She thought of Jericho watching, of Dante somewhere inside the club, and the beautiful music they’d all made together. Her hips swung gently, gyrating as she flexed her tummy and rolled it the way she’d been taught so long ago by one of her mother’s dancer friends. It was easier than she’d thought, recalling the rhythm. The sensual movements came more and more naturally as she felt the power of Jericho’s approval wash her in warm acceptance.
JERICHO COULDN’T HAVE moved had he wanted to. He was transfixed by Suri’s erotic dance. She dipped forward at the waist, her long hair sweeping the floor before she flexed up on her toes, bending backward in a graceful arc. Her hands rotated in fluid circles, accentuating each movement of her hips and belly until his cock was throbbing in time.
“Last night was about more than alcohol and depression, wasn’t it?”
Somehow, Jericho wasn’t surprised to hear Dante’s low voice right behind him. It seemed only right that the two of them should witness Suri’s beautiful dance together.
Dante touched his arm, a supplicating gesture that was as unusual as it was telling. “Are you still angry with me?”
Jericho tensed. Was he angry with Dante? He had been when he had felt as though he’d been manipulated into a sexual encounter with a woman who wasn’t sober enough to know what she was doing. Suri herself had laid that to rest, though Dante could most definitely be accused of manipulation. But that was Dante in a nutshell. Manipulation was in his DNA, though it had never affected Jericho as directly as it had last night. He thought of his confusing feelings about experimenting with another man. Was he even ready to think about that yet?
“Something happened last night that we can never undo.” Dante stepped out of the shadows to stand beside Jericho.
The note of uncertainty in Dante’s tone tugged at Jericho’s tightly leashed emotions. “I’m not angry.”
He didn’t get a chance to expand or demand an explanation, because at that moment, Congressman Flaherty’s eyes focused on Suri’s sinuous dance, and the power-tripping politician decided that she was the only thing capable of scratching his itch.
The man plowed over his mistress, pushing her flat to the floor as he tripped to his feet. Flaherty’s smoking jacket gaped open, and Jericho saw enough of the man’s cock to prove that generic male genitalia held no fascination for him.
Flaherty stood as if starstruck. Still locked in her own world, Suri hadn’t yet noticed her rapt and unwanted audience. He was moving in, a step at a time, his gaze raking her body from breasts to crotch.
Jericho clenched his fists tight to keep from leaping in. At this point, the congressman hadn’t broken any club rules. Beside him, Dante was in the same wait-and-see mode. But this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill employee protection detail. This was different. This was the definition of why becoming attached to coworkers was a bad idea.
Jericho knew the precise moment Suri realized she was being stalked. All movement stopped, and she turned away from the fountain, putting her back against the wall.
“Don’t stop.” Flaherty made a shooing gesture with his hands. “Keep dancing, honey. In fact, do it again and take your top off.”
It was obvious the money held a powerful draw for her. Her expression was perfectly smooth, a mix of enticing and demure. But Jericho could sense the distaste she hid beneath her calm facade.
Dante shifted, crossing his arms over his chest. His stance was as rigid as Jericho had ever seen it. Dante was a man who prided himself on his cool head and unflappable poise. At the moment, he looked ready to jump an influential client and throw him out of the club. That alone told Jericho that the earth had moved for all three of them, whether they were willing to admit it or not.
Suri began moving, her dance a shade more inhibited. Tension strung Jericho’s muscles taut. She pivoted to give Flaherty a view of her back. Reaching up, she unfastened her top.
When she turned again, her pert breasts hung free. Flaherty lifted his hands, obviously itching to cop a feel. Jericho ached to whisk her away somewhere private, to cup the fullness of each breast in his palms and thumb her nipples into hard points before taking them in his mouth. Her body was meant to bridge the gap between him and Dante. The sensation of being together had the potential to eclipse any lingering doubts.
Dante jerked, covering the telltale motion by turning his back. “Business is business, and I need to get back to mine.”
SOME OF SURI’S confidence left with Dante when he disappeared from Jericho’s side. She shouldn’t have cared. Jericho had already made his interest clear, and one guy should’ve been enough. Especially when he looked like Jericho Davies.
So why did it feel as if Dante had just thrown her to the wolves? Why did she feel so stung by his dismissal?
“Touch yourself, honey.” Flaherty wasn’t done dictating this little show. Suri chewed the inside of her cheek and wondered if she was about to make a huge mistake. Holding out one hand, she made the universal gesture for “show me the money.”
Thankfully, Flaherty laughed loudly, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. “Business first, hmm?” He drew a wad of bills from the pocket of his jacket.
Without a top, there was nowhere but her skirt for him to put the money. Trying not to show her distaste, Suri offered him a spot on her hip. Flaherty made a big show of stuffing four fifty-dollar bills into the waistband of her skirt. His fingers splayed against her belly and dipped deliberately close to her pubic hair.
“Are you wet for me, honey?” Flaherty’s nostrils flared, pupils dilating. “You want my fingers in your cunt, don’t you?”
Panic demanded she jam her foot in his crotch and run like hell, but she’d learned early that wasn’t very good for business. She decided to play the coquette instead, backing out of his reach and dancing as he’d originally asked.
Distraction usually worked for overeager customers, but she was used to the stages where violating club rules meant you got thrown out. Flaherty didn’t play by the rules. He made them up as he went along.
“Not so fast, honey.” He grabbed her by the hips. “I want what I paid for.”
“I’m a dancer. Not a whore.”
In two seconds flat, she was pressed up against the lip of the fountain with Flaherty’s fingers trying to probe her slit from behind. She struggled, a balloon of terror swelling inside her chest as she tried to scream. It was like pushing against a brick wall. His sour scent overwhelmed her senses, his clammy hands groping her ass and trying to pry her legs apart.
“What the fuck?” Flaherty leaped away so quickly that Suri tumbled to the floor.
Rolling to her knees and snatching up the tiny velvet drawstring bag that held her night’s take, she glimpsed Jericho in the middle of the room with all three of Flaherty’s bodyguards. One beefy guy was already prone on the floor. Jericho had the second guy’s neck locked beneath his arm as he circled slowly, eye to eye with the third as if waiting for him to make one wrong move.
“Stand down, Jericho!” Flaherty’s indignant tone hinted that he knew he’d lost control of the situation.
The demand had no effect on Jericho. When the last guard lunged, Jericho used the one he held captive like a battering ram. The two guards smashed together with a sickening crunch. Groaning, they flopped to the floor to join their comrade.
“Are you all right?” Jericho held out his hand, and Suri took it, allowing him to pull her upright. He jerked his head at the other three Asylum dancers. “Let’s go. Now.”
They rushed out, leaving Jericho to bring up the rear with Suri tucked beneath his arm. She was glad he hadn’t let go. At this point, she would be lucky to stand upright, much less walk.
He took three strides to an access door opposite the suite entrance and swiped his keycard to open it. “All of you inside. Now.”
The other three dancers huddled together, wide-eyed. The corridor was a stairwell of sorts, its bare brick walls a harsh contrast to the soft lighting and dreamy atmosphere inside the club proper.
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Suri stumbled, her legs like jelly. She couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened had Jericho not given Terrence the night off and taken his place. Would Terrence have been able to stop Flaherty? Would he have been able to fight off Flaherty’s guards and prevent the man from taking what he believed he’d bought?
Shame burned a trail of fire through her system. Dancing was one thing. Dealing with some asshole’s entitlement complex was something else. How could she do this again, even if it meant getting the money she needed for Ma?
“Stay here,” Jericho ordered the other dancers. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back for you.”
Before Suri could join her coworkers in a corner of the stairwell, Jericho swept her up into his arms. It felt good to be cuddled like that, picked up as though she weighed no more than a child. Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek against his hard pectoral. She could feel his warm skin through his black dress shirt. He smelled divine, exactly as he had the night before, the way he had an hour ago when he’d spread her thighs and pushed into her pussy for the first time.
He carried her two flights of stairs without breaking a sweat or even breathing hard. Arriving at a door, he fumbled for his keycard, finally sliding it awkwardly through the reader.
A wave of mixed feelings hit her when she opened her eyes and realized that Jericho had brought her back to the sultan’s bedchamber where she’d first met him and Dante less than twenty-four hours ago.
Jericho stopped beside the bed. “You’ll be out of harm’s way in here. I have to handle things downstairs, and then I’ll be back.”
She wanted to be strong, but she felt too vulnerable. “Please don’t go.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead, holding her so close she could hear his heart beating. “I have to, Suri. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”
A door on the opposite side of the suite swung open, and Dante stepped in. He was dressed in soft black lounge pants and a black tee. His dark eyes were unreadable and his expression blank. He’d tucked his hair behind his ears. His lips were pursed, the scar bisecting the right side of his mouth pale against the warm caramel of his complexion. He looked forbidding. Suri wondered if this was when she would get fired.
As if she could take anymore crap today.
“I’m going back to handle Flaherty.” Jericho’s expression revealed nothing when he spoke to Dante. He could’ve been discussing the weather.
Dante wasn’t any warmer. “I’ll chat with him in a little bit. Have Felix keep him in my reception area until he cools off.”
Jericho started to leave the way he’d come, pausing when he was halfway out the door. “This isn’t business anymore.”
Suri wondered what he meant and what it had to do with her, Jericho, and Dante.
Chapter Seven
Dante was a businessman. He understood how to manipulate a market, sell a product, and use blackmail to get what he wanted. This Flaherty mess should have been simple. The congressman wanted Suri. Dante should have been willing to hand her over on a silver platter, no matter the cost. The potential returns on keeping an influential man like Flaherty happy should have been worth it.
How can I sell her to keep that selfish bastard where I want him?
He’d never been asked to make a decision like this when the person who was offered up like collateral had a name and a personality he’d grown to care about. Which was a whole new issue. When had Dante Torres started fixating on his dancers?
He should have walked away, right then. Left her huddled in the middle of his bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. Let Jericho deal with her.
Except he couldn’t.
He’d been looking after number one for years. He’d been weaned on the concept, raised to protect family and self. When his family had betrayed him, he’d had no one but himself to rely on. Until Jericho.
Dante remembered the first time he’d met Jericho. The man had put his life on the line for a total stranger, no questions asked. Since that night, he had worked his way underneath all Dante’s defenses. Jericho was one of those rare people who was truly good. Dante had known it from the very first moment.
Suri emitted a ragged sigh. Dante drifted closer, remembering her sharp wit and easy company. His instincts had been dead-on with Jericho. And they were telling him that Suri was cut from the same cloth.
“It’s obvious that you don’t want me here.” She started to rise, but her legs got tangled in the filmy material of her costume. “I’ll go just as soon as I get my shit together.”
Her voice broke, and the last word came out on a sob. Business sense and rational thought sank into the background. He climbed onto the bed and tried to pull her into his lap.
“I don’t want your pity.” She pushed his hands away, sitting stiffly in the middle of his bed.
“That’s good, because I’m not sure I even know how to offer it.”
Her blue eyes widened before she began to laugh.
“Come here, princess.” He tried again, and she didn’t resist his embrace. Settling down against a mound of pillows, he enjoyed the sensation of her curves tucked in beside him. “Why did you sneak up here to drink all by yourself last night?”
She didn’t answer right away. He let her get her thoughts together. The high ponytail holding her hair away from her face was starting to come undone, several renegade strands escaping to frame her face. He liked her better dressed as herself, not wearing her dancer persona.
“People don’t think very much of exotic dancers.” Her tone suggested she didn’t think much of them either. “I was at a function yesterday, a wedding actually. The bride was the sister-in-law of an acquaintance. They’re a pretty prominent family, so there were a lot of people there, and someone recognized me from here at the club.”
Something in her description stirred Dante’s memory. How many prominent families held weddings in a day?
Suri wasn’t done. “The groom tried to make a pass at me. I just blew him off at first. It wasn’t really a secret that he was a total douche bag. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Dante closed his eyes briefly. He’d tried to drown this inexplicable sense of shame and remorse in Arak the night before. Avoidance hadn’t worked then, and his conscience was coming back with new vigor now. He ran a business. He didn’t head up the morality police. How was he supposed to be responsible for the behavior of other grown men?
“He tried to pin me down in a space between two of the tents outside. I kept thinking he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to rape someone at his own wedding reception, but that’s exactly what he was going to do.”
Dante cleared his throat. “What happened?”
“I managed to get him away from me. I was still escaping when the bride caught us coming out from behind a tent. She went completely ballistic. Accused me of trying to seduce him. My friend stood up for me, but the guy told the whole world I couldn’t be believed because I was nothing but a stripper. He called me a whore.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze, fiddling with the fabric of her skirt.
“Did the bride believe you or him?”
“Her sister got involved and said he’d been trying the same kind of shit with her.” Suri giggled unexpectedly, warming him with the musical sound. “The bride got pissed and cake-bombed him. Bet you anything that reception made it onto YouTube by last night.”
“Your profession obviously bothers you.” He couldn’t see her expression with her face snuggled against his chest, but he could feel the resentment in her rigid muscles.
“This isn’t my profession. But normally, I like dancing.”
That was an intriguing bit of information he filed away for later perusal. He focused in on her second statement. “What do you like about it?”
“It’s empowering. Music makes everything else slip away. I can focus on the rhythm and the movements, and whole hours pass without me noticing. Besides, most of our customers down on Level One aren’t like Flaherty.”
“So
why dance at Flaherty’s party if it bothers you?”
“I need the money.”
Obviously, her other profession didn’t pay enough to make ends meet. He mulled this over, trying to make sense of what little he knew. The apartment she shared with her sister was cheap. It wasn’t like she was paying rent in Back Bay. They lived in a one-bedroom basement apartment in Southie. She didn’t have a car or any credit obligations to speak of. Did she have some kind of home shopping network fetish or something?
Engrossed in his speculations, he didn’t notice her staring up at him until she touched his face. “Where did you get this scar?”
“In a fight.” The answer was automatic. “What do you need money for?”
“Family stuff.”
It struck him then how much her answer resembled his. They were pat answers, things you said to throw people off the scent of a deeper truth you didn’t want to reveal.
It bothered him. Not just that she was deflecting a question about something he wanted to understand, but that he was doing it too. Why did it matter? Couldn’t he enjoy fucking her without getting involved in her personal life?
The tips of her fingers brushed the pale line scarring the right side of his mouth. The soft touch evoked a deep sense of comfort that made no sense given the casual nature of their relationship. “I’m sorry I made trouble for you with the congressman.”
That she could apologize for something like that made Dante feel as though he’d sunk to a whole new low. He’d known what would happen when he left the party. He’d simply been too much of a coward to stay and face it. Too selfish, too caught up in the preservation of the facade he’d spent years erecting.
“I think I should go.” She started to get up.
Boston Avant-Garde 4: Encore Page 6
