by Eden Summers
“Okay, so a population equivalent to the Chinese army has been begging to nail you. Better?” Leo rolled his eyes. “You already know my feelings on the matter. You can’t deny you overreacted.”
Bryan ground his teeth. Had his friends already forgotten what it was like to be single in a club of voracious women? Did they even remember why they’d opened the Vault?
No. Of course not.
They were too busy creating memories with their significant others, and in return, shifting the dynamic of the business. T.J. had reconciled with his wife, Cassie, and Leo and Shay were growing closer with every public display of affection. Decisions surrounding the running of Taste of Sin, Shot of Sin, and the Vault of Sin were no longer a closed discussion.
“I go to the Vault to relax,” he grated. “I’m not going to put up with any crap down there. It was created for us. We opened it. We made the rules.”
“And now it’s a thriving business.” T.J. leaned against a stack of beer cartons next to the door. “It’s moved beyond an irregular night of fun and is growing into something bigger than any of us planned.”
“Then maybe it should go back to the way it was.” He didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. He didn’t mean them. But something had to change. He just didn’t know what.
His friends frowned, matching expressions of disbelief hitting him with their subtle annoyance.
“You’re the one who suggested these show nights,” Leo bit out.
Demonstrations. They were demonstrations or classes, not shows, but Bryan kept the critique to himself.
“You wanted to increase satisfaction levels and talk about getting women off efficiently. You were the one who suggested a BDSM talk session in the future. Now, all of a sudden, we’re moving too fast? You can’t have it both ways.”
Bryan ran a hand over his forehead and massaged his temples. “I know.”
Tera’s phone call had him on edge. To the point of angered hysteria. After years of continuously burying the memories of his past, one twenty-second conversation had dragged everything to the forefront.
“Come on, man. You know the Vault is holding its own when it comes to income.” T.J.’s voice softened. “Membership has doubled. The nights we open are increasing due to demand. And there’s a shitload of interest in the class you’ve organized.”
“There was,” Leo clarified. “I doubt it will go ahead now.”
“What?” Bryan dropped his hand to his side. “Why?”
He’d put weeks of work into curating the perfect information session. With the influx of new members, there’d been a slight decline in enjoyment from the female patrons. The intention was to encourage men currently more interested in their own orgasms into those who gained greater pleasure in providing them to others.
“You stirred a hornet’s nest last night. After you left, half the members were up in arms, screaming for blood.”
“Let me guess,” Bryan scoffed. “The female half?”
“Nailed it.” Leo glared through tiny slits. “So how are you going to fix this?”
Fix this? He balled his hands into fists, the divide between them increased. There was nothing to fix. Not on his end.
“Like I said, I had women hassling me last night. I reminded them of the rules. End of story.” He made for the door. “If they can’t take a stern warning, they shouldn’t be in the club.”
“That’s not what they’re pissed about. They’re saying you singled out a woman in one of the private rooms. They’re demanding an apology.”
“He’s not exaggerating.” T.J. pulled his cell from his jacket pocket. “I received a few messages about it this morning. Cassie did, too.”
Bryan brushed the offered phone away and grabbed the door handle. “Well, then, they’re in luck, because I already apologized to Ella last night. This shit is dead and buried.” He winced when the words reminded him of his mother.
“Did you really apologize?”
Bryan turned to Leo. “Do I look like I give enough fucks to lie about it?” He was many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. His friends knew it, too.
“Good.” The concern in T.J.’s features didn’t lessen. “That’s a start. They’re still going to want a public apology, but if we send everyone an email clarifying what happened in the aftermath of the confrontation, maybe the class can go ahead.”
“A public apology?” A public fucking apology? Were they kidding? “That’s not going to happen.”
“Then neither will the class.” Leo spread his arms wide. “You can’t have one without the other.”
“That’s how it’s going to be?” Fury slithered through his veins, making his fingers shake, his heart palpitate. He took a menacing step toward Leo, trying like hell to keep his emotions in check. “You’re railroading me into doing something I shouldn’t have to do?”
“Are you really going to get in my face over this?” Leo raised his chin. “What’s gotten into you? I warned you yesterday to keep it friendly. Now look what’s happened—the women have quit salivating over your bullshit. Even Janeane has a prickle up her snatch and has refused to be your plaything for the demonstration night.”
A prickle, otherwise known as rejection revenge. “I don’t need her help.” God knew he’d been scraping the bottom of the barrel when it came to his enthusiasm over using someone with claws poised to sink into his skin.
“Well, you’re going to need someone, and none of the women in the Vault will touch you. They’ve already vowed to stick together to make a point.”
“We’re not the only club in town. I’ll find someone else.”
“That’s beside the point. Nobody will show up to the demo as a spectator for the same reason.” T.J. slid his cell into his jacket pocket. “You know I love you, man, but this is our reputation you’re playing with. You either need to apologize or get the woman back in here to prove everything’s been smoothed over.”
“I agree,” Leo added. “Or maybe think about stepping away from the Vault until it all blows over.”
“Step away?”
Fuck.
He got it, really, he did. The women were playing the emotional, we-did-nothing-wrong card, and all the men were standing beside them because otherwise they wouldn’t get laid.
Well played, ladies. Well played.
“I can’t do that.” The Vault was his go-to. His one hangout. His only refuge. He’d never needed the mind-numbing escape more. “Not right now.”
“And why is that?” Leo asked. “You haven’t been an eager participant for months.”
Now they were keeping tabs on him? “Because Shay keeps asking to ride my dick and I’m just about ready to cave.”
Leo glared. “Sarcasm? Now there’s something new for a change. You could’ve simply asked me to mind my own business.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve done that more times than I can count. It looks like Shay is starting to rub off on you.”
“Come on, guys.” T.J. pushed from the stack of beer cartons. “We need to sort this mess. The demo is next Thursday night, and we don’t have another party planned in the Vault beforehand.”
There was no we involved. This was all on Bryan’s shoulders. Along with all the other shit that had piled on top of him this week.
“Don’t worry. I’ll work it out.” Bryan made for the door, determined to put this bullshit behind him to make way for the more important bullshit.
“Yeah?” Leo followed behind him. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
“It’ll be an easy fix.” He shrugged. “I’ll convince Ella to be my assistant.”
Chapter Eight
Pamela handed the carry-out coffee and muffin to the construction worker who had become a regular customer in her cafe. He was a nice guy. Always placed a generous tip in her jar. Constantly gave her a sweet grin. Never wavered with his manners. “Enjoy.”
He inclined his head, backtracking as he increased the sugary sweetness of his smile. “Thank you. I w
ill.”
Her sister, Kim, groaned from her position in front of the coffee machine. “The studs are out in force today. I feel like we’ve hit the hot-guy jackpot.”
“He’s not that hot.” Pamela placed the glass dome back on top of the muffin display plate. “Too cute and sweet for my appetite.”
“I’m not talking about Muffin Man. I want to latch my nails into the guy out front. He’s been standing there on his cell for five minutes, and I’m dying to know if he’s going to come inside.”
Pamela swung her gaze to the door and swallowed over the gasp threatening to escape her throat. The man’s face was annoyingly familiar—the scowl even more so.
Bryan. The asshole who’d kept her up all night pondering hate sex.
“Shit.” She scooted behind Kim, hiding from view. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him walk by her little café, but it was the first time he’d stopped.
“You know him?”
“Technically? No.”
“But…”
“That’s Bryan—the guy from the club I was telling you about.” She clutched her sister’s arm, dragging her along the counter like a shield.
“The one with superior hands and an unrivaled bad attitude?”
“Yes. Now get me out of here before he sees me.”
They shuffled in unison toward the swinging kitchen doors until she safely hid from view. Now all she had to deal with was the raised questioning brow coming from her mother behind the preparation bench.
“Who are we hiding from?” Her mom craned her neck, paused in her task of peeling carrots as she looked out the service window.
“Nobody.” Pamela smiled and crossed her hands behind her back. “I just wanted to see what you’re up to.”
The raised brow didn’t waver.
“You’re such a bad liar,” Kim whispered.
At this point, Pamela didn’t care. She just wanted to remain in hiding, not tempting fate, until Bryan continued down the street.
“I think he’s gone.” Kim nudged the door open, peeking out the small space. “I can’t see him anymore.”
Relief, thick and delicious, pulsated in Pamela’s chest. “Thank God.” She didn’t have the energy to deal with assholes today. Not even good-looking ones. But just to be sure, she glanced through the slight part of the doors and scanned the sidewalk.
Nope. Not there.
“Wait.” Her sister indicated a man at the counter, his back toward them. “Is that him?”
The guy she pointed to had a similar build—broad shoulders covered in a tailored suit. Only the blond hair was all wrong. Too short. No beard.
“No. That’s not him.”
“You sure? Isn’t he the guy who was out the front?”
“What guy out the front?” Their mom squeezed between them, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.
“Forget it.” Pamela stepped back from the door, her cheeks warming. Was she hallucinating now? She could’ve sworn she’d seen Bryan. Then again, her thoughts had been obsessed with him since he’d broken her non-masturbatory orgasm drought. Not even his nastiness had abated the X-rated daydreams.
“I must’ve been mistaken.” She leaned against the counter beneath the service window and winced. “That guy doesn’t look anything like him.”
Kim frowned at her, the glance speaking of a shared concern to Pamela’s mental stability. “I need to get back out there. We’ll discuss this later.” She pushed through the doors, disappearing into the main room of the café.
“Did you get enough sleep?” Her mother scrutinized her, the concern in her eyes a familiar sight since Lucas died.
“I slept fine… Or maybe I didn’t. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’m at that age where sleep is more of a luxury than a necessity.”
The close examination continued. “You had another bad night.”
This time it wasn’t a question. After Lucas passed away, her mom had become a master at reading all the things Pamela tried to keep to herself. And years later, the game of hide and seek hadn’t ended.
“I went to the club last night. That’s all. You know I don’t get much sleep when I’ve been out.”
“It seems like more than that to me.”
She waggled her brows, hoping to kill the questions with her mother’s discomfort. “Maybe I got laid.”
“The luggage under your eyes isn’t the I-got-laid type. But you know I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk.” Her mother returned to the preparation bench and picked up a carrot from the chopping board.
Pamela stood there, hard bench behind her, concerned parent in front. She didn’t want to talk anymore. There’d been years and years of it. All conversations revolved around Lucas and how she needed to live her life now that he was gone.
Like her time at the Vault, she needed to move on and realize this new chapter wasn’t a failure. It was merely going to be different. Devoid of sexual motivation, but not necessarily crummy.
Oh, who was she kidding.
Her sex life had taken a nose-dive and she was still cleaning up after the crash and burn, hoping to salvage something from the charred remains.
“Thanks.” She gave her mom a sad smile and pushed from the counter. “I better go and help Kim.”
“Ella?”
Holy shit.
Her eyes widened as the masculine voice washed over her, the dominant presence tickling the back of her neck.
Her mother paused, carrot in hand, and glanced through the service window. Pamela didn’t need to turn around to determine who owned the deep growl.
Then again, maybe this was another hallucination.
She swung around, coming face to face with Bryan standing on the other side of the window.
“Have you got a minute?” The question came casually. As if they were friends. As if she should’ve expected him to walk back into her life today.
“Do you know him?” her mother hissed, dragging Pamela’s attention back to maternal eyes now twinkling with appreciation for a man who was completely undeserving.
“Unfortunately.”
Appreciation turned to excitement. “Come in. Come in.” Her mother waved a hand, her matchmaker switch well and truly engaged.
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
“Mom.”
The warning was ignored, the kitchen door swung open, and the devil entered, shrinking the room with his presence.
“Morning, ma’am.” Bryan smiled at her mother.
Smiled and used the word ma’am.
What the hell was he playing at? The contrast from the stuck-up, superior man she knew didn’t compute. Not in the slightest. This guy had a casual air of the-boy-next-door, with a smooth swagger and gentle eyes.
“Morning, Ella.”
She didn’t offer a greeting. Not in words. Her frown posed as a technicolor response.
“Can we talk?”
She worked the question over in her mind. Back and forth. “Didn’t we speak last night?”
His lips twitched, a tiny hitch of mirth. “We did. And now I have something else I want to discuss.”
“Take a seat in the café,” her mother offered unwanted assistance. “I’ll help Kim for a while.”
Bryan raised a questioning brow to confirm the option.
“No,” she growled. “We can speak here.”
He sucked in a slow, deep breath, showing his displeasure with a subtle expand of his broad chest. “Sure.” His gaze leisurely glided from her to her mother, back and forth. “Are we still good after last night?”
“As good as we’re going to get.”
There were no grudges. Not really… Okay, she hadn’t slept a wink due to her body wanting him and her mind hating him. With time, her annoyance probably would’ve faded. But less than twenty-four hours had passed, so he was out of luck.
“Hint taken.” His tongue worked over the words like he was seducing them. Or her. She feared he succeeded in both. “I have a proposition for you.”
<
br /> She shook her head. “Not interested.”
“You don’t want to hear me out?”
“I ditched the sucker-for-punishment attitude twelve hours ago.”
Another glance went from mother to daughter before his expression changed. It was slight. The minute squint of his eyes, the tiniest tilt of his chin. “This has nothing to do with punishment.” He stared at her, stared so hard her betraying nipples tingled. “It’s the opposite.”
The opposite of punishment?
She shuddered. Her built-up tension and annoyance formed a concoction that resembled arousal. All the while, her mother remained quiet. Still a few feet away. Still mesmerized by a man who deserved far less scrutiny.
“On second thought, let’s take this outside.” She dragged her feet to the kitchen doors, shoving through them to enter the dining area.
It wasn’t safe to be caged in the small kitchen with him. Fresh air became necessary. Space, too. She walked onto the street and took a seat at one of the steel-frame tables that were usually only occupied during the really busy times when customers had nowhere else to sit.
He followed, and the split second when he loomed close, about to take his seat, was a threatening taunt to all her needy senses. She wanted him over her. Under her. Inside her.
Christ.
“What do you want, Bryan?” Her voice cracked with the built-up tension clogging her throat.
He sat opposite her, dwarfing the setting, the metal table and chairs appearing toy-like under his large frame.
The problematic situation only intensified when Kim strode onto the sidewalk, a notepad in hand, and stopped at their table. “May I take your order?”
Pamela scowled. They didn’t provide table service. Never had. “No, Kim. We’re good.”
“I’ll get a large coffee, strong, with cream, thanks.” Bryan held her focus while he ordered. Asserting his authority. Vocalizing his confidence.
Wrong decision, buddy. He’d flaunted his head-strong independence in the wrong place. Especially when it came to her protective sister.
“Sure thing.” Kim scribbled on the notepad. “I’ll be back in a second.”
