
“So? There’s a deli on the corner that’s open late. A ten-minute walk at most.” Ronan stalked over and snatched the brush from Enzo’s hand, tugging it through his long dark hair. Sugar sticks! He had to find time for another conditioning treatment. He was getting to many tangles.
“Jeff mentioned sandwiches, but then Marcos said he’d heard of a new dessert place that’d opened up….”
Ronan glared at his friend in the mirror. “Where is it?” He knew how badly Enzo loved chocolate treats of any kind.
“Out in Winter Springs.” No wonder his friend wouldn’t look at him.
“That’s at least a half hour trip each way, without traffic. How could you?”
“Jeff wanted to take the bike, because it’d be faster, but Marcos said the dessert would get mashed and that there was no way he was going all that way just to bring me back mashed dessert. So they took the car, but they promised they’d be back in time.” Enzo was looking pitiful now, his slender hands twisting around each other, his full lips drooping.
“I swear if they miss this show because of your craving for all things sweet and nasty; I’ll have them working routines ten hours a day for the next week. They’ll be too tired to do anything else but sleep.” Ronan was furious. Sure, the first part of the show was his solo act, but he never felt settled until he knew his dance partners were in the building, ready for their cue to come on.
“They just love me so much….”
“Yeah well hopefully that love will keep them warm when I fire their perky behinds for not being here. I’m going to warm up. Make sure they head straight for the wings as soon as they get back so I can glare at them while I’m working.”
Not bothering to wait for Enzo’s reply, Ronan stormed out of the room, every nerve bristling. The thought of a big crowd didn’t bother him. All of his shows were packed and besides, when he started moving to the music, Ronan didn’t even notice the audience was there. But this wasn’t the first time Jeff and Marcos had cut things close because of a random errand they were running for their little sweetheart. Ronan cursed the day Enzo slinked up after a show and told him how lovely his hair looked. He’d made the mistake of introducing his latest fan to his dance partners and the three men were as thick as thieves ever since.
“Freaking love at first sight, my cabbage,” he grumbled as he made his way to the large backstage area, trying to think about his warm up exercises.
“Don’t believe in love, Ro? Well, aren’t you a cynic.” Angel was playing with the lighting equipment and Ronan guessed that Morgan was running late too.
“Can’t anyone arrive on time anymore. We’ve got a full house.”
“Morgan’s caught behind some freaking car accident on the north side of town. Traffic’s backed-up for miles. A truck took out a motorcyclist and the police set up detours while they assess the scene.”
“A motorcycle!” Oh my god, that could have been Jeff and Marcos. Then Ronan’s brain caught up with the rest of what Angel had said. “Sugar sticks and candy floss! That means Marcos and Jeff will probably be late, too. They’re off on a love errand involving chocolate in Winter Springs.”
“Hmm,” Angel frowned. He was an older man, his haircut military short, the dark strands peppered with grey. “We’ve got two hours to fill. I’ll give you first slot as always, you’ll have to do that solo; put the girls on for theirs after that; and then if the guys don’t turn up, you can get some of the audience on the poles and give them a few tips. The audience will just think it’s part of the act, then finish with a last dance solo of your own.”
“You know I hate interacting with the audience,” Ronan grumbled as he started a series of stretches. He didn’t need them, his wolf genetics saw to that; but if he didn’t do them someone might comment on it and the uproar would be more trouble than it was worth.
“Then pray your friends get here before the second part of the show, or it’s giggling women, and half-assed men for you. The show will go on.” Angel was a good boss, and Ronan was given a lot of leeway because he was so popular with the audience. But when he gave an order Ronan knew there was no room for playing diva. By the Fates, Enzo better hope his men got back in time for part two, or Ronan would make sure he was the first idiot on the poles for audience participation time.
Chapter Three
“Oh my stars, look at that guy move. He’s like liquid dynamite.”
“Huh, what. Oh.” Asaph had been checking his phone, waiting for the show to start. Leticia was apparently drinking with friends and decided to text bomb him. So far everything from his fashion sense to the size of his dick had been slandered; he was trying block her wretched number. His big fingers weren’t suited to fiddling with the on-screen keypad, and he kept putting in the wrong number. He glanced up, ignoring the beep that told him he’d put the wrong number in again, and the club fell away as his eyes were caught by the vision on the small stage.
Certain he was drooling; he ran a quick hand over his chin. Asaph had never seen anyone so…so…elegant, graceful, beautiful…just wow! His wolf, not usually taken with anyone, was fucking panting and pacing inside of him; Asaph agreed with his animal half. If that was Ronan Montgomery, he was frighteningly beautiful.
The stage was completely blacked out with the exception of a single spotlight highlighting a dancer’s pole and illuminated the boards below. Asaph barely noticed the décor; it was the slinky beauty currently making the pole his bitch that snagged his undivided attention. Asaph never saw anyone move with so much grace, so much feeling…there was sensuality in every kick of his long legs, the arch of his back and his hips…Asaph discreetly shoved his thumb knuckle in his mouth to stop himself moaning out loud.
A loud bass reverberated through his feet, and every vibration hit his balls. He wiggled in his chair to relieve the pressure in his crotch, not that it did much good. Thank goodness for long table cloths or Asaph would be making a fool of himself in front of strangers; although in fairness all eyes were glued to the stage. In just five minutes Asaph realized why it was such a chore getting tickets. Men and women alike were captivated by Ronan’s dancing and nothing could be heard except the driving beat of the music. It was as though the audience was frozen, watching, adoring – totally under Ronan’s spell.
Asaph took it all in; the shaggy long hair, framing and then covering beautifully fine features. Ronan had a pert nose, slender dark eyebrows and full lips that held the hint of a smile as the man twirled, and whirled and mastered the pole. Ronan’s torso was bare, a faint sheen showing a fine set of muscles. His leather pants encased the most beautiful set of gluts Asaph had ever seen, perched above long legs that seemed to go on forever and at the end of them. My God; the man was wearing heels.
Not those little one-inch jobs women wore to the office, or the clunky platforms men favored when they wanted to look taller. These were honest to god stiletto heels, and they had to be six inches high. How in heaven’s name could anyone, man or woman, dance with such abandon and confidence in killer heels?
The music stopped and As
aph took one last look at the man who was certain to become his obsession. Ronan was doing the splits, up the pole, his back arched and his long hair hanging down, almost touching the ground. The audience that Asaph had forgotten, surged to their feet, clapping, whistling and chanting filling the air. Ronan turned his head slightly, still holding his pose, and smiled, and then suddenly the stage went black.
Fucking hell, I want him. My balls are gonna explode if I can’t have him.
“Well, wasn’t he a tall drink of yum. Fair got my balls aching,” Bronson’s voice cut through Asaph’s thoughts. “You think he’d be up to a private performance? I’m sure clubs like this encourage that sort of thing.”
“You won’t be going anywhere near him.” Asaph didn’t care if his voice was sharp; he was too busy trying to attract a waiter’s attention. He slipped his wallet out of his jacket pocket and palmed a card and a twenty-dollar bill. He held it between his raised fingers and sure enough, a young lady made her way over, a pretty smile on her face.
“I need to speak to the owner. Is he available?” Asaph lowered his tone. The flush on the girl’s face let him know he could have a bed mate for the night if he wanted – which he did. But she was the wrong person.
“I’ll give him your card, sir,” she said quickly tucking the money into her bra and blinding him with another smile. “Can I get you anything else to drink while you’re waiting?”
“We’ll both have scotch,” Bronson piped up. “Doubles. No ice.”
After Bronson’s twenty disappeared in the same place as Asaph’s, the girl moved away, the flounce in her hips highlighting pretty legs.
“Now she’s gone, you want to tell me why Mister ‘I don’t date men’ is warning me off that bit of spice everyone is drooling over.”
“I don’t date men,” Asaph said quietly, catching Bronson’s eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I’m averse to fucking the one who’s got me hard as nails and I haven’t even scented him.”
“You sly old dog. All these years and I’d never guessed you’d take a walk on the wild side. You’d better be careful, you might like it.”
Asaph didn’t think that was likely. If someone like Leticia couldn’t keep his interest, he doubted a dancer in a club would. But money and position counted for something; if he could use his to secure the means of scratching an itch, then in his opinion, he’d be stupid not to use it.
Bronson nudged his arm and pointed; Asaph saw the tall man who’d introduced the show, heading in their direction, their flirty waitress by his side. Time to make a pitch. Asaph grinned. Like it would be hard to get what he wanted in a place like this.
/~/~/~/~/
“Ro, Mr. Bosch is offering you ten times your yearly salary for one paltry private performance. Fifteen minutes of your time. I can’t believe you’re turning it down. Every time I told him no, he doubled the amount he was prepared to pay.”
“Diddly sugar plums to him. I can’t believe, after all this time, you still don’t realize I can’t be bought.” Ronan tugged his brush through his hair angrily; incensed with Angel and the man who thought his money could buy anyone he chose. Mr. Bosch. The name was as stuffy as the discreet card Angel thrust in his hand.
Ronan was fairly certain he knew who was demanding the private party. And the thought of two shifters watching his performance was enough to set his teeth on edge. The bigger one, the blond; Ronan felt his eyes on him the whole time. His cock had gotten hard enough he almost fell of the pole in shock; it took every ounce of will he had, and the help of the music volume to keep his routine on track. Every instinct Ronan had screamed at him to get away from the lethal-looking shifters.
“He’s not paying to fuck you. I don’t run that type of place. He wants you to dance for him in private, that’s all.”
“I’m well aware what private dancing means.” Ronan turned and faced his boss, his wolf lurking in his eyes. “My agreement with you and this club strictly states that no one has the right to touch me and I am never to be forced to give private performances. I don’t care how much money that man thinks he can throw at me; it won’t buy diddly squat.”
“Ro, he could buy and sell this club ten times over. He’s a property developer and owns one of the biggest and most influential companies in town.” There was a note of worry in Angel’s voice that stopped Ronan from simply storming out of the club. The club wasn’t in the ritziest part of town; there’d been talk of developers trying to buy up whole blocks to transform them into offices and apartments. Angel owned the building, and had for years. But he could be pressured into selling. Fiddle sticks. He didn’t need this crap in his life right now.
It’s just one dance the devil on his shoulder prompted; but Ronan remembered his mother, his dear sweet mom who’d protected him for as long as she could, and the promise he’d made on her deathbed. Stay away from other wolves. He shook his head, his eyes filling with tears. “I know you don’t understand, and I wish I could help you. But what you’re asking…that clause in my contract is for personal reasons, and I can’t. I’m sorry but I just can’t. I’ll leave. Find somewhere else to work. I won’t have trouble coming down on your head, or anyone else that works here, just because of me. Tell Jeff and Marcos I’m sorry.”
“Ro, that’s not what I meant,” Angel said quickly, but Ronan didn’t want to be seen crying in front of his boss, or the other people he called friends and bolted for his dressing room. Thank the Fates Angel installed the lock he’d requested.
Chapter Four
“Mr. Bosch, the answer is still no.” The club owner, Angel or some other ridiculous name had come back, but the words he was speaking were not the ones Asaph had been expecting.
“I told you, if I had to, I’d buy this club and then he’d have no option but to comply for his regular wage. At least this way he gets some financial benefit.” Asaph was getting angry. No one ever said no to him, and the thought some petty little no-account dancer was trying to string him along for more money than he’d ever be worth was riling him big time. His wolf, though, was anxious, whining, and as that’d never happened before either, Asaph wasn’t thinking clearly at all. His cock was lead-pipe hard, his balls ached, and Asaph knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had to have Ronan Montgomery.
“This club isn’t for sale, not now, and to you, not ever,” Angel’s voice had hardened. “And thanks to your persistence, attitude and threats, I’ve now lost the best dancer in the state, possibly the country.”
“You fired him?” Asaph jumped to his feet, mildly amused that he stood a foot taller than Angel. But the man didn’t back down. If anything he looked more resolved.
“He quit! Ronan loved and needed this job. He was saving to go to the Performing Arts School. But, sweet man that he is he put his friends first. He left so you’d stop hassling me and the people who depend on this place for their livelihood. I don’t care if you can buy and sell me a thousand times over. You’re an asshole, Mr. Bosch. A fucking asshole who thinks money can buy everything and anyone. Well you can’t buy Ronan, and you won’t be buying this club. Now get the hell out and don’t ever come back.”
Angel stormed off and out of the corner of his eye Asaph could see two bouncers heading in their direction. Not wanting to cause any trouble that could end up on YouTube; he stayed silent, following the bouncers from the club, Bronson by his side. It wasn’t until they got to his car that Bronson spoke.
“Well, you certainly know how to show a guy a nice time, don’t you old friend.”
“I can’t believe Ronan said no,” Asaph said, unlocking his door and getting inside. “Who turns down that kind of money, and for what?”
“It doesn’t really matter now, does it. That talented dancer will be hitting the unemployment lines in the morning and probably flipping burgers by lunchtime; we’ve been banned from a club and I don’t know about you, but that’s not something that usually happens to me. So you didn’t get the fuck you wanted? So what? I think you’ve done enough damage for on
e evening, don’t you?”
“That wasn’t my intention.” Asaph put the key in the ignition, but he couldn’t start the car. His wolf was frantic in his head, desperate to go back into the club; Asaph wasn’t sure he could control himself enough to drive home safely. Wolf shifters were tough, but a car accident could cause a lot of damage.
“I think you’d better drive,” he said, unbuckling his belt, and getting out of the car. He heard the passenger door open, and seconds later Bronson was at his side.
“Asaph, what the hell’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Asaph said shaking his head. “I’m seconds from shifting; my wolf wants him so badly I can taste it; and I’ve felt like that from the moment I set eyes on him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was losing my freaking mind.”
“Did you scent him; did you catch the slightest whiff of his scent at all?”
“I couldn’t smell anything in the place except booze, perfume and freaking cologne. It was like a perfume factory in there.”
Bronson nudged him round the car; like an automaton, Asaph got in, and Bronson started the car. They were within five minutes of Asaph’s house before Bronson spoke again.
“I think that guy’s your mate,” he said, his voice piercing the silence. “What’s more, I think your Ronan’s an Omega wolf.”
