by Ivy Barrett
Tamara sighed. She’d been hoping for a visit from Mr. James himself, but she tried to suppress her disappointment. Jericho had a hotel to run. She wasn’t his only guest. “Come in.”
The door slid open and the domestibot pushed the cart into the room. Jericho blocked the door with his hand and slipped in after the robot. “Did you miss me?”
Heat spread across her cheeks and her heart fluttered wildly. “You’re a wicked tease.”
“You have no idea.” He strode toward her, green eyes narrowed and gleaming. “I hope you’re hungry. I’m ravenous.”
Her nipples tingled and she missed the concealing thickness of her jacket. All he’d have to do was glance down and her ivory silk blouse would expose her hunger. Maybe she’d better reconsider that not taking advantage of vulnerable women part. He was all debonair charm and predatory grace now, where he’d seemed almost brotherly earlier.
Before her body could give away her unwanted reaction, she directed the ’bot toward the small dining room, allowing herself a moment to regain her composure.
He stood directly in front of her when she turned back around. “Is the room comfortable? Did you discover anything you lack?”
“The room is amazing.” She refused to cower before his strategic intensity. If he was expecting the emotionally fragile female he’d encountered in his office, he was in for a surprise. Her moments of weakness were few and far between. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time anything had upset her enough to make her cry. “You’ve been more than generous.”
“Then why do I still see fear in your eyes?” He brushed the corner of her eye with his knuckle then slowly lowered his hand.
The barest hint of a touch was designed to make her want more, to make her imagine other intimacies, more daring caresses. Too many of her students had flirted with her for her not to recognize the signs. Jericho was coming on to her.
So what should she do about it? Did she really want to be a notch in the bedpost of someone like Jericho James? It was long past time for her to lose her virginity. Who better to introduce her to the world of sensuality than a sexual connoisseur?
She sighed. This was only a temptation because her life was a shambles. She’d decided long ago that she would only have sex with someone she was deeply in love with, and she’d yet to find that special someone worthy of the once in a lifetime gift. She’d come close a couple of times, but always turned away at the last minute. Her determination to save herself for her soulmate was the reason her last two relationships ended.
Shaking away the distraction, she looked at her handsome host. He’d changed his clothes, replacing his business suit with black pants and a short-sleeved shirt, the same emerald green as his eyes. Though technically casual, Jericho’s striking features and regal bearing made the outfit elegant. The man probably looked good in pajamas, or better yet, in nothing at all.
“It’s not fear.” She dragged her mind away from its naughty tangent and focused on the challenge before her. “It’s caution. I’ve had enough time to calm down and realize I jumped from the frying pan into the fire.” Fortifying herself with a deep breath, she raised her gaze back to his. “I’ve thrown myself on the mercy of the competition. Not my wisest move in anyone’s book.”
One of his dark brows arched. “Do you intend to keep the Dark Star?”
“No.” He didn’t touch her again, yet he remained close, blocking her path to the dining room. “I have no interest in running a sex club.”
“Then I’m no danger to you.”
She rubbed her upper arms, knowing her nipples were still hard. “Somehow, I doubt that very much.”
The domestibot rolled past, departing with a soft, “Enjoy your evening.”
Rather than respond to her charge, Jericho swept his arm toward the dining room. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I brought a little of everything.”
He turned sideways, yet his lean body still took up most of the space between the edge of the sofa and the wall. If she went around, it would be obvious she was avoiding him. Half expecting him to trap her against the wall, she quickly slipped past and made a beeline for the table. It was a hollow victory. The heat from his body and the rich, spicy scent of his cologne wrapped around her and lingered, teasing her senses as effectively as if he had touched her.
She quickly took her place at the table, not giving him time to seat her. His patient smile made it obvious he’d noticed the small rebellion. Why was she feeling so antagonistic? She’d asked him for help. He hadn’t shown up on d’Arrest offering to rescue her.
“Did the rest of your afternoon go well?” Small talk generally annoyed her. She just wasn’t sure what else to say.
He uncovered the dishes the domestibot had arranged on the table and set the domed lids on the cart. “I have wine, beer, coffee and tea. Or I can order something else if you prefer.”
She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she really needed to relax. “I’d love a glass of wine. Thank you.”
“Help yourself to whatever you like.” He pushed back his chair and moved to the other side of the cart, retrieving a bottle from the lower section.
Her stomach growled and she realized a meal replacement bar was as close as she’d come to food since the nightmare began. Fear and fury were excellent appetite suppressers. She spooned small portions of several of the dishes onto her plate, hoping she could work her way through the variety before her stomach tied in knots again.
Jericho handed her a glass of rosé, his fingertips intentionally brushing hers. “It’s a little on the sweet side. If you don’t like it, let me know and I’ll order something else.” He’d chosen a beer for himself.
She tasted the wine and smiled. “It’s fine. In fact, I like it a lot.”
“Good. It’s tricky to find something that goes with all of this.” He indicated the cluttered table then reached for a serving dish and began to fill his plate. “What did Matt tell you about your mother? Did you honestly have no idea she was still alive until he showed up on d’Arrest?”
“Not much, and looking back, there were many clues, but at the time, I didn’t see them.”
He smiled—his gaze warm and caressing. “You’re curious by nature. Our short acquaintance has taught me that. Did you, by chance, do some research once you’d returned to your homeworld?”
She chuckled. “It only seemed fair. I realized Petra’s actions and decisions had been shaping my life since I was five, yet I didn’t even know what she looked like.”
“And what did you discover?”
“From her perspective, she didn’t abandon me. She gave me away to protect me then remained in the shadows so I wouldn’t be tainted by her reputation.”
“But from your perspective it wasn’t that noble?”
He wasn’t making it easy to eat. Her past was nearly as upsetting as her future. Even from the grave, her mother had spread chaos through her life. “She was very young when she had me, fifteen or sixteen. All mention of her family is sketchy. It’s almost as if she purposely scrubbed the records to make it look as if they didn’t exist.” A secretive smile parted his lips and she narrowed her gaze. “Do you know who her parents were?”
“There are all sorts of rumors, from foreign dignitaries to the VinDerleys. I honestly don’t know, but I’ve always suspected it was someone way up there in the social echelon.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never know. For whatever reason, she severed all ties with her family and set off on her own. She knew she would never be able to keep me safe, but she was able to provide for me. So, she became my anonymous benefactor. Her money allowed me to go to college and escape the work camps on Wirtanen, which was the usual fate for a ward of the state.”
His voice lowered and softened as he asked, “Did you grow up in a foster family or in an orphanage?”
“I was placed with a foster family until I was thirteen then in a group home until I graduated from high school.”
“Why were
you switched?”
“Because I was a royal pain in the ass.” She shook her head. It had been a really long time since she thought about all this, and she couldn’t remember ever having shared the memories with another person. “My foster parents were fine. I was never abused or neglected. I was just restless and discontent. They had six foster children, which as probably too many. But they did the best they could. I was a typical teenage girl with more ammunition to use against them than most. They got tired of hearing ‘I don’t have to do what you say. You’re not my parents.’ So they reluctantly requested a reassignment. I still com my foster mother from time to time. My foster father died six years ago.”
“And you’ve been on your own since you were eighteen?”
“Seventeen. My birthday is in the summer.” She let the memories slip back into the past where they belonged. The situation was complicated enough without infusing it with teenage angst. “If I sell the Dark Star immediately, would I still need a new identity or do you think that would defuse the situation?”
He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “You intend to run?”
“Why do you sound surprised? Please don’t say Petra would never have run from a fight. I’ve accepted that she was my mother, but I am not Petra.”
Setting down the fork, he studied her for a silent moment then asked, “Why are you here? If you intend to run, why didn’t you just take off from d’Arrest and disappear?”
She took a sip of wine and then another, unable to answer his question. “I don’t know. I just reacted.”
“Flight or fight.” He picked up his beer bottle but didn’t raise it to his lips. “It’s an instinctive response built into most humanoid species. Instinctively you chose to fight. You ran toward the source of the conflict, not away from it.”
She’d been so angry and so devastated. It was almost as if she’d been on auto pilot. She’d needed to lash out, needed to…fight back? Yet she hadn’t even been sure where to begin. She purged the speculation with a heavy sigh. “But they’ve already won. I’m ruined. I can never go back to the life I had before.”
“Perhaps your days as a history professor are over, but your life doesn’t have to be. You now possess the resource to shape your future into anything you like.”
“But not if I’m running scared?”
He nodded then took a swig of beer. “Once you give in to fear, you’ll never stop running. You’ll look over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”
She knew he was right. Her attacker was basically blackmailing her, and paying a blackmailer always led to bigger demands. She had to find the bastard and make sure they realized she would never give in to threats. “I’m sure as hell not going to live like that, so I guess I’m here to fight.”
Jericho smiled and set down his beer. “Now that’s more like it.”
They fell into a companionable silence as they ate. Tamara was lost in thought and Jericho was busy watching her. She felt his gaze on her but ignored the distraction. She needed an ally, a partner she could trust implicitly. The only way that could happen was if they were on equal footing. She needed his expertise, his contacts and guidance, which meant she needed something of equal value to offer him.
He had wealth and notoriety, more willing women than any man could hope to bed in one lifetime. There was only one thing she possessed that he couldn’t easily attain. She set down her fork and wiped her mouth. “Do you have any interest in the Dark Star?”
His gaze turned smoky, impossible to read, but not before she saw a sly consideration flash across his features. “In what way?”
She laughed. “You can sell almost any expression, but coy doesn’t work for you. There are many advantages to having a monopoly, as I’m sure you’re aware. If you help me expose whoever is trying to harm me, I will give you an opportunity to buy the Dark Star before I put it on the market.”
“I already told you I’d help you. Why make me this offer?”
“Because I don’t want to be in your debt.” She stared into his eyes, refusing to consider how fast her heart was beating or the odd tingling of her lips. “Quid pro quo. This has to be an even exchange or I’ll figure things out on my own.”
Chapter Three
Fenton Cramark clasped his hands behind his back as he circled the young man fidgeting on the simple wooden chair. Coming to the fool’s apartment had been a risk. Even the shabbier sections of New Shardrake were covered with scanners and security cams. But Fenton had seen no other way to manage the situation. Young Victor was growing restless, and it was not yet time for him to actively participate in the drama.
“We’ve done everything you asked.” Vic turned his shaggy head from side to side, avoiding Fenton’s gaze. Good. Intimidation could be so useful when utilized with care. “Can’t you just leave me alone now?”
“My plans are unfolding right on schedule.” He glanced around the main room of the apartment. It was messy and common, much like its occupant. “You and Kacey have been very cooperative.”
An unexpected surge of spirit raised Vic’s head and narrowed his eyes. “What about Mort? Was my brother ‘very cooperative’ or did you kill him because he wouldn’t play this twisted game? I know you’re the one who killed him, no matter what Kacey says!”
“You know no such thing.” Fenton stopped directly in front of the young man, brow raised in challenge. “You suspect I’m responsible for Mort’s death, but you have no proof of my involvement. Enforcers deal in facts, not speculation.”
Vic ignored the criticism, but he pressed against the back of the chair, taking himself as far away from Fenton as possible. “Who’s the professor? Why do you hate her so much?” As fast as his spirit had flared, it slipped away, like muddy footprints in a deluge. “Was whatever she did worth my brother’s life?” His jaw clenched and he openly glared, but his lips began to tremble.
It was a damn good thing he’d stopped by tonight. He’d had no idea Vic’s bitterness had progressed this rapidly. He’d expected grief to keep the lad malleable for some time to come. “Mort’s death was part of a larger puzzle, it’s true. But his actions alone cost him his life.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Vic shot to his feet, hands fisted at his sides. “Mort never hurt no one! He was a good man.”
“He was a pervert who bound helpless women in chains and whipped them until their flesh bled.” Fenton kicked aside the chair and resumed his circular trek, always within reach of his enraged minion.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“He would fuck them while they begged for mercy, at times accompanied by others.”
“He was a Pleasure Master. The women could have stopped him at any time if they—”
“They were bound and gagged.” He leaned in and whispered, “How does one use a safe word when one is unable to speak?”
Growing progressively more agitated, Vic looked at him then away, his brow knitted, eyes glassy. “There are contracts and interviews. Mort has a waiting list for new clients. He never hurt anyone. Not like you make it sound.”
“The Dark Star is a gateway to hell, inhabited by demons and other evil spirits.” Fenton clasped Vic’s chin, staring into his eyes. “It must be destroyed.”
“Okay, whatever.” Vic grabbed Fenton’s wrist, trying to pull his hand away from his face. “I don’t work at the Dark Star, and neither does Kacey.”
“You agreed to have sex with that prostitute while I took pictures, and you’ve already spent my money. Doesn’t that make you as morally deficient as the employees at the Dark Star?”
Vic jerked his head to the side then twisted away completely. “What do you want from me? You already took the only family I have.”
Empathy echoed through Fenton for one useless instant. The utter destruction of his family was what had set this ordeal in motion. His loss could never be replaced, but he could make damn sure no one else suffered a similar fate.
“Kacey has proved his loyalty to me.
Your time is fast approaching.” He took a deep breath and reached for his most valuable weapon. Intimidation. If he couldn’t frighten Vic into behaving, Fenton would have to do something more drastic. “Your girlfriend is lovely. She waited on me yesterday. Serra. Such a pretty name.”
Like a match put to tender, Vic came to life. He grabbed the front of Fenton’s shirt and snarled. “Don’t you dare threaten her! I’ll kill you before I let anything happen to her.”
“Good. Then we’re agreed. You go on about your business until I’m ready for you, and lovely Serra need never know about your antics with the prostitute.” The fight melted out of Vic with predictable ease and Fenton couldn’t hold back a smile. “I promise what I need you to do will not put you or Serra in danger, and I will reward you with additional monetary compensation if you’re especially well-behaved.”
“You are such a bastard.” Vic’s voice sounded muffled and defeated.
“No. I’m an avenging angel preparing to call down God’s cleansing fire!”
* * * * *
Jericho finished his beer as he contemplated Tamara’s offer to sell him the Dark Star. He’d always felt the Dark Star was a cesspool where the dredges of society gathered and indulged their darkest urges. A rather hypocritical attitude given the nature of his business, but one he’d never been able to change. If he owned the club tomorrow, he’d gut the place, fire all the employees and start over from scratch.
“I have no interest in buying the Dark Star.” Tamara’s hopeful expression fell, so he rushed on. “But pretending I do would give me a reason to go there and snoop around. I could interview the staff and encourage gossips to tell me what they know. Zettalli has every intention of making you an offer. It would definitely shake things up if we tell him you’d sold out to me.”
“Zettalli?”
“Paul Zettalli. He was Petra’s general manager and protégé. He started out as a Pleasure Master and ended up running the place. There’s all sorts of speculation about how that happened.”
