“So, you've never experienced dining room table sex?” Zane asked, smiling sympathetically like he understood I was sad and wanted to change the subject.
“Can't say as I have.” It would probably surprise most people to know just how vanilla my sex life, what there was of it, had been. I might take my clothes off and dance on a stage, but that was easier somehow than getting physically and emotionally close to someone in a bedroom or on a dining room table.
He frowned and tsked in disapproval. “Dining room table sex is the caviar of the sex world, the expensive champagne. It's for the fancy, trying-to-impress-your-date date.”
I laughed. I might have giggled. He was kind of adorable. “What makes it so fancy?”
“It's impressive to a) just shove everything off the table and feast on a woman, to savor her like she's the only thing you ever want in your mouth. Plus, it proves you're not too cheap to buy furniture that can hold her weight.”
I felt a bit starry eyed and desire rolled through me, making me ache. This was new. I enjoyed sex, had been attracted to several men, but I'd never felt like this, like I wanted to sit on his lap and feel his strong arms around me while he spoke dirty to me about table sex. “What other kinds of sex are there?”
His gaze heated and his smile turned wicked. “There's sex against the wall to demonstrate how strong I am, how biologically adapted to protect my woman. There's yoga sex to demonstrate my flexibility and agility. Shower sex to show her I can get dirty and clean equally well. There's—”
“What about you?”
He stopped, confused. “What about me?”
“You're talking about all this sex to show her what you're capable of, but what does she do to show she's right for you? What do you like?” I was getting too serious for what had started as a silly, light-hearted conversation, but I honestly wanted to know.
His eyes clouded for a moment and then he smiled. It wasn't a wicked smile or an amused smile, it was a fake smile. “I like it all. The right woman will turn me on no matter what she does.”
I chewed my gnocchi and considered letting this go, but… I just couldn't. I was a helper and I felt Zane needed help. “I call bullpucky,” I said.
His smile slipped only a millimeter. “Go ahead and call it whatever you want, I stand by what I said.”
“So, you'd love it if a girl took that wall sex and cooed over your strong, strong muscles? That would be enough for you? Or would you prefer she scratched her nails down your back, marking you as hers? Would you only be thinking of her pleasure in that shower? Would you complain if she dropped to her knees and put all her focus on pleasuring you? Making you happy? Proving to you that she was the kind of woman who gave your needs priority, too?”
He was staring at me, but I couldn't decipher his expression. I wasn't sure if he was annoyed, angry, or if he'd tuned me out because some woman with huge boobs had just walked by. Finally, his gaze focused and he cleared his throat. “There's nothing wrong with any of that, but it's just sex. I want more than sex.”
“Really?” I didn't know a ton of wolves, but the rumor was that they enjoyed a promiscuous, judgment-free kind of lifestyle. “What do you want?”
“I want a wife who I come home to every night,” he said, his expression tight. “I want a warm home and children. Laughter and love. A man has to work for that kind of life, has to prove himself.”
My heart ached and I wasn't sure why. I could picture it, the warm home, Zane walking through the door, a huge smile on his face. I could see him picking up a little girl and spinning her in wide circles…I shook it off. “Maybe…” I stopped, not sure what to say, not sure how to approach this dream of his. “Maybe a man just has to meet the right woman and fall in love. Maybe the work and the proving, maybe that's something the man and the woman do together.”
He chewed slowly, thoughtfully. “It's a pretty dream,” he finally said. “But I don't buy it. Everything worth having has to be worked for.”
I didn't disagree with that. I'd started working when I was eight, cleaning for my grandmother and friends of hers in the neighborhood, and I hadn't stopped since.
“What about you?” he asked. His expression lightening. “What's your dream?”
It didn't escape my attention that he was avoiding saying much about himself. I could have pushed, but I doubted it would get me anywhere. He was the most stubborn person I'd met in a long time. “I was never one of those girls who dreamed of my wedding day or a white knight billionaire to ride in and save me. Even as a little girl, I dreamed of finding that job that would mean I'd never worry where my next meal was coming from or how much longer I could darn socks before they fell off my feet. A job that would provide me with the money to travel and see the world.”
“Owning a strip club doesn't fit that dream?”
I smiled. “Not even close. I need something better, something stable that pays well and has amazing benefits. If I had any talent other than dancing on a pole, I'd open my own business, but I don't. I'll have to settle for working for someone else. I've got a bachelor's degree I earned online. I need to get to Denver and use it before too much time goes by, but…”
“You can't leave the club until you know there's someone running it who'll look out for the girls,” he said.
“Right.”
“No husband or kids in this dream at all?”
I shook my head. “I guess you and I think alike. I don't want a family until I have the income to support them. I literally need to work to earn them.”
“Or, maybe you meet the right guy, fall in love, and the two of you work together to build that income.”
“Touché.”
The waiter brought our check, after we'd refused dessert. I reached for it, but Zane grabbed it before I could. “I've got this,” he said. “It's the least I can do for helping to wreck your club last night.”
I rolled my eyes. “You made up for that by getting Alpha's pack to replace the furniture and glasses.”
“That doesn't make up for the expensive booze we ruined.”
The waiter returned after a few moments with Zane's card in hand. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said. “Your card has been declined.”
Zane's cheeks didn't redden with embarrassment, but his lips pinched tight and he looked angry. He reached for his wallet and pulled out two twenties. It looked like they were the last two twenties he had.
“I can cover this,” I said. “Really.”
“No,” Zane said. He handed the money to our waiter, telling him to keep the change. Zane pushed to his feet and walked out to the car. I followed, giving him space. The tense set of his shoulders and his heavy footsteps made it clear he was beyond pissed. By the time I got into the passenger seat, Zane was already on the phone, an angry scowl twisting his features.
Whoever was on the other end of the call talked for a long time. I stared out the front window into the dark night and waited. “Yeah,” Zane said. “I get it. We just need to—”
He paused, his expression settling a bit.
“Of course, Axel. Yeah, I'll talk to her.”
He hung up and faced me. “The pack is having some money problems,” he said. “It's not anything for you to worry about, but I'm not going to be able to pay for dinner or buy groceries.” He slammed his open palm against the steering wheel. “This is so fucked up. I hate being a mooch and I would go back to the pack, but—”
“It's fine. You're like my full-time bodyguard. I should totally be paying you.”
He sighed. “That's not how it works. You're a friend of Axel's and I'm helping you out. You shouldn't have to feed me and pay for my gas.”
I had a suspicion that attitude was part of the reason the pack was having money problems, but I didn't think Zane was in any kind of a mood to be receptive to my suggestions. “It's fine,” I said. “Friendship and favors go both ways. You aren't mooching. You're helping a friend who wants to feed you and pay for your gas.”
His shoulders relaxed and I
thought I saw a smile tickle his lips. “You might want to consider how much a full-grown werewolf can eat before you say that, friend.”
***
“What the hell?” I stared at the white rectangle of paper on the door to my club. It was just a piece of paper with black squiggles all over it and yet it felt like a punch to the gut, a speeding truck plowing me down, an elephant lifting its enormous leg and stomping me into the ground.
I'd woken up that morning feeling pretty good. For the first time in thirty some hours my head hadn't hurt. I hadn't felt dizzy. I'd been ready to get back to work, optimistic.
“What does that mean?” Zane asked.
“It means my club is being condemned.” The words hurt on the way out, scraping my throat and leaving behind a new emotion. Carly, Roxy, Lizzie, Alice, Zara, and Zed, people who depended on me, wouldn't be getting paid tonight. Instead, my employees would pay because I just had to push Leopold away instead of coming up with a charming response, instead of remembering he was the one with the power in this town.
“Can they do that?” Zane asked. “There's not a damn thing wrong with your club.”
I spun to face him, feeling for the first time in a very long time like a child who wanted her mother to show up and tell her that everything would be okay, that we'd fix this. “They can do whatever they want. They own this town.”
His expression had softened and gone wary. He reached for me, like he wanted to touch me, but stopped before he made contact. “There has to be someone we can talk to, someone who can help you out. They can't just condemn a perfectly good building.”
I checked my watch, it was just after four. We had time. “I know the mayor pretty well. We can talk to him.”
Since I was feeling better, Zane let me drive. I parked in front of the courthouse and led the way inside and to the mayor's office. “Hey, Sherry,” I said to his secretary, a girl barely out of high school who was some distant relation to the mayor. “Charlie in?”
Sherry's eyes widened to the size of ping-pong balls and she got to her feet. “He's out right now, Miss White. I'll have him—”
“Sherry, where the hell are my damn reading glasses?” Charlie shouted as he stepped out of his office.
As soon as he saw me, he paled and his own eyes widened. “Abigail. You shouldn't be here.”
Darn it, this wasn't a good sign. “My club's been condemned, Charlie. You know anything about that?”
“I'm sorry,” he said. “They blamed me for you being there when the health inspector showed up. They told me I had to stay away from you or they'd go after my family.”
How many people were going to be punished for my taste in men? For my unwillingness to sell myself? “Who do I talk to about this, Charlie?”
He shook his head. “Not even they can condemn a building overnight. I expect if you read the notice more carefully, you'll see you have forty-eight hours to make repairs and request a new inspection. Now, I'm sorry, but I really do have to ask you to leave.”
I followed Zane out without arguing. My club wasn't more important than Charlie's family. “I read the notice carefully,” I said. “All it said was that my building was being condemned, right?”
“That's what I saw,” Zane said. “I think the person we need to talk to is in this building.”
He didn't sound at all sure of that, but we went down to the front desk and were directed to an office of code compliance.
There was a young guy behind the desk. A very young guy. I had to assume he was another relative of the mayor because I couldn't imagine any other way a guy so young could have landed that job.
“Hi there,” he said when we walked in. “What can I do for you?”
“I'm Abigail White, owner of The Booty Carousel, downtown, and I need to speak to someone about a notice I found on my door this morning.”
The kid's eyes widened. “No shit? You own that place? Man, I fucking love that place—”
Zane leaned over the kid. “Glad you're a fan. We need to talk to your boss.”
The kid nodded, looking a bit like a bobble-head doll. “Yeah, of course. Go on back.”
We walked back and I half-hoped the kid had no clue what he was doing and we could find the guy with a subordinate bent over his desk, something I could use to blackmail the guy, because I had a feeling it was going to take something miraculous for me to get my club back.
Unfortunately, there was a woman in the office and she was alone, doing her job as far as I could tell. Nothing at all useful for blackmail.
“Hello,” she said, looking up from her work with a smile. She appeared to be about middle-aged, with a friendly smile and flint in her eyes that suggested she suffered no fools or bullpucky. “How can I help you?”
I repeated the spiel I'd given to the kid out front and she started nodding before I'd finished. “I saw that property personally. I'm afraid there's very little that can be done.”
“I was under the impression that I had forty-eight hours to make repairs.”
“Look,” she said. “I want to help you. Gage was a friend of mine back in high school and I've always liked that club, but I can't sign off on a building that is so unsafe. It's so bad, I've asked for it to be destroyed as soon as possible.”
“What are you talking about? I was there this morning and it was fine.”
Her eyes widened. “There's extensive fire damage inside the building. Support structures and wiring, pretty much everything that was holding that building together was burned. It was almost like…” She tapped her fingers on her desk, clearly uncomfortable with her own thoughts.
“Like someone had burned away the integrity of the building with an incredibly accurate flame thrower?”
She didn't respond, her lips pinched tight. “Look, if you have insurance, make a claim and get the place rebuilt.”
The room spun, but this time it wasn't from my concussion. I had insurance, it wasn't the best, but it would get me part of the way to rebuilding. Unfortunately, I didn't have any money in savings to get the rest of the way there. It would cost more to rebuild than to have bought the shabby building before it was burned. I pressed my palms against my eyes to push back tears and pulled in a deep breath. Maybe this was good. I'd been wanting to leave Aspens Whiten for a while and now nothing was holding me back. I should be happy, but a lump of sadness had settled in my chest and wasn't moving.
“Do you know?” I asked. “Is there any kind of police investigation?”
“The official report is accidental fire.” She leaned over her desk and lowered her voice. “I had to pull strings to get you that, Miss White. They wanted it reported as a fire that was intentionally set by the owner.”
“Why?” I asked. I'd never met this woman, never done anything for her. “Why would you take that risk?”
“Because screw them,” she said. “I could have moved to the East Coast after college, could have had a great-paying job and a big house in the suburbs, but I came back here because I love this town. It's my home.”
“Thank you.”
“Will you rebuild?” she asked.
“I don't think I can.”
It was my turn to stomp to the car and kick the tires. Zane grabbed me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me back against his chest. “I'm so fucking sorry,” he said. “If you want to rebuild, we can help. We've got a guy in the pack who can—”
“No.” I sank into him and then I spun in his arms and pressed my face against his chest. I wanted to cry, wanted to mourn the loss of my business, but the tears wouldn't come. Anger raged through me in place of the sorrow. “Even with help, I can't afford to have no income for months while the place is being rebuilt. I'll move to Denver. It's time.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice warm against the top of my head. He tightened his grip around me and his hard body was pressed more firmly against mine, so firmly that I felt safe for the first time in as long as I could remember. I felt that maybe, just maybe, everything would be o
kay. I tipped my head back and looked up into his eyes, wanting to thank him, but the way he was looking at me, like he wanted to protect and devour me, felt definitively less safe.
I pulled out of his arms a bit, needing space to think. “Before I leave, I want to make Leopold and the vamps pay. I want to make sure they can't hurt anyone else.”
His gaze darkened and he looked over my shoulder at the parking lot. “The best revenge you can inflict on Leopold is to move on and be happy. To prove you don't need him.”
“It's not right,” I said. “That he can just get away with this.”
“He's not getting what he really wants.” The wind blew a strand of hair across my face and he tucked it behind my ear. “He's not getting you.”
I broke completely free of his arms and got in the driver's seat. I waited until he was seated in the passenger seat and started the engine. “Do you really think that's all this is about?” I asked as I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. “He's doing this because I shot him down?”
“If he wanted your business. He wouldn't have destroyed it.”
“Then he's not only a powerful, entitled douche. He's batshit crazy.”
“I tend to agree.”
At home, I called Carly, Lizzie, Roxy, Zara, Alice, and Zed but none of them answered my call. I even tried the women who only worked in the summer, when we were busier, but they weren't answering their phones either. Zane sat at my kitchen table and watched me like he expected me to fly off the handle and explode at any moment.
“Something's wrong,” I said. “I should have been able to reach one of them.”
He didn't hesitate, not even for one millisecond. “Let's go to their houses. Maybe we can find someone who knows something.”
Upon hearing that, I burst into tears. Zane's arms were around me before I'd had a moment to wonder why I was crying.
“We're going to find them,” he said as he held me tight. “We're going to find them and we're going to make this right.”
“This is my fault,” I said, once I'd gotten a hold of myself. “If I'd just… I don't know. If I'd just been nicer to Leopold, or—”
Stripped (Wolves of Mule Creek #2) Page 6
