Teasing in Stilettos: Contemporary Romance

by Nana Malone

  Add Cara to the fucked up cocktail of family obligation and his promise to his dying mother to look after his brother, and yeah, Donovan took fucking advantage. “For fuck's sake, nothing happened, Donovan."

  “Yeah, yeah, but you wanted it to.”

  Tate wasn't doing this. Not now. It was Donovan's favorite needle to prod him with. “It was a long time ago, Donovan. Let it go."

  “I will. I wonder what would happen though if you ran into her again.”

  “Nothing. Nothing would happen. Just like last time. Now, if you don't mind, I have to finish my job and yours too."

  “Go on, be the good son."

  Tate hung up and swallowed the fact that he just lied to his brother. If he ever did see her again he wasn't sure if he could walk away again.

  2

  Maybe he hadn’t seen her. Cara knew she was being ridiculous but Donovan Anders had fucked her up and she wasn’t in the kind of place to be seeing him again. That was just the truth, she told herself. The next day, she took precautions as she headed to the club. Her scarf and sunglasses were just giving her some cover.

  Oh who are you kidding? You’re hiding. This shit was like witness protection. She was never going to talk to him again if she could help it.

  After class that day, she threw on her baseball hat and her Sophia Loren sunglasses. A few of her students lingered and normally she would have invited them to coffee or something, because after all, happy students were repeat customers. But today, she had an audition. It was for a coffee commercial. She needed to be dancing coffee. Not exactly the kind of dancing she had in mind, but whatever. Money meant protection and cushion.

  She could call her parents of course, if she needed money, but she wasn't going to do that. She knew they supported her, but she wanted to do this stuff on her own.

  She said her goodbyes and headed into the warm DC afternoon. The last few weeks had been unbearable, but today it was just eighty degrees and pretty nice out.

  Dupont Circle was bustling with tourists, politicians, and families. She did love the city. She turned left on 19th and slammed into a wall of muscle. Before she knew what was happening, she fell flat on her ass with her bag flying. The fuck?

  "Oh shit, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you." A deep male voice washed over her like warm chocolate.

  Cara took mental stock. Was she hurt? If she was hurt she could kiss dancing goodbye for a few days. But her legs felt fine. Her ass though, that throbbed, and the palms of her hands stung a bit. But it was better than searing pain. She was okay. "I, uh, I'm good."

  "I'm so sorry. I thought I heard my name and I turned to look. My bad. Let me help you up."

  Cara peered at his shoes. BLOMA from ECCO. New-ish, but well used. She only knew the brand because a client had them. No-show socks barely peeked out of the running shoes. Black, utilitarian. Tanned legs with a smattering of dark hair on them. Very toned calves. Athletic. Knees were scarred and scraped. Nothing recent. More like from years of playing sports and playing on hands and knees. Her eyes ended up at the hint of thigh under the dark blue shorts. She gulped.

  Okay, yeah. Lean, but muscular. Like a soccer player, tennis player, runner?

  She took the outstretched hand and a quick, sharp bolt of electricity had her snapping her hand back. Her body warmed and tingled. Focus, Cara. She looked at her watch and groaned as she reached for the bag. If she didn’t hustle, she'd be late for this audition. Do you even really want to go? "No, I'm okay. Really."

  "No, no you’re not. Your hands are scraped. Let me just— Cara?”

  Cara's eyes snapped up to his face, but the glare from the sun stopped her from seeing clearly. Who was it? She scrambled to her feet and peered at him. Oh shit. Twice in a week? The Anders boys were trying to fuck with her. They had to be. But instinctively she knew who she was dealing with. "Tate?"

  "Yeah." He blinked at her then picked up her sunglasses and handed them back to her. "Wow, I haven’t see you since ..." He let his words trail off.

  “Since I ran out of your house with my hair on fire?”

  His lips tipped up in a smile. "Yeah."

  She gave him a wan smile. "It's been a while." Just one year, six months, four days and a handful of hours, but she wasn’t keeping track.

  "You look—" His words cut off abruptly as his eyes tracked her body. "Uh, the same."

  Her skin flushed. He looked as good as she remembered. Good enough to eat, with just enough edge to spice things up. Donovan had been right. She had fantasized about his brother. She hadn’t meant to but it was hard. And now here he was. Every wet dream fantasy come true. All sweaty. FML.

  "So do you. I'm late so I should—"

  One of the dancers opened the side door and stumbled out. "Hey, Cara. Serena was looking for you. Did you find her?"

  She was grateful for the distraction, a way to look somewhere else instead of into those beautiful silvery eyes. "Yeah, I found her. Got my check. Thanks, Amber."

  Amber eyed Tate up and down and smirked. "Well, see you Thursday."

  When she was gone, Tate was staring at her."You work here?"

  Cara flushed. Great, now he knew where to find her.

  "Yeah. Off to an audition now so …"

  But he didn’t take the hint. "Here, at Club Prestige? Doing what?"

  She saw it then. The core of the problem and why she should have just stayed in her lane and never gone anywhere near the Anders boys. The judgment, the condemnation. The pity. She tilted her chin up. "What do you think?"

  His brows furrowed even more. "But, I remember you wanted to be a dancer. For the Gilbert Company."

  He remembered that? "Still do. In the meantime, a girl has to pay for dance shoes, so …"

  She had to go. Then why aren’t you moving? Tate had a way of looking through her. It rooted her to the pavement.

  "It's been a long time, Cara."

  "Established." Time. To. Go.

  "I just can’t believe you’re a ... dancer."

  The way he said it degraded every single one of the women who worked in there. And she might not be one of the entertainers, but they were her friends. "So what if I am? The concern is touching, honestly, but I have to go."

  He frowned. "Cara, come on. It's been a long time. Maybe we could grab a coffee or something."

  Her body and the messed up inner romantic wanted to believe in love and possibilities. Wanted to say yes. But she knew better. "Not gonna happen, Tate. Besides, I know how this will turn out."

  "Come on." He wiped away the sweat on his brow with his T-shirt. "Just coffee. Catch up, talk about what happened to you. I've always wondered."

  You mean besides you telling your brother then leaving me to fend for myself? But no. Bygones. She wasn't going to live in that particular past. She needed to go. But Tate Anders still had the same effect he'd always had on her and she hated it. At this rate, she'd miss the audition.

  "Nothing to wonder about. Clearly you weren't curious enough to show up that night." Oh my God. Shut up. Shut up. Way not to look desperate.

  His brows furrowed. "What are you talking ab—"

  She wasn't going to do this. She couldn't do this. "I'm going. Do the both of us a favor and forget you saw me here." Cara rushed toward the metro and didn't look back.

  She’d thought he cared once, but it was a game. And she wasn’t interested in playing. Not when the stakes could endanger her heart.

  3

  Tate couldn’t believe he'd seen her. Cara. Just like that. He'd been running and then bam. Literally. Cara North was a girl that was hard to forget, even when he should have forgotten her. He'd been captivated by the girl with the dark stormy eyes at the volunteer event. She'd been a volunteer and he had been standing in for Donavan. His brother, as always, was MIA when it came to real work. But his mother's foundation was her legacy. He'd stood in for Donavan on his bender. Two days later, Donavan was back and took his place. Tate had hoped to call her. But his brother had worked his charm and brought her t
o a party at the house. Tate had been dealing with his ex that night. Donovan had taken full advantage. He'd staked a claim knowing Tate had wanted her. He hadn't told his twin about Cara, but his brother had won. So he'd stayed away, until he hadn't.

  He loved his little brother, but sometimes their competitive natures took over. Cara had been caught in the crosshairs. He wanted to take care of her even though she had chosen Donovan.

  Maybe that connection had been a figment of his imagination.

  They'd never talked about it. Until the night of his birthday. They'd been alone on the balcony. He'd asked her to meet him but she never showed. He'd told himself that it didn't matter. That it wasn't love.

  Regardless, it made him sad to think of her now. Dancing. In a place like that. Fine. Club Prestige was the most exclusive club in DC. Every single member had to have a financial audit and an extensive background check. There could never be any sexual misconduct charges or they wouldn’t be accepted.

  And if anything happened to any of the dancers there, male or female, the member got the boot and forfeited a very large sum of money. Not to mention, the owners knew where the proverbial bodies were buried. So every single patron knew to behave. But still. He'd always thought Cara wanted more than that. It disappointed him that she didn’t get it.

  What does it matter to you? She's not yours. Never was. She was Donovan's.

  Hours later, he did his best to shake loose the thoughts of her and opened the door to his father’s office. He found Tomasso Rinaldi inside, but no signs of the old man.

  "Mr. Rinaldi, it's a pleasure to see you as always."

  Rinaldi waved a dismissive hand. "No, no. Call me Tomasso. We do business together so we might as well be as close as family. We know how good your father is to family." He winked.

  Not exactly the way Tate saw it, but okay. Rinaldi was not one of his favorite clients. And he didn’t get where he was because he was Thomas Anders's son. If anything, that worked against him. He'd graduated university with a three year accelerated combination MBA program and he'd hit the ground running, going to work at different banks abroad. His specialty was loans in foreign markets.

  Now if only he actually liked his job.

  It was fine, but he'd rather be doing something else. Anything else. As a kid he'd thought, if he could just prove himself to the old man he'd be happy.

  And prove himself he had. He was his father’s right arm, but sometimes at the detriment to himself. What he really wanted to do, his father wouldn’t see as worthy of him.

  He wanted to work in philanthropy, but instead, he was the VP of international funds. He wanted to provide microloans to women in developing countries. Instead, he was loaning money to Tomasso Rinaldi ... a billionaire. You think Cara's life is a disappointment? Look at your own.

  His father walked in then with a hug for the Italian businessman. In these meetings, his job was to pretty much hang out. All his legwork had already been done. All Tomasso had to do was sign some paperwork. Shortly thereafter Donovan strolled in.

  Tate glowered at him, trying to convey a message of “You’re thirty minutes late, baby brother.” Donovan shook Tomasso's hand and smirked at Tate, his expression saying ‘Blow me and lick my balls.’

  Tomasso and their father discussed the contract and Tomasso agreed to give them an astronomical amount of interest, so great ROI for them when things panned out. And they would. Tate had been over that contract with a fine-toothed comb and then a sieve. They would make money on the deal.

  Their father sat back. "With business concluded, Tomasso, what are your plans for the evening? I'm sure Tate and Donovan would love to take you out on the town."

  Tate had been engrossed in his tablet and looked up at the sound of his name. "What? I'm sure Donovan—"

  "What exactly is it you have to do tonight that you can’t take one of our biggest clients out on the town?"

  You mean besides finding out everything I can about Cara North? "Absolutely nothing. I'd love to take you out for a night, Tomasso." He tried to convey enthusiasm but he was pretty sure it came out as reluctant disdain. This was Donovan’s thing. He loved to wine the clients but not so much the dining part.

  They all made the plan to head out at eight that night and then he made his way to the corner office. Unfortunately, Donovan followed close behind. "What’s with you, man? You’re even more sour than usual."

  He rolled his eyes. "I'm not sour. I'm busy. There's a difference."

  "Oh, come on. You haven't been any fun in months."

  "Really, Donovan? When am I the fun one?" He preferred to keep things low key. The DC party scene wasn’t really his thing. Too many interns and congressional aids who would love to have an Anders on their arm. There were also too many senators’ daughters who thought they would get a husband. And too many senators’ wives who thought they could get a lover.

  He preferred normal people who talked about normal things, not ways to one up each other politically. Donovan loved the intrigue and fun and scandal. Seriously, the kid should have worked for Gypsy Gossip or something. The DC based tabloid was fast becoming the east coast TMZ and they managed to get all the good dirt from some deep undercover sources. So he liked to keep his nose clean. The same could not be said for his brother.

  "Oh come on, it'll be fun," his brother pleaded.

  "I said I'd go, didn’t I?"

  His brother rolled his eyes. "You know what you need? To get laid."

  Donovan wasn’t wrong about that. It had been a while and he was tense and edgy. But he'd broken up with his girlfriend six months ago and well, see the earlier comment of not dipping his dick in the DC access pool.

  "I love how that is always your solution for everything," Tate muttered.

  "Well, it does solve everything." His brother grinned.

  When he wanted, his brother could be charming. "Okay, I vow to have fun. Now will you get out and let me get some fucking work done?"

  "That's the spirit. Fun against your will." Donovan practically bounced to the door, but he halted just before leaving. "Oh, you'll never believe who I saw dancing at Club Prestige the other night."

  Before Donovan said the words, Tate's gut curled in on itself. He knew the answer. "Who?"

  "Cara."

  Tate carefully schooled his expression. The two of them had almost torn up their relationship over her two years ago. He wasn’t giving anything away now.

  He frowned. "Cara?"

  His brother rolled his eyes. "My ex. You remember those tits."

  Tate forced his jaw to relax. Give nothing away. If he let on any interest Donovan would go after her. "She's a stripper? You sure about that? She didn’t really seem like the type." She’d said so herself, hadn’t she? It still stung though. He'd rather it wasn’t true.

  "Yep. Go figure. But you know me and my dick. I can't exactly keep it in my pants, can I?"

  Tate ignored the automatic flinch of his hand as it itched to curl into a fist and jam into his brother's mouth. Donovan might have been his twin, but fuck, he couldn’t stand him sometimes. "Nope. Seems like you can’t do that."

  His brother nodded absently. "Man, I hope she's there when we go. I mean, I kinda miss those tits, don’t you?"

  And there it was. The bait. What his brother was really asking was if Tate still had a thing for Cara. When in doubt, die with the lie. "I told you, nothing happened with us. You're my brother. She was just some girl. Not my style. Strippers. That's more your thing, right?"

  Donovan narrowed his eyes. "So you are still pissed about Mindy Fletcher. I mean, if it makes you feel better, she said she couldn’t tell us apart. But I think she could, if you know what I mean?"

  Yeah, he knew Donovan had slept with his ex in retaliation. "I barely even remember the girl, Donovan. Come on. Wanna let it rest already?"

  "I'm just having some fun with you. You know we have the same taste in women. If I liked her it makes sense that you would too. She sure liked you though."

  He
sighed. Donovan was a master manipulator. "Is that what you want me to say? That Cara was pretty? That she had a great body? Sure. You want me to say that I slept with her or touched her in any way inappropriate? Not gonna happen. Because I didn't."

  "Yeah okay. Still though. Would be interesting to see her again. Maybe I'll even toss her a twenty for a lap dance."

  Tate shook his head. "You do remember that Club Prestige charges quite a good deal more for lap dances?" No money ever changed hands, so it was easy to spend thousands in a night and not realize. Just a monthly bill on top of the yearly dues.

  "Whatever. I'll give her the cash. Kind of a last fuck you."

  He sighed. "I don't understand your problem with her anyway. She never did anything to you except walk away." More like run. That night he'd gone to meet her, she'd been at his house instead with Donovan. Or rather running away from Donovan.

  "Yeah, don’t you get it? She walked away. Before I was done. No one does that to me."

  And that was the crux of it. His brother, like always, was spoiled and thought he deserved shit. "Well maybe next time you won’t make out with another girl in front of the one you have. Just a thought." But deep down Tate knew there was so much more that had happened. And now that she was back, he intended to find out why she'd stood him up.

  Tate stared moodily into his drink. Tomasso was busy getting a lap dance from some redhead in a mask. He was a little concerned that the poor man might die of a heart attack ... or lack of blood flow in the brain. He also found it interesting that the moment they showed up in the place, the bouncers made a bit of a presence around their table. Been misbehaving again, little brother?

  But for the most part, besides leering at the naked girls, Donovan behaved himself. But he kept looking around the club. Searching for Cara no doubt. Tate had seen him talking to a couple of the bartenders, probably asking the same question that he'd asked Will downstairs.

  The Anderson Cooper look alike looked after the club's guests and answered all questions and billing disputes. He was the face of Club Prestige. Well, he and Serena Bennett. She single-handedly signed every client to the club and made sure the rules were followed. He had no idea how she did it either, because she was a tiny thing, but when it came to business, she had a way of making things run smoothly. And everyone, from the politicians to the rock stars to the hedge fund guys, respected her. Or at least they pretended to and they followed the rules.