by Nana Malone
Donovan had asked Will about Cara and Will, while pleasant, had given him a blank stare and gave him the usual speech about preserving the fantasy and never giving out the entertainers’ real names.
His brother had dragged them from room to room, all in the name of showing Tomasso a good time. The only rooms they hadn't ventured into were the rooms where the male entertainers danced. Though, at this point, Tomasso was so toasted, Tate didn’t think the guy would notice. As it was, the two of them pretty much had to support his weight when he walked. Management wouldn’t let him continue like this. Any minute now Tate expected one of the two hundred pound security guards to stop over and cart Tomasso out through a side entrance and shove him in a cab.
It didn't matter how long they stayed, there was no sign of Cara.
"You look disappointed, Tate. What’s the matter, don’t see anything to your liking? Get a fucking lap dance, man."
"Donovan, I don’t want a lap dance. I’m good with my drink."
"You're at a tittie bar. When you're at a tittie bar, you get a goddamn lap dance, and you get one of the hoes to suck you off in a back room."
One of the bouncers glared at them and Tate took his brother by the lapels. "Shut it, Donovan. You know the rules here. Treat the girls with respect, and we have no problems. You want someone to suck your dick, I suggest we go somewhere else."
Tate wasn’t an idiot. Somewhere in this club someone was getting some, but with his brother's history, he didn’t want trouble. Donovan didn’t have anything officially on his record, which was why he'd been made a member, but there'd been enough behavior to raise eyebrows in the family. But as always, everyone spent considerable effort keeping him out of trouble. "I think it’s time for all of us to go."
"Oh come on, Tate. You’re such a fucking buzzkill."
"That I am."
"Why don’t you admit it?" His brother narrowed his gaze.
He finished his drink and met his brother's identical stare. "What's that, little brother?"
"That you want to fucking see her."
Yes. He did. But some truths didn’t need telling. "That's what you want. What I want is to sleep. It’s time to go." So he could toss and turn all night thinking about Cara North.
4
It had been a week since she'd last seen Donovan or Tate. It must have just been a fluke running into them. Though she hadn’t exactly been thinking it through when she'd taken the job at The Prestige. It was just the kind of place they would come to. Okay, more Donovan than Tate, but still.
But unlucky her, they'd been looking for her at the club a few nights ago. Both of them. That couldn’t be good. But she was secure enough to know that there was no way they'd find her there unless Serena wanted them to. And that wasn’t going to happen. She and the other owners protected the dancers like their own children.
Cara knocked on Serena's door and her friend called out to come in. "Hey there, boss lady. What do you need?"
Serena grinned even as she wrinkled her nose. "I'm no one's boss lady. There are several of us. I’m just running the day to day."
Cara looked around. "You look like a boss lady to me. Have you seen this office?"
Serena laughed. "So it's a nice office." She gestured toward the plush leather chair. "Have a seat."
"Sure, what's up?"
"Well, first, I wanted to show you the numbers for the classes last month." She handed over a folder.
Cara opened it carefully and stared at the number of new clients she'd brought in. "Are you sure this is right? I mean, it can’t be right."
"It is. Obviously, you’ve brought clients over from your studio jobs, but also word of mouth, bachelorette parties, etc. The website has had a whole lot of inquiries, so this is great news. That bottom number is your bounty bonus."
Cara stared at the figure. "Holy shit."
Serena laughed. "The holiest. I never mess around with numbers."
Wow. That was enough to pay her rent for like six months. With money like that, she could afford to pull back a little. "I don’t even know what to say right now. I'm speechless."
"Then I really don’t know how you'll feel about this." Serena pushed another smaller envelope toward her and Cara picked it up.
When she opened it, out popped a ticket to the Gilbert Dance Company Charity Benefit. "Fuck me. Is that what I think it is?"
Serena nodded. "Sure is. You've really done an outstanding job and I wanted to reward your hard work. I know you’ve always dreamed of dancing for them so there you go. And I'm sorry it's only one ticket. I won’t tell you who I had to bribe for it. But at least it's in a box."
One ticket. What the hell did she care? She was going to see the benefit show. "This is amazing." Except what the hell are you going to wear? Her closet mostly consisted of dance clothes and jeans and the occasional LBD. Nothing formal.
"I can see the frown already and I'm assuming it's an outfit situation."
"How did you—"
Serena put up a hand. "Girl, remember?"
"Oh, Yeah."
"Look behind you."
Cara turned to find a garment bag hanging on the hook of Serena's closet. "What is that?"
"You and my business partner, Olivia are about the same size. I called in a favor. She has a bunch of stuff she never wears."
"Jesus, you're like my fairy godmother."
Serena grinned. "And look at that, you don't even have to be home by midnight."
"I don’t even know what to say."
Serena shrugged."Don’t mention it. Everyone deserves to get a taste of their dream. Now get out of here. You need to get ready."
Cara grabbed the dress and practically danced out of Serena's office.
"Oh hey, Cara?"
She turned. "Yeah?"
"Will and two of the bouncers mentioned that two guys were in here the other night looking for you. Do you know who they are?"
She flushed. "Unfortunately. I’m sorry about that. They'll go away I hope."
"Do we need to get one of the guys to walk you to the metro and stuff? We've had it done for a few of the girls when some of the patrons don’t get the idea that it's all a show."
Cara swallowed hard. "No. I don’t think all that will be necessary. One of them is an ex. He's a pain in the ass, but I saw him get off the elevator the other day and he saw me and yeah..." she trailed off. "I'll keep it out of the club, I promise."
Serena nodded slowly. "Okay. Whatever you want. But Cara? You know I’m a friend, right? If you need something then I'm here for you."
"Thanks, Serena. I don’t know what I'd have done if I never met you that day."
"Please, you're the one who helped me. Without you, I wouldn’t have Tyson."
Serena was still in the blissed out first days of love phase with her boyfriend, Tyson Leigh. They'd been friends for ages but hadn't gotten together until just recently. "Something tells me one of you would have gotten your act together eventually." As she carried her dress out she wondered if she'd ever have that love moment. Given her history, probably not.
Cara tried not to bounce from her excitement. She didn’t want to do anything to ruin the dress. The vermilion, off the shoulder, mermaid dress was like a dream come true, if her fairy Godmother was Roberto Cavalli.
It fit like a glove and practically sat her cleavage up under her chin. She was in a partially full box with two other couples who seemed to know each other already, but that didn’t bother her. She was here for the show and that’s all she cared about.
Gilbert had been around for about forty years but it wasn’t just ballet. They had a lot of jazz dancers, her specialty. Often times they used modern songs instead of typical classical music.
Through the first half of the show, she sat riveted, unable to tear her eyes off of the stage as the dancers leaped and twirled across the stage.
God, she would give her left arm to be able to dance with them. It was everything she wished for as a little girl. To be on stage, to be able
to move like that.
For her, it wasn’t even about the applause or the people watching. She was usually perfectly happy dancing on her own in the studio. Those were some of her favorite times, when she was working out a new routine. All she wanted to do was dance.
When the final dancer pirouetted off stage, the stage lights went down and the house lights up, people started to move about for intermission. It was bittersweet seeing a show on her own.
When she was younger, her father would have gotten her a Shirley Temple or some similar non-alcoholic drink and she would pretend that she was old enough. That she was sophisticated. Somehow she was still pretending.
She took a glass of champagne from the passing waiter and took it out to the balcony overlooking monuments. God, she loved this city. She loved it more from this view than from her tiny studio. But she loved it just the same.
"So want to tell me how the hell you got a ticket to this thing, or are you working as an escort now too?"
A shiver of dread snaked down her spine. Donovan. She turned slowly to face him. Still as handsome as ever and, joy of joys, that underlying cruelty was still there as well. It was the mixture of disdain and hate and complete lack of empathy. "I wish I could say it was good to see you. If you'll excuse me." She tried to shift past him. He'd never been physically violent with her, but he'd liked to use his strength to scare her. Like a bully throwing his weight around. But then of course, there was that last night they were together when he'd been determined to wipe Tate from her memory. At over six feet, he towered over her and when he loomed so close, it forced her to look up at him. Asshole.
"Who says I’m done talking to you?"
The strong smell of scotch rolled off his breath, nearly choking her. "You’re drunk."
"That sounds like another conversation we had not so long ago."
She shuddered. That long ago night, he'd been drunk and belligerent, insisting she'd wanted to sleep with his brother. His face directly in front of hers, his hands gripping her too tight. Yes, all of this was familiar. The overwhelming scent of alcohol. "Donovan, I'm not your girlfriend anymore. You can’t intimidate me."
"Oh can’t I? You know it's only a matter of time before I find you at your club. Only a matter of time before I get to see what you're obviously offering up there.” His gaze drifted to her breasts and he licked his lips.
Cara forced the bile back down. She was not going to vomit all over this dress. Not going to happen. Donovan backed her up against the concrete railing, bracketing her on either side with his arms. "Back off, Donovan. I don’t want you touching me."
He leaned closer. "I'm not touching you am I? But let's be clear, you wish I was, don’t you? You used to like it."
That was before she understood how cruel he was or could be. Especially when he was drunk. "Back. Off."
He leaned closer and she tried to lean as far back away from him as she could, pressing her body into the concrete and trying to make herself smaller. Behind her back, her champagne glass shattered, and she winced at the slice of pain down her palm. Shit.
"Oh, I'll back off, just as soon as I see if you still taste as good as I remember."
Oh hell no. She was not having his lips anywhere near hers. "You kiss me and not only will I jab you with the stem of this champagne glass, but I'll also have your membership revoked from Club Prestige. They generally look down on sexual assault."
"Not assault if you want it, is it?"
What the fuck had she gotten herself into?
“Let her go, little brother.”
Her heart squeezed as an entirely different kind of shiver ran down her spine.
"Fuck off, Tate. I'm talking here."
"No. You’re not. Get off or I will make you."
Cara tried to duck out of Donovan's barricade, but he wasn't budging. Instead he turned to glower at his brother. "Thought you didn’t want her, big brother?"
"Whether I want her or not is not the damn point. You're crowding her at the very least, and scaring her at the most, so time to back away and let her get back to her seat."
Donovan turned his attention back to her. "My brother, the fucking knight in shining armor."
And then suddenly, Donovan's hot, alcohol-laced breath wasn't in her face anymore, his body wasn't crowding hers anymore and she could breathe. Cara dragged in greedy gulps of fresh air and watched, horrified, as Donovan shoved his brother. But Tate didn’t back down.
"You've had enough to drink. You're going home."
"The fuck I am."
"Well, you're not fucking staying here, that’s for damn sure."
For a horrifyingly long moment, Cara thought it was going to turn into a huge fight. As it was, a few people looked over to the balcony to see what was going on. But then Donovan backed down and stumbled off the balcony. But before he left, he sneered at her, "You and I, we're not done."
Where was that killer retort when she needed one? On a normal day she was all with the snappy comebacks. Today, all she could think of was, "Not if I see you first."
"Are you okay?" Tate's voice was low, gentle as he approached.
She had to think about that. Donovan had scared her, but her breathing was returning to normal. Her hand hurt though. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure about that? Cara, you're bleeding."
"What?"
He nodded at her hand. "You're cut."
She glanced down and saw the oozing red slice and her stomach turned. "I uh ... " she swayed.
Tate moved quickly and caught her. He led her over to the bench and tugged her down to sit with him.
"Rest for a second. Let me take a look."
She gave him her hand and he winced. "Two seconds okay?" He didn’t wait for an answer but jogged back inside. In less than thirty seconds he had a first aid kit, a bottle of water and his handkerchief in his hand.
"What are you, MacGyver?"
He laughed. "Men's bathroom is right over there. The attendant had a kit. Bottle I got from the bar. I'm hardly as good as MacGyver."
She laughed, but sobered quickly as he poured some water on the cut to clean it. "Ouch."
"Sorry. The good news is, I don’t think you need stitches."
"So you're a doctor now?"
"Nah, just gotten in enough scuffles with Donovan to figure out what needed the nanny to take us to the doctor and what didn’t."
She nodded. "Thank you for that. You didn't have to do it."
"My brother is an asshole and he was trying to bully you. I wasn’t going to let that happen."
Cara didn’t have anything to offer after that. All she could do was stare at him as he bandaged her up. This was the brother you should have gone out with. But that was all water under the bridge now. "Thank you." She held up her hand. "Dr. Tate."
"Maybe I should have gone to medical school. I like the sound of that."
"I guess I’ll go back to my seat now."
"What's the rush, Cara? I mean, we still have another ten minutes of intermission." He gathered the trash and tossed it into a nearby bin. "You ran off last time I saw you."
"Yeah well. I'm sure you can understand why."
He grimaced. "I guess I deserve that by proxy."
"Look, I know you're not your brother. But you are a package deal, so talking to you invites Donovan back in and I’m just not willing to do that. And after everything ... " She let her voice trail off.
"I hear you, but I’d like to apologize for his behavior. When he drinks ... " His voice trailed off.
"He conveniently forgets to keep his hands to himself?"
A harsh chuckle tore out of his throat. "I don’t even know why I bother defending him anymore. But he's my brother. So, what can I do?" He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "So, are you here with anyone? Like a date or anything?"
"No." She shook her head. "I only have the one ticket."
"Maybe you might want to join me. I have to be here for Anders Financial. We're a supporter of the
dance company. And Donovan is gone. So my box is empty."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Oh, come on. Please. It'll help me say sorry. And I promise your seats, while they are box seats, are still not as good as the ones I’ve got. Donovan didn’t come for the show anyway. He came to drink. Just say yes."
"I—" She knew the right answer was no. The further she stayed away from Tate the better it was for her. But there was a part of her that wanted to say yes. The part from that girl who felt a connection with him all that time ago. "Okay. But if Donovan comes back, I'm gone."
"Totally understand." He offered his arm and she took it as he led her back inside. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"Why aren’t you dancing with Gilbert or a company like it? I know how much you loved to dance."
This was the problem with Tate. He remembered everything and saw way too much. "Well, Gilbert doesn’t audition for new dancers often and I wanted to dance for my job instead of waiting tables, so I started—" She cut herself off and didn’t finish. This was just a show; she didn’t need to give him her whole life story. "No, you've already poked into my life. I was told you were looking for me at the club."
Tate shrugged. "I wanted to talk to you. Was that your night off?"
She evaded. "I don't work every day. What about you, Tate Anders? I seem to remember you had some lofty goals. What happened to you striking out on your own, helping out the little person? Guess that gave way to the Anders obligations."
They arrived at his seats and she almost salivated. Balcony seats nearly over the stage. She could almost reach out and touch the dancers.
"Something like that." He studied her closely. "I guess we all make decisions we have to at the time."
