Pointe Noire (The Noire House Book 1)

by Lacie Thorne

  “I’m fine. He just—I don’t know. He makes me uncomfortable.”

  I reached up to brush away a tickle on my cheek and bumped into the stupid mask. I sighed and moved to untie the little ribbons holding it in place.

  Sam’s hand shot out, his grip firm on my wrist as he stopped me. “Don’t.”

  “Why not? It’s only the two of us out here, and this thing is stifling.”

  He stared at me with a hard expression, his face barely visible in the dim lighting. Finally, he nodded and let me go. Before I’d even touched the ribbons, he turned his back to me.

  “Really?” I asked once I’d removed the mask.

  “Privacy in all things, Emily.”

  “Fuck privacy. I don’t care if you see me.”

  “Such language.”

  I swore there was a note of amusement in his reprimand, but I didn’t comment, instead studying the slope of his shoulders under his clothes. Much like Ian, his dark suit fit him as though tailored to a fine art. Before I even realized what I was doing, my fingers skimmed the center of Sam’s back. He tensed under my touch but didn’t pull away.

  “Would you please turn around?” I asked.

  “What good would that do?” He sighed as he scratched at the stubble on his cheek. “I promised to help you find a Dominant. I don’t go back on my word.”

  My hand stilled on his shoulder blade. “And what does seeing me have to do with any of that?”

  He let out a low sound, the half groan and half growl that sent shivers over my skin. “Because, Emily, I don’t know if I’d be able to keep my word if I saw you. I’m struggling enough as it is.”

  My eyes widened, but of course he didn’t see that. “You could do both. Keep your promise and turn around.”

  He grunted. “And how would that work?”

  I swallowed hard, gathering every molecule of strength I had to say the next words. “You—I mean we could try—that is if you’re interested—

  I broke off, my words smothered as he spun around and sealed his mouth against mine, the movement so sudden I didn’t think he even saw me. I gasped, his mask pushing into my face as he gripped my head with both hands, holding me still for his kiss. His tongue dipped into my mouth, tasting of sharp alcohol—like whiskey or bourbon. I whimpered, a sound I’d never made in my entire life, and was rewarded with a low growl from Sam. It vibrated against me, an intoxicating tingle. He nipped at my bottom lip before pulling back a mere inch.

  “I told you, Emily,” he breathed across my mouth. “We won’t work.”

  “You keep saying that,” I whispered back. “And yet we keep ending up like this.”

  His hands drifted until they settled at my neck, lightly wrapped around the column of my throat. He stared at me, dark eyes hidden in shadow behind his mask. I moved to pull it from his face, but his grip tightened just as my fingertips brushed the cool edge.

  “Please.”

  He growled low, but his hands loosened the tiniest bit. I licked my lips and tugged at Sam’s mask, reassured when he didn’t stop me. I slipped the mask over his head, mussing his hair. The dim light made it difficult to see him clearly but enough to know he was unbearably gorgeous.

  Not traditionally handsome and nothing like Garret’s chiseled beauty. No, Sam’s deep-set eyes and prominent nose held another kind of appeal. I suspected mixed heritage, though I wouldn’t be able to narrow it down. New Orleans was a melting pot anyway, so his ancestors could come from anywhere across the globe.

  “Happy?” he asked, his full lips curving into a smile.

  A short, silly laugh escaped me, ashamed at having been caught staring at him. I nodded, not trusting my voice. Sam’s brow furrowed, his hands on my neck moving. One cupped my nape, fingers brushing the braids of my hair. The other travelled down the center of my chest, between my breasts and across my stomach to rest at my waist.

  “Emily,” he whispered. “You need to learn to use your words. We’ll make that lesson number two.”

  My eyes widened. “What’s number one?”

  A smirk curved his mouth, wicked and sexy all in one. It faded as he stared at me, his eyes darkening. Sam’s fingers clenched at my waist before he let me go, his gaze gone cold and distant. “I should get you back inside. AB will be looking for you, and I only meant to have a quick word. There are a couple other potential partners I’m going to introduce you to. AB’s a decent guy, but he can be a flirt, and I’m not sure how committed he’d be willing to go for you.”

  “Wait,” I interrupted with a frown. “You want to introduce me to other men?”

  He clenched his jaw—hard—despite his sharp nod. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  “But—”

  “But what?”

  I turned away from him and touched my lips, still tingling from his devastating kiss. A burn started in my nose before moisture gathered in my eyes. It was silly, and I hoped he wouldn’t see. I moved to replace my mask to cover the tears falling down my cheeks. Sam caught my hand as I began to tie the ribbon at the back of my head.

  “Don’t hide from me,” he growled in my ear, his body curling around mine from behind.

  A strange sound left me. “Not even ten minutes ago you didn’t want me to remove it.” I straightened my spine. “Besides, you don’t have the right to give me orders.”

  “I’m trying to do the right thing, Emily. You wanted a Dom or you wouldn’t have signed up for The Noire House.” Sam took my mask out of my hand and tossed it aside with a clatter. “All I’m doing is trying to help you find the right one. At the very least you should take the opportunity tonight to meet a couple other options.”

  His hands settled on my hips, pulling my back tight against his front.

  “If, at the end of the night, you haven’t found someone you like better—” Warm lips brushed my neck, finding a sensitive spot along the curve of my shoulder. “Then we can talk about a rehearsal.”

  I frowned at the word choice but didn’t have time to think about it. Sam pressed an open-mouthed kiss to my neck, his tongue stroking the line where bare skin met the red lace collar. My eyes closed, and I moaned softly.

  “I don’t want anyone else, Sam.” The words came out breathy and barely audible, but he heard them.

  “You say that now,” he said. “But you might change your mind.” I started to argue, but he stopped me. “Lesson three will have to be on following orders. In one minute you’re going to go back up to the house and mingle. I’m going to introduce you to two Doms and then step aside so you can see for yourself.”

  His thumbs massaged slow circles into my flanks, eliciting another moan from me. “At the end of the night, I’ll walk you to your car, and you can tell me if you’ve decided.” His tongue laved a quick stroke up my throat. “We’ll take things from there,” he whispered right against my ear.

  I swallowed hard and nodded, earning a little growl from Sam. “Your words, Emily.”

  “Yes.”

  “Mm, I really do like that word on your lips.”

  He spun me around, claiming my mouth in a brief but passionate kiss. When he pulled back, Sam collected my discarded mask and tied it back in place. If he noticed the tear stains, he didn’t show it. He slipped his own mask around his face and guided me along the garden path with his hand on the bare skin of my back.

  True to his word, Sam introduced me to two dominants, both equally as pleasant and appealing as AB. But neither of them set me on fire the way Sam did. He may have put some distance between us while I mingled, but I felt his stare the entire time and wished for his hands instead.

  At the end of the night, I waved goodbye to Mitchell and headed for the stairs. Sam appeared at my side, wordlessly taking my arm to steady me as I climbed down the steps. His familiar touch on my back lingered until I stopped at my car and turned to face him. Dark eyes watched me closely, searching what little of my face he could see.

  I would have taken the mask off, but he nodded before I could e
ven reach for the ties. He leaned in close and pressed a chaste kiss to the top of my head, his hand squeezing my nape. I stood frozen in place as he drifted back to the house. When he was out of sight, I shook my head and got into my car, removing the mask before I left to go home.

  Chapter Eight

  Emily

  I knew the week following the masquerade mixer at The Noire House was going to be crazy busy, but I didn’t expect to tweak my back during Monday morning class. In truth, I was distracted, my mind wandering to the events of the night before when I should have concentrated on my steps. Joel took too much flack, the female dancers eying him as though it was his fault I lost my balance.

  When he followed me to see the medics and cursed me up and down the Mississippi, I understood. We were partners. I’d let him down by not focusing and made him look inadequate in front of our entire company. Things only got worse when the artistic director took the open seat across from me.

  “Emily,” he said in a somber voice. “Of all the weeks to suffer an injury.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Martin gave me a sad smile. “I think it would be best if you took a few days off.” He stopped me before I could argue. “I know, but I need you in top condition Friday night. There’s huge hype over the gala, and your understudy is not even half as good as you. Great dancer though she is, your performance is superior to Constance. I would rather replace you for the current show and have you in peak condition for the opening night.”

  My shoulders slumped, defeat gnawing at me. And I only had myself to blame.

  Martin turned to Joel. “Ensure she does not even step into the theatre until Friday morning, and tell Kate she’ll be dancing in Emily’s stead this week. I suspect she’ll be delighted.”

  Joel grumbled as he left the room, leaving Martin to shake his head. “Why does he not get on with Kate?”

  I didn’t mention the two of them had indulged in a secret affair a couple years ago. It ended badly and made things awkward when Kate stepped in while I was on a leave of absence last year.

  Martin sighed and rose from his seat. “Use the time off wisely, Emily. I know I can’t stop you from rehearsing at home, but please take it easy. We need money and many prospective patrons will be attending the opening on Friday. I have high hopes that our balletic version of Phantom of the Opera will be a mighty hit. And I need my star to do that.”

  I nodded, guilt churning in my belly. I was sent home soon after he left, nursing an injury I really didn’t think was as bad as Martin made it out to be. While I appreciated his concern, I knew it had a lot to do with his expectations for the gala. Friday night had to be perfect—I had to be perfect.

  As instructed, I made sure to rest plenty on Monday—while quietly setting up an appointment with my chiropractor for Wednesday afternoon. My injury reminded me that at twenty-five, I was fast approaching my thirties and with that came the threat of retirement. It was something every dancer tried to avoid. Most planned to dance well into their thirties, but the reality didn’t always allow it.

  The chime from my phone interrupted my thoughts. I expected Garret, perhaps even having heard what had happened. When I saw it was a text from an unfamiliar number, I vowed not to tell Garret about my week off unless he found out from another dancer. He worried about me enough and didn’t need to know I’d tweaked my back.

  I opened the text, half anticipating an advert for insurance or some other random junk.

  —Emily, I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from Rebecca. She gave it up after much nagging, so don’t hold it against her. I would have called, but you mentioned a crazy work schedule. I’d like to meet. We have a few things to discuss, and I think it would be best if we did so at TNH, before we go any further. Are you available?

  I stared at the text, wondering if he always wrote such long messages. And yes, I knew instantly it was from Sam, but while I still gaped at his words, another text chimed.

  —Forgive me, I didn’t think. It’s Sam. I trust that is sufficient. I could say more, but... privacy in all things, Emily, and texts are not always so.

  I smiled and typed a text back to him.

  —You mean the Sam I met at Sunday Mass, right?

  I sent the message while grinning from ear to ear, already typing another text.

  —Not funny, Emily. I think we’ll have to add that to your lesson plan.

  —Of course I know who you are, Sam. And yes, I’m available. My week cleared up—long story, which I won’t get into. I have work commitments for the weekend, but I can do a weeknight?

  —A weeknight is perfect. Wednesday? 8pm at TNH?

  —I’ll be there.

  —And, Emily... no masks. No darkness. Just the two of us. Understood?

  —Yes, Sam.

  —I can almost hear you saying that sweet little word.

  —And I can almost hear you groaning.

  I laughed at my silly attempt at flirting, but hit send anyway.

  —Well, now I am. I’ll see you Wednesday night. Wear something that doesn’t reveal so much skin. As gorgeous as you are, I need to focus, and I can’t do that if I’m a drooling mess.

  I shook my head at the very idea of him drooling or ever being a mess. Somehow I could not imagine either of those things on him.

  —No skin. Got it.

  My mind was spinning with ideas on how to follow the order while also causing Sam to drool. Once I got that picture in my head, I couldn’t get it out again.

  —Maybe a little skin...

  I sighed in appreciation of his last text, choosing not to respond and leave him guessing.

  ***

  Wednesday night could not come soon enough. I’d spent the afternoon with my chiropractor, being pulled and prodded and not in the good way. Perhaps my excitement about seeing Sam, really seeing him, made the appointment worse. The mere thought of how the evening might go had my muscles tensing in eager anticipation, but also a touch of apprehension.

  This was all still so new, and I had a feeling tonight would prove just how little I understood about this lifestyle I wanted to embrace.

  I arrived at The Noire House to find a familiar figure standing at the top of the steps where Mitchell usually greeted me. Sam reached out a hand and led me inside the house. Without a word, he ushered me towards the grand staircase and up to the second level. Nervous excitement ate at me while he gestured to an open door.

  Inside, the room was similar to the one where we’d met, although the design was distinctly more modern. The coloring reminded me of Garret in an odd sort of way. Blue dominated the room, from bright to pale and even bluish-silver, all accented by contrasting swashes of pitch black. It was beautiful and yet strangely eerie.

  “Emily, would you like something to drink?”

  I turned and nodded at Sam, earning a tight frown. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t comment, though I could tell he wanted to say something. He busied himself pouring our drinks.

  “Is water okay?” He glanced over his shoulder, pegging me with a hard stare. “And please use your words.”

  I pressed my lips together, sufficiently chastised. “Water is perfect, thank you.”

  I’d expected something alcoholic, but was happy with the alternative, eager to keep a clear head during this first, official meeting. There was also the small matter of my painkillers and the fact I didn’t think they’d mix well with something like bourbon.

  Sam handed me the glass of water before taking a seat opposite me. “How’ve you been?”

  I almost laughed at his attempt at small talk. “We can skip that, if you like. I’m not a fragile little girl you need to worry about. Besides, small talk is not going to fix my anxiety.”

  His full lips twitched. “And what will fix your anxiety?”

  I stared at him for a long moment before I answered. “A kiss wouldn’t hurt.”

  He laughed, the rich laughter I already loved. “I’m not so sure about that.” A shiver travelled up my spine at what
he alluded to. “And to be clear, I invited you here tonight to talk before we get into anything.”

  Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and sighed. “I’ve read your file. More than once.” His gaze locked onto mine. “I know where your interests are and where they aren’t. We’ll start simple and work our way deeper, as you get comfortable. That is, of course, if you wish to continue.”

  “Stop coddling me.”

  The words snapped out of my mouth before I even realized my tone was so sharp. Sam frowned at me, his expression more curious than angry.

  “Yes, I’m inexperienced, but that doesn’t mean you have to treat me like a fragile vase. I won’t break if you handle me—a little roughly.”

  A low groan echoed from him. “Emily.”

  I loved the sound of my name from him. I’d never really thought too much about it before I met Sam. My name was my name, something used to get my attention and distinguish me from others. It was written in the programs at the theatre and plastered on posters around New Orleans when we had a big event.

  In truth, I’d spent much of my life without giving my name a single thought. I’d been indifferent to it. But now, hearing it in Sam’s deep voice, I felt connected to every letter, like a caress down my neck and spine.

  Sam rose from his seat, taking the few short steps in a slow, sexy gait until he stood before me. He stared at me with dark eyes, both gorgeous and frightening. I loved it. Loved the rush of blood flowing through my veins, my heartbeat picking up speed with every second he stood there—silent and still.

  I wondered if he knew how he affected me. Did the look on my face give me away? Or perhaps he heard my pounding heart or my ragged breaths.

  “Okay,” he said long moments later. “How about we test the waters?”

  I nodded, eager to find out what he meant by that. The edge of his lip twitched as he leaned down, resting one hand on the sofa behind me, an inch or two away from my head. He was so close, his exhales tickled my cheek, invading my personal space.