Dark Seduction

by Jayne Blue

  “Sit down,” she said. “I don’t want to have to strain my neck to talk to you this whole time.”

  I scratched my chin with the pad of my thumb. Then I finally did what she asked and took a seat beside her. “James,” I answered. “James Dormer. But nobody’s ever called me that.”

  “Not even your parents?”

  I bristled. Shit. She didn’t waste time getting personal. “I don’t have parents,” I said, giving her the answer I knew she expected. “I have the club.”

  She nodded, tilting her head so she could keep my gaze. “How did you get to be Domino?”

  “You know, I haven’t agreed to any of this,” I said. “I’m not going to be your guinea pig, honey.”

  My tone was gruff, but Quinn didn’t flinch. She blinked but kept her smile in place. “I’m just making conversation, Dom. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “So let’s try you,” I said. “Quinn. Not a usual name for a girl.”

  “No,” she answered. Something changed on her face. If I had to name it, it was like a mask went up. She took a breath and delivered rapid-fire answers that seemed rehearsed or like she’d said them a thousand times.

  “My mother wanted something unique. Something memorable. My father was ... not around. For as long as I can remember, it was just the two of us. Tandy Larsen. She had a career in the industry for a little bit. Some print modeling. She played Joleen on Pine Hill. That was a pretty popular soap opera in the late eighties.”

  I held up a hand in surrender. “That part of your press kit?”

  Quinn’s plastered-on smile widened into something genuine. It was her turn to laugh. “My press kit?”

  “You think I’m just some meat-headed thug? Is that what your movie’s about?”

  Quinn’s smile dropped. She sucked in a breath and reared back. Without thinking, her hand flew up and she touched my arm. “No! Domino, no. That is not what my movie is about. I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I don’t even know you.”

  She stood up and started pacing in front of me, gesturing with her hands. “See, that’s the whole point. I want something real. I want to protect this project. Make it better, grittier, more raw than anything that’s been done before. I want this movie to have a heartbeat. I don’t know if I’m making any sense at all. But it’s important to me. I don’t want to screw it up.”

  “A heartbeat,” I said.

  “Yes!” She turned to me and stopped pacing. “Will you help me?”

  God, she was pretty. Beautiful. I rose slowly, towering over her. Her pale blue eyes darted over me. Her nostrils flared as she waited for my answer.

  “Come on,” I finally said. “It’s getting late. I’m sure your handlers weren’t thrilled about you riding off with somebody like me.”

  “Wait. What?”

  I stepped around her and got on the bike. Revving the engine, I held my hand out to her. Quinn looked confused. Hurt. But she turned and grabbed my spare helmet and shoved it on. When she climbed on the back of my bike this time, there was no hesitation. She pressed herself hard against me. It felt like a challenge. I couldn’t help the flare of desire that went through me as I roared away out of the park and hit the coastal highway again.

  This chick was for real. What I didn’t know yet was whether I could be. Sure. The idea of spending time with her interested me. But I couldn’t agree to what she wanted without the approval of the club. Just the thought of asking them made my stomach turn. The ball busting I’d face would be merciless.

  As Quinn’s warm skin brushed against mine, I thought it might just be worth a little ball busting to get to do this again.

  The ride seemed to go quicker on the way back. When I pulled into the valet circle, Quinn’s friend Noel was already waiting for her, phone in hand. He looked pissed and pulled the phone away from his ear. I cut the engine in time to hear him say, “Never mind. She’s back.”

  He slid the phone into his back pocket and approached. Quinn slid off and ignored Noel’s angry look. I stayed on the bike and pulled off my helmet so Noel could see my expression. It made him stutter-step as he came to Quinn’s side.

  “Noel,” she said. “This is Domino. He’s agreed to work with me.”

  Noel’s face lit up as my mouth dropped. I locked eyes with Quinn and her smile widened. Noel extended his hand to shake mine. I didn’t budge.

  “Well,” Noel said. “That’s fantastic news, Mr. … uh … Domino. We can make it all worth your while. If things go well, we can even offer you a consultant credit. How would you like that? Your family would be impressed, I’ll bet.”

  The kid was a sniveling worm. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and sweat broke out on his brow. “My family? I don’t want anything from you, kid. By the looks of you, I’m thinking maybe your daddy got you this job. I’m not interested.”

  Quinn put a hand to her forehead. With the other, she tried to draw Noel away before he said something else stupid to piss me off.

  “What I will do,” I said, locking eyes with Quinn, “is meet with you again. Meet me tomorrow afternoon at Cups. That’s the sports bar you staked out the other day near the docks. Five o’clock.”

  “Perfect,” Noel said. “We’ll be there. I can make you a written offer, outlining terms and all of that. You can have your people ... uh ... your lawyer look at it. I assure you it’ll be boilerplate.”

  “Shut up, Noel,” I said, keeping my eyes on Quinn. “I said you, Quinn. Just you. Take it or leave it. This guy comes anywhere near our businesses or the club, no bueno. Do we understand each other?”

  Quinn smiled as her friend started to sputter and fume. She kept a steady hand on his elbow though. “We understand each other. Come on, Noel.” As she led him away and back into the hotel, I couldn’t help staring at the lovely way her ass filled out her jean shorts.

  Chapter 8

  Quinn

  I felt flushed. Giddy. My nerves thrummed with excitement as I stood in front of my closet and tried to figure out what to wear. This wasn’t a date. It was a business meeting. And yet, business with the Dark Saints wouldn’t be like anything else I’d ever done. So I opted for jeans and a shiny silver tank top. I wore black leather boots with a two-inch heel.

  I felt more comfortable in stilettos, but wondered in the back of my mind whether Dom would offer to take me for another ride on his Harley. Would I say yes? I’d never ridden a motorcycle until yesterday. The exhilarating feel of the wind on my face and my arms wrapped around Domino’s solid waist left an imprint on my mind. Just thinking about it now made my heart flutter with a thousand tiny butterfly wings. I loved the way his leather cut warmed beneath my cheek. I wanted to trace my fingers along the intricate designs of his tattoos.

  “Quinn,” Noel snapped. “You sure you’re up for this?” He stood in the hallway, pouting.

  “I am,” I said, closing my fingers around the door handle. I gave him another pointed stare when he tried to follow me. “I should be at this meeting with you.”

  “No.” I turned. “You shouldn’t. In fact, you should head back to L.A. I can handle this. Like it or not, you spooked these guys the other night. And you piss Domino off. So please. We both have plenty to do to get this project off the ground. Work the financials. I’ll work Port Azrael.”

  Noel crossed his arms in front of himself, but didn’t argue. Maybe I’d gotten through to him, for once. I was already running late so I didn’t want to waste another second managing his hurt feelings. I gave him a ready smile and headed for the elevators.

  I used a driver this time. He knew who I was but I banked on his discretion. I left him a generous tip and told him not to wait for me as he pulled in to the parking lot of Cups Sports Bar.

  “Are you sure, ma’am?” he asked, leaning down to peer at the blinking neon sign beneath his rearview mirror. “I could give you a few recommendations for other places to eat. Port Azrael isn’t …”

  “Thank you,” I said, trying not to sound too harsh. “I’m meeting
someone and I’ll be fine.”

  I closed the passenger door and didn’t look back. I knew the guy would wait for me for a few minutes at least. It didn’t matter now. I was here. I was really doing this. Before losing my nerve, I smoothed my hair back and walked under the fake goal posts at the front entrance.

  Cups was packed. This was an upscale crowd for Port Azrael. There were a lot of college-aged frat guys crowding around the bar and big-screen televisions. In the dim lighting, none of them turned to look at me when I walked in. Those that weren’t watching the game had their eyes on the dozen or so waitresses serving drinks and appetizers. More specifically, the guys watched the girls’ backsides beneath their skimpy black skirts that barely covered their asses.

  “Are you meeting somebody or would you like a seat at the bar?” A hostess with flaming red hair and a bright smile greeted me. Her eyes flickered with recognition and color came into her cheeks. She let out a gushing breath, but didn’t ask me who I was. I was grateful.

  I scanned the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of Domino. For some reason, I didn’t like the idea of waiting alone until he got here. I instantly regretted not trying to wear more of a disguise. The place was too crowded, too compact. If someone recognized me, it would be nearly impossible to avoid a scene.

  “Thanks, Wendy, she’s with me.” Domino’s deep voice skittered between my shoulder blades. He put a light hand on the small of my back; the heat of it set off the butterflies in my chest again.

  “You got it, Dom,” Wendy said. She stepped out of the way as Domino guided me toward the back of the bar. He led me to an empty booth under an alcove. It was quieter back here, tucked away from the main bustle near the bar. It was perfect.

  He slid into the booth facing the front entrance. I knew instinctively he’d done it so he could watch the comings and goings. It was a bold, purely alpha-male move. He probably did it without even thinking. I slid into the seat opposite him.

  We didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds before a waitress came to our table. Domino ordered a draft beer. I gestured, asking for the same.

  “You hungry?” he asked. “The burgers here are decent.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, thanking the waitress. I knew in a place like this, nobody came for the food.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” I said.

  Domino raised a brow. The waitress was quick with our drinks. Domino slid his fingers around the frosted mug. He had broad nails and a patchwork of scars covering his strong fingers. These were a working man’s hands with thick, corded veins. Strong. Solid. He raised his mug and took a long sip of beer. I watched the muscles in his neck contract as he swallowed. He gave a little hiss as he set the mug down. His lips were full and bottom-heavy, giving him a permanent pout.

  He leaned back, draping his arm across the back of the booth. His eyes flicked over me. I think he liked what he saw.

  “So how’d you pick my club, my town?” he asked, fixing his gaze on me. I realized I wasn’t used to that. Most of the “civilians” I met didn’t know how to act around me. Sometimes they were too scared to even talk to me. A lot of the times, it was the exact opposite. They’d seen me on Crosspointe or Night Terrors or any number of other roles and thought they knew me. They were too familiar, getting in my personal space.

  “I read an article online about Port Azrael,” I said. “It was the anniversary of the founding of the town. Very romantic. All about the Texas Rangers and the Native Americans and how your club was born from that. I understand you still have a Bullock or two in charge.”

  I’d said too much. Domino’s face went even harder. He stiffened, clenching and unclenching one fist.

  “Don’t assume you know shit from reading something online,” he said, dropping his gaze from mine. In an instant, I felt the cold shadow of his dismissal. I reached for him, wanting the light of his stare. When I put my hand over Domino’s his felt like granite. I felt the tremor of his pulse. My own rose almost to match it. I sat back in my seat and took a long drink of my own beer.

  “You know, that should be my line. Do you know how many people think they know something about me because they saw me in a movie or read some trashy article about who I’m dating? Ninety percent of it is fake.”

  Domino’s lip curled in a smirk. “Ninety percent? What about the other ten?”

  “Well,” I answered. “They usually spell my name right.”

  “So how’d you get to be … Quinn Larsen? You get discovered walking down the street looking like you do?”

  There it was. People often made assumptions my success was the result of luck and looks. It was usually a way to diminish me and make themselves feel better. And yet, Domino had an earnest way of looking at me that told me he meant anything but. “My mother was in the business. I think I told you that. One day she couldn’t find a sitter. I was, I think, nine or ten years old. She didn’t get the part, but the director asked to see me. I didn’t want to do it. But Mama got a different kind of gleam in her eye.”

  “So you got a part and she didn’t?”

  I downed more beer. I had to be careful. I really didn’t drink often. There had to be at least twenty ounces in these mugs. “Actually, I didn’t. I was awful. Nervous. Shaking. Couldn’t remember my two lines to save my life. But one of the casting directors passed my name along to a modeling agent who did mostly print work. I started getting jobs from that. Then I started getting better at reading lines. Finally, I got cast in Crosspointe when I was twelve.”

  Domino hung on my words, but a secret smile played at the corners of his mouth. I sat back in my seat. “And you have no idea what that means. You’ve never heard of Crosspointe.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of it,” he said. “But only since yesterday. You’re not the only one doing internet research.”

  I raised my mug and tipped it toward his. We clinked rims. “So tell me more about this movie.”

  “No,” I answered. It earned me a raised brow from Domino. “I’d rather you tell me how you got your nickname. You didn’t really answer me before.”

  His nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath. “Black and white with spots all over. That’s what Bear told me I looked like.”

  I laughed. I already knew who Bear was. Bear Bullock, the current president of the Dark Saints M.C. I half hoped Dom would offer to introduce me to him. “You are a little hard to place.”

  “Take a guess.” He challenged me; leaning forward he folded his hands in front of him, putting him no more than a few inches from my face. His hot breath caressed my cheek. Domino had one of the most interesting faces I’d ever seen. Since I was a kid, I’d always liked to study them, make up stories about who people were. Domino’s face was all hard angles with a square jaw, broad flat nose, deep-set eyes, and high cheekbones.

  “Native American, for sure. So, being where we are and the history of your town, I’m guessing at least part Comanche. Latino, maybe? But European in there somewhere, for sure. It’s in your eyes.”

  Domino clucked his tongue and sat back. “Not bad. My daddy was half Comanche on his mother’s side. Irish on his father’s. My mother? She was the true mutt. Her mother was all Cuban. Her pops was French, Portuguese, and maybe a little more Irish thrown in.”

  I whistled low. “Well, you just check all the boxes, don’t you. What about me?”

  He narrowed his eyes even as his smile broadened. “You? You’re easy. Larsen’s your real last name, I think. So you’re what? Dutch? Swedish? You look it.”

  I nodded. “Pure Scandinavian.”

  “Vikings, I like it,” he said. “Where’s your daddy now? Where was he when your mama was taking you on all those auditions?”

  Coming from anyone else, I might have taken it as an innocent question. From Domino, his tone had a harder edge. Not judgment, per se, but a certain machismo that matched his dominant posture.

  “He wasn’t around,” I said bluntly. “That’s been Tandy Larsen’s M.O. from day one. I never knew who my
dad was. It was just the two of us. And about a dozen uncles.”

  Dom’s eyes narrowed to slits. He gripped the handle of his beer mug so hard I wondered if he might snap it right off. “So who looked out for you?”

  The question took me off guard. I blanched. Then my own protective wall went up and I knew it was time to change the subject. “I came here to talk about you. You don’t have to tell me anything about your club. I understand why you wouldn’t want to. But you. How did you become a Dark Saint?”

  Domino didn’t break his stare. He clearly still wanted an answer to his question, but after a beat, he backed down, settling into an easier posture. He finished the last of his beer and jerked his chin toward the waitress. I put my hand over my mug but Domino took a refill. He didn’t drink it though. He just ran his finger through the condensation on the side of the glass.

  Finally, he took his eyes away from me and stared at some point in the distance. “My mama liked her men too. She was married to the Rip Lyons, former road captain of the Devil’s Hawks.”

  “Road captain?” Part of me wished I’d brought a notebook to jot some of this down. But I knew it would break the spell between us. For now, we could both pretend this was just a casual conversation. It was, but I wondered if he’d ever want to talk to me again. Fear flashed through me at the thought of not seeing him again. It unsettled me.

  “It can mean a lot of different things to different clubs. It’s a position of honor and trust though. We need somebody to plan and coordinate the runs.” I bit my lip past the urge to ask him exactly what they were running. I’d heard the rumors. The Dark Saints were reported to be a member of the mysterious one percenters. True outlaws. The rational part of my brain again wondered what the hell I was doing here with him.

  “But you’re a Dark Saint. How’d that happen?”

  Domino laughed. “Let’s just say Katy Lyons had a flair for drama. Like you, maybe. My daddy, the club named him Diesel. How he got mixed up with my mother, I’m not sure.”