Ticket to Temptation

by Lilith Darville

  “Look, Daniel.” I tried to clear away the nodule swelling in my throat, like a fish bone I couldn’t dislodge. Greg came up behind me, pulled my chin around, and kissed me as if he owned me.

  To hell with how it appeared. I wrenched my head free and faced Daniel. Hurt flared like a match for a picosecond in those lovely blue eyes—then died. Greg scuttled off into the house.

  Daniel stood there without a word, waiting. I cleared my throat again and squared my shoulders. This had to be done, and it had to be done right. I had to make him believe to keep him safe.

  “Look, I’m sorry if I led you on. I didn’t mean to, really. I thought maybe I was into the kink, and I appreciate you letting me try it out. But once I got away from that house, I realized it just wasn’t for me.” I stared him straight in the eyes while I gave my pretty little speech, hoping my gaze showed steely determination.

  “Just like that? We’re done?”

  I thrust out my hand. “I do hope we can be friends, after all…”

  Like the shutter of a camera, he snapped shut. Closed down. Barred entry to the cave. His pain sent a volley of arrows piercing my heart. An internal hemorrhage that must not be exposed. Without a word, Daniel walked away.

  Chapter 24

  Daniel

  For the first moment, all I saw was the way the early evening light danced around her framing her exotic beauty. She sucked the life force right out of me. Then, Greg kissed her. I’d almost collapsed. Seeing her with him was like a sucker punch to the gut that knocked me right through the ropes. Flat on my ass. Then she spoke those fatal words— “I do hope we can be friends” —and it was the night with Justine all over again. I managed to keep my poker face on while I got in the car and drove away. Breathe. I drove around the block heading back toward the Garden Street Parkway. Not where I wanted to be. I pulled over. Gulped air. Tried to pluck the worm that had wiggled its way into my heart. I’d said never again, yet here I was. What the fuck was wrong with me?

  I slammed my fists on the soft leather covering the steering wheel and followed that up with a couple of beats of my forehead. Fuck! That one hurt. Okay, so I was reminded I wasn’t into self-flagellation. Nope. This boy preferred to give pain—to a willing writhing warm body. Alternatively, ripping apart a defenseless witness on the stand worked wonders. After all, that’s what a good lawyer did best, right? The trouble was, there was nobody around willing to be a target for the slings and arrows of my rhetoric. And Logan was probably writhing under Greg at that very moment. Fuck.

  It niggled at me. Like the background whiff of a bad smell caught in the wind whose passing is so swift, you wonder if you imagined it. I laid my head on the head rest. You can do this. It’s what you’re good at. I let the emotion flow out of me. I called on the Lawyer, imaging Logan brushing quotes in the air as she said it, laughing. Logan. My heart tore a little more, and that trace of rancid came back. This time I followed the scent, and it led right to that night with Justine.

  I thought about going back and confronting Logan and Greg. The Lawyer clamped tightly onto my balls and shook his head. Not an option. I put the car in gear and headed for home. Time to purge the center of this maelstrom. I’d pack up Logan’s things and shove them in a box—along with any memories of her. Nice and tidy. Out of sight, out of mind. How’s that working for you, Daniel?

  The long drive home gave me plenty of time to think of that wholly hellish night with Justine. Justine Pearson—chic, polished, cultured, and stunning. I’d thought she was the final asset that would make my perfect-life package complete. I’d thought I had the world by the ass—a full partnership, the perfect Village loft, and now the goddess Diana in human form. She’d come into my life right around the time I’d embraced my need for that added extra bit of kink in my sex.

  I loved to dominate. Not just loved to, needed to. Like a gear needs oil. I adored giving pain for pleasure. Even more, I loved that moment when a woman submitted completely to her inner depravity—or at least I was sure I would love it when I found it. I’d caught a whiff of it once at The Masquerade Club with a woman who turned out to be a skilled practitioner in the art. She’d awakened a taste for unusual sex play. I loved being the maestro who turned the score into a rhapsody, the gardener who cultivated the seed to unfurl into an exotic, fragrant flower.

  The problem was that outside of the Masquerade Club the women I knew used sex for one thing—as the springboard to the wedding chapel and my debit card. Justine differed greatly. She couldn’t have cared less about my bank account; she had far loftier goals than that. She had her nose pointed straight for the White House, and little did I know I was on a collision course with her ambition.

  All was well until that fateful night, the night I’d planned on asking Justine to marry me. That had been when I’d been a hopeless romantic who believed love would conquer all. I had it all planned—dinner with her best friends, Nancy and Keith. Drinks on my rooftop garden, romantically backlit by star and candlelight, a bottle of her favorite Krug Grande Cuvée, and, of course, the crown jewel of the evening.

  We were taking a breather after a spectacular gourmet meal. Justine and Nancy busied themselves in the kitchen with dessert while Keith poured our after-dinner drinks. On the way back from a pit stop, I heard Justine laugh.

  “Do you want a long engagement?” Nancy asked.

  “Not on your life. The faster we get married, the faster I can give up on all his weird kink shit and start training him for his life in politics.”

  “I didn’t know Daniel wanted to get into politics.”

  “Neither does he… Yet. My Daniel has a lot of surprises ahead of him.” They both laughed.

  “What kind of kink is he into?” Nancy sounded breathless with anticipation.

  “Oh, you know, the usual fifty shades kind of kink. All glitz with no substance. Our Daniel likes to play with his toys.”

  “Don’t they all? Of course, I wouldn’t mind playing with a few toys once in a while.”

  “Not me. Sounds like maybe we should swap.”

  Nancy moaned. “Hubba hubba.”

  “Hey, watch it, sistah.” They laughed uproariously.

  On the way home I’d confronted her, and she’d let me know that for her love meant forging a great partnership that would lead all the way to world domination, or at the very least American. That just wouldn’t work for me. I hated politics and had no interest in pursuing lofty positions. When I’d asked her if any of it was real, she’d said, “I really like you, but I just don’t think you’re ambitious enough for me.” She’d held out her hand. “I do hope we can be friends.” I’d walked out. And now here I was again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

  I hammered on the door until someone answered. The pugs upped the decibel level with their symphony of chaotic barks. Minutes later, Judy threw open the door. She glared up at me, arms akimbo.

  “Well?” Whew. Judy’s brown eyes threw daggers at me, and I’d swear she was looking for just one excuse to clock me. That look and that voice clamped a vice grip on my balls. All that bravado. She reminded me of Logan. The woman who betrayed me. Who might be fucking Greg this very moment? You know better.

  I pushed past Judy, stumbled through the hyperactive pugs, and made my way into the kitchen. Judy followed, muttering under her breath. A few words drifted past me, stuff like motherfucker and goddamned asshole and thinks I’m at his beck and call. Like water off a duck’s back, sweetheart. When we reached the kitchen, I stopped dead. The memory of Logan sitting there making plans with Cliff shimmered in the air, like one of those holograms on Star Trek. I dropped the box holding Logan’s stuff on the table and faced Judy.

  “You know what? We can talk about how pissed you are and the women’s liberation movement all you want some other time. But right now, I need you to shut up and listen.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. She drew that robust little body up to her full short height. “What the fuck’s going on? What’s that?” She pointe
d to the box. Alarm rang through her voice clear as the hand bells in a children’s choir.

  “It’s Logan’s stuff. Please see that she gets it.” I slumped into a chair and ran my hand through my hair. What a colossal mess. Logan had gone back to Greg, and that was that. Stung again—double crossed by the Con Couple.

  Judy pulled out a chair and pointed. “Sit.”

  “No thanks. I’ve got to get going. Just tying up—”

  Judy grabbed the tip of my ear and twisted. I sat, fast and hard. “Fuck.”

  “Listen, mister, you’re going to tell me what’s up, and you’re going to do it right now.”

  I rubbed my smarting ear. “There’s not much to tell. Logan went back to Greg. We’re done. End of story.”

  Judy pulled up a chair beside me and laid her arm across my shoulder. “Spill, Daniel. I need details.”

  “I went to Logan and Greg’s house and waited. Sure enough, they pulled up, and there she sat snug as the proverbial bug.”

  “Why would you wait at their house? I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t know why. It was a hunch. I couldn’t get any information. You and Logan weren’t answering my texts, and I couldn’t raise Cliff.”

  “That’s funny. I haven’t heard from Cliff either.” She wrinkled her brow and shook her head. “So then what happened?”

  “Nothing really. Greg had his hands all over her. He kissed her. It’s obvious they’re back together again.”

  Judy straightened, a map of laugh lines wrinkling her face as she squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds. Then, the lids sprang open and narrowed. “Where exactly did he have his hands?”

  “I don’t know. They were all over her, just like I said.”

  Although I wouldn’t have thought it possible, Judy’s eyes narrowed even further. Yikes. There it was, another Logan-ism flashing through my head.

  “Okay, let’s see.” I took a beat to squeeze my eyes shut and bring the moment back to mind. “He had his hand on the back of her neck. He was squeezing like he knew she was his.”

  “Or like he was intimidating her.”

  Maybe. No! “She kissed him.”

  Judy arched her perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “Oh, did she now. And then what happened?”

  “Then, I left. It was obvious. It was too cute for words.”

  This time I was sure I heard, “Fucking testosterone-addled brains.” She looked up at me again, like I was some kind of lower life form who needed nurturing. “So what are you going to do now?”

  I barked out a bitter laugh. “Who knows?”

  Judy gave me one wide-eyed glare before she doubled over in laughter. She laughed and coughed and wheezed through the better part of five minutes before she got up and pulled a wad of tissue from the box on the counter.

  “Oh God, Daniel. You do the best martyr. You go off and sulk and lick your wounds. Meanwhile, I’m going to see if I can find out what’s going on.” She walked toward the door, paused, and gestured for me to follow. “Come along.”

  Judy led me into her office and sat in a large leather chair that quite literally swallowed her. She leaned forward and punched a couple of buttons on the phone, then put her finger to her mouth.

  “Brooklyn Detachment, Sergeant Peters.”

  “Oh hey, George. Is Cliff back yet?”

  “Sorry, Judy, he’s still on surveillance and off the radar. I hear things are moving along though, so it shouldn’t be too long now.”

  “So, they caught the guy?”

  The sergeant chortled. “Not yet, but they did say the case is about to break. We have your friend to thank for it. Cliff sure knows how to call ’em.”

  “Oh, how so?” Judy put her finger to her lips again as I sat forward.

  “Once she made up with the perp, he started singing like one of those Canadian Tenors.”

  I stood. Judy gestured wildly for me to sit and covered the receiver. “Daniel, please.”

  But I’d heard enough. I did what I was good at; I walked out. I’d heard more than I cared to hear.

  All I could think about was getting out of there. Go back to Blackstone Manor and leave this crap behind. I didn’t care what was going on. Even if Logan going back with Greg wasn’t part of the sting, she hadn’t trusted me enough to bring me into her plans. She’d lied to me. I was not her boy toy to be played with when it suited.

  By all appearances the house was empty. I walked through yelling, “Anyone home? Raphael?”

  The stillness of the stone house mocked me: You are all alone, Daniel.

  I looked up at the large portrait of Anais hanging over the fireplace. I could swear a frown replaced what I recalled as a look of sensual ecstasy. Et tu, Anais? I dropped my suitcase by the couch and hurried from the room. But every nook, every cranny reminded me of Logan. Logan’s pert ass shining up at me, ready for my willing hand. Logan’s intense gaze as she tilted her head and listened to me as if I were the only one left in her universe. Logan’s…

  I slammed each door I went past as I made my way to the kitchen. If I hadn’t been such a chicken shit, I would have smashed my fist into each of them. But that kind of testosterone bravado only existed in movies or cognitively deficient brains. When I reached the kitchen, I opened and slammed each cupboard door in the hopes of expelling all thoughts of Logan along with my anger. A growing list of colorful expletives followed each bang. Fuck. Goddammit. Motherfucker. Cocksucker. I could not—would not—acknowledge the hurt.

  “What precisely is the reason for all the racket?”

  I turn to find Raphael leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed. Just like Logan on that first night. He stared at me with those ancient eyes that drew you into a time when gladiators fought in the Coliseum. Except he was far better dressed. Today’s impeccable outfit consisted of black pants with his signature razor-edged creases and a gray Burberry sweater over a pin-striped button-down. I almost whistled as my gaze fell on his shoes. His Bottega Veneta lace-ups with their multi-colored panels shone like mirrors. When I raised my glare, the look in those venerable brown eyes shattered the walls I’d hastily erected to shut him out. Once again, his age caught me by surprise. Could he have been one of Anais’s boys? Ridiculous. I was losing it.

  “Not quite that far back.”

  “So now you’re reading my mind? Get out of my head, Raphael. I have enough to worry about.”

  Raphael walked to the whiskey decanter, poured a shot, and slid it across the bar in my direction. I decided to ignore his comment and downed the shot. I slid the glass back toward him. Yes, getting piss-tank drunk would be just the ticket tonight.

  “Where the hell did you come from?”

  Raphael’s eyes widened but gave no other indication that he’d heard me. He poured another shot.

  “Son, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “You mean, you don’t already know? Aren’t you some kind of mind reader?” I downed yet another shot. Oh yes, I could be as pissy as the next guy. The thought that I was being an asshole pushed its way past all the justifiable detritus I’d put in its way. Yes, denial and rationalization had come out to play. Raphael regarded me much like a parent watching a toddler throw a temper tantrum. I sat down and sighed.

  “I lost Logan.” Even my eyes rolled at the sound of the self-pity dripping from my voice.

  “I wasn’t aware she was yours to lose.”

  Touché. “I think you know exactly what I mean.” I was too annoyed to take his bullshit. I would call a spade every other thing under the ancient oaks surrounding us except a spade.

  Raphael sat across from me and locked his fingers together on the table. “Why don’t you tell me the whole story.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this. Logan’s gone back to Greg. That’s all you need to know.”

  Raphael said nothing. He sipped his whiskey and regarded me with infinite patience that must come with the wisdom of the ages. Something behind his eyes pushed through the door of my resistance and
took a seat right next to the confessional I called my conscience. I sat back and sighed.

  “Turns out the secret service has Greg under surveillance for international money laundering and real-estate fraud, but they haven’t been able to pin anything on him. Logan’s best friend goes out with the head of the investigation—” I rose and started to pace. “Wait a minute. That’s just a bit too fucking convenient now that I think of it.”

  Raphael met my bad-tempered Poseidon with his calm Apollo. “Judy is very loyal to Logan. She would never be part of anything that would put her in danger.” He pronounced this with absolute certainty, leaving no room for argument.

  How does he know this shit? “You know Judy?”

  “Let’s just say I know of her.” His steady gaze followed me as I carved a moat around the table.

  “Anyway, Cliff—that’s Judy’s boyfriend—set up a sting operation. They needed Logan to meet with Greg and sign whatever papers he was desperate for her to sign. They would be able to track the money trail when he closed the deals. They used her as the bait and me as the hook to get Greg to take the bite.”

  “And did he?”

  “Did he what?”

  “Take the bite?”

  That gave me pause. I’d been so caught up in my head, I hadn’t even thought about the sting. “I guess I’m going to have to assume not since he was still a free man when I saw them.”

  “So that should be indicative.”

  “Indicative of just what, exactly?”

  Raphael raised an eyebrow and gave me his think about it look. I wasn’t trying to be obtuse; I just didn’t get the relevance. He continued sipping in silence, seemingly content to let time inch him much closer to the grave while I figured out what he was getting at. I drained my glass and poured another. I let the whiskey’s warmth flow through my cells, burning the edge off my self-pity, and returning the sarcastic edge to my tongue.