I don't know what to say. If he says he misjudged me, I'm guilty of that as well. I feel shame, but for different reasons. If he has billions of dollars, why does Mick choose to run the premier strip clubs of the west coast? His Black Rose establishments pepper this side of America. If he's so goddamned good, so hardworking, so everything... why is he okay with selling flesh?
He nods, almost to himself. “There you have it. I'm not some rich guy who... what did you say?” He chuckles.
“Poops gold,” I reply absently, buried in my conjectures.
Mick laughs in a rich baritone that makes my insides clench and my core tingle. I'm so in trouble. Why did I have to meet someone who seems so tailor-made for me when I can't fully realize the potential? It's like a horrible tease. As Mick unwraps his history like a finely packaged gift, the mystery, the fine layers of the man don’t dissuade me. His motivations should alarm me.
Instead, they heighten my desire.
“Hey,” Mick says in a quiet voice, seeing something on my face that makes him move toward me in two graceful steps. His eyes search mine. “I told you that because I want you to know we're not much different.”
I shake my head with a little laugh. “Au contraire, Mr. McKenna. We so are.”
His lips twist in sage agreement. “You're right. I'm jaded and you're... innocent.”
I feel the heat from my blush and hate it. I hear another low chuckle and move away, erecting that careful distance again. But Mick gently tugs me against his hard body.
“No, we're the same where it counts, Faren.”
He laces his fingers through mine and raises our knotted hands to his heart. I swallow through the heat of my desire and my despair at my circumstances.
I feel the warmth of our hands through my thin cami and close my eyes, so lost in the sensation that I can't think. His words slip into me like cool water against my parched mind, soothing... complete.
Dangerously drowning.
“In here.” Mick presses my good hand more tightly against himself. His heartbeat pushes against my flesh.
He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. Our hearts beat in sync like they were always one, and I suddenly know. He wants meaningful sex.
And I want more.
~ 5 ~
We bounce apart like guilty teenagers caught making out as pounding reverberates against the door. “Faren!”
Kiki. Fuck.
I give Mick an apologetic look. He frowns but walks over to where his jacket lies neatly folded. My heart rate decreases. I heave a sigh and undo the three locks. The chain keeps the door latched as I take in Kiki's brown eyeball.
“What?” I hiss.
Her wide eye lights on my body, roaming me head to toe. Seeing I'm in one piece she glances behind me at Mick.
“I heard.”
“Not now.”
“Yes now,” she insists.
I close the door, slide the chain back, and open the door. Kiki breezes in wearing half of her costume from the club. Mick gives her a considering look, the wheels in that fine mind turning. I guess he really doesn't know who works for him.
Too many women to keep track of.
Mick sure as hell knew who Thorn is though. But acknowledging him in my hospital room would have meant explaining why, and I don't think Mick's ready for me to know that part.
He hasn't told me he owns ten clubs on the west coast. His confession might have meant more to me if he'd come clean about that. However, it's not a requirement.
I cast my eyes to the floor, regaining my composure.
It's not fair that I expect him to tell me why he owns strip clubs when I don't admit I'm one of his many employees.
I turn my bad hand over and look at the healing bruise on my wrist. Using my wrist as a balancing tool on the pole instead of gripping had become too much. I don't know how much longer I could have kept it up. Certainly not on the complicated sets. That'd been a small part of my decision to move to laps. They were awful, but they didn't take hand work.
Well, not that kind.
“The cavalry's arrived,” Mick says dryly.
I smirk, my eyes roving to his crotch in what I think is a subtle glance. His brows pop as he catches me checking on the condition of his package. I feel heat climb my body, and I want to gag at my obviousness. He's making me obtuse.
“Yeah,” Kiki says, her hands on her curvy hips. She looks from me to him. “Did I interrupt anything?”
Kiki doesn't care. She asks the question as she faces me so Mick doesn't see her expressions. Not obvious or anything. Yeah, right.
But he sees my expression. My eyes are the window to my soul.
Finally, I answer, “No.” My eyes flick to Mick's, and his tighten with my words. “Mick was just leaving.”
I don't want to put him off. But he was waiting in my apartment, breaking and entering. Into my body.
My heart.
I should be scared by his intense interest. Worried over him waiting for me. Alarmed about his knowledge of me. But I don't have the time.
I have time only for what I choose.
Mick's unhurried gaze roams my body, pausing where he wants. He moves to the door, giving Kiki a second glance. He seems to be trying hard to place her.
I see it when he does, and I clamp down hard on my expression.
“Have we met before Miss King?” His piercing scrutiny is unnerving.
Kiki tilts her chin up to meet his eyes. “Just here, with Faren.” She gives nothing away, and I want to kiss her.
They have a stare-a-thon while I stand uncomfortably beside them.
“I guess not,” he says in a slow drawl, his eyes shifting to mine.
She nods. “See ya.”
His eyes meet mine in a fierce stare. He pulls me against him as if Kiki's not there, as if his realization of who she is and what it means for us doesn't exist.
Mick's thumbs press under my jaw. His long fingers wind around my neck, and he lifts my mouth to his. My platform flip flops bringing me inches closer to those full lips.
But it's not enough.
His head bends, and I rise to my tiptoes to meet him. The kiss grows, and I melt against him as his tongue slides between my lips. When my hands move to his shoulders, I grip his lapels, dragging him nearer. Mick resists deepening the contact, releasing my face and stepping away. His eyes flick behind me. The translucent brown of his irises are replaced by the black velvet of desire.
“I'll be in touch, Faren.”
My lips still tingle with the touch of his. I can still taste him. My hand covers the mouth he just kissed and I say nothing as I watch him leave.
Kiki walks around me and shuts the door with her ass, slapping her palms on the wood and stares at me. “What the fuck was that?”
I turn away, guilty over Kiki not knowing. I don't know what to do, so I talk about what I can. “My stepfather showed up.”
“What?!” she shrieks, put off course by the revelation.
I cringe before I go to the stove and slap on the tea kettle that Mick had moved. My hand shakes as I turn on the burner.
“Faren? Sweet Jesus, talk to me.”
I don't say anything, cranking up the heat while I wipe down the already clean countertop.
“Okay,” Kiki says and paces behind me. “I got a weird ass email from Thorn saying that all laps have been suspended. He gives an alternate address for the next lap place. I'm on call, so I still get the emails.”
I pivot toward her. “Yeah... There was some kind of raid tonight.”
Kiki's eyes go from slits to saucers, her brow furrowing. “What? Laps aren't illegal.”
Neither one of us talk about the extracurricular stuff, but someone obviously did. I don't think any of the girls don't do the extras. I might be the only virgin, but I'm certainly no longer innocent.
Kiki exhales sharply, and a strand of dark hair floats around her face. “Bunce was there?”
Kiki's face crumples. “What the fuck is he doing? I mean,
he should be in jail, and he's going to lap dance venues?”
“I was the auction girl,” I admit as neutrally as possible.
“Oh shit-in-a-sack, girl.” Kiki's eyes narrow. She puts it all together easily. Pity, sympathy, and fear mix in her expression. “He won you.”
I nod again, my eyes still dry. That’s a miracle. “Yes. I didn't know. It was like it was a setup, but I don't think Thorn knew.”
“How...?” Her brows rise.
“Cops busted in as he was chasing me around the room.”
Kiki puts her hand to her ample, heaving chest. Her throat convulses in a hard swallow. “That was close.”
“Yeah, it was.” My anger rises like high tide, swamping all my other emotions. “He has no right.” I shake, my bad hand trembling with my anger. “Mom is in that stinking mental limbo—lights on but nobody home—because of him. Yet all he can think about is getting at me. What the hell is Bunce doing that he can even afford to come to a place like that?”
“We gotta go to the cops!” Kiki says.
I shake my head. “What do you think will happen if we do, Kik?”
After staring at me for several moments, Kiki answers, “They'll throw your ass in jail because of the extras.”
“Bingo, give the girl a prize,” I mutter. Neither of us says what I'm thinking. I wouldn’t be able to see Mom. I wouldn’t make money. Mom would go into a state home. Ronnie Bunce might go to jail, but maybe not. He's free to come after me. He obviously has financial means.
Somehow.
“It costs a lot of money to be a member,” Kiki says speculatively, voicing my thoughts.
My cell chimes with an email notification, and I ignore it. The kettle whistles, so I pour the water into cups I always keep on the stove top. I stuff tea bags inside the cups.
“How much?” I ask as I face the stove.
“When I worked there, the other girls would talk. It's a short term occupation, obviously.”
I glance at her, and again that silent communication flows between us. It's a grab-the-cash-and-go job. Or become more than a lap dancer. I have an epiphany, and I almost drop the tea.
Kiki's eyes move to my face as she twines the tea bag string around her finger and dunks it. “What?” Kiki whispers, watching my expression as as the lightbulb flicks on.
“Holy crap, I think I know what that creep is doing.”
Kiki studies my face, pumping the tea bag up and down, her eyes full of questions.
“Pimp,” I say emphatically.
A light goes on in her face. “You think?” Her shaky breath skates across her hot tea, and her eyes meet mine over the rim.
“I know,” I say, taking silent inventory in my memory banks. I think about how he acts as though he owns women, especially me. I've witnessed his attitude with Thorn at the club. Of course, I know better.
Nobody owns me.
~ 6 ~
“Do we have a plan?” Kiki asks, pouring more water and leaving the old bag in the cup.
“We?” I say. “Wrong pronoun. Don't own this, Kik. You gave me the idea, and I took the job. It's my mess.”
Kiki leans forward, her hair tangling a little around the tea string. “You didn't bargain on Bunce.”
We sit in swollen silence for a moment.
“True, but there's more.”
Kiki flops against my couch, tea forgotten on the coffee table. “God, what now?”
My eyes aren't dry anymore. The mist of my sadness hangs on tenaciously... but I'm not inviting her to the pity party. Instead, I face it head on. “Remember when I got hit by Mick's motorcycle?”
“Mick, huh?” One side of her mouth lifts into an amused tilt.
I slowly nod. “Yeah.” I meet her dark eyes, and something she sees smooths out her features.
“Okay...” She snaps her fingers. “You were seeing the headache doc.” Her brows rise.
“It's more than a headache.”
Her eyes search my face, her posture tense. “What?”
I spit it out like a chunk of barf. “Brain tumor.”
Kiki had been leaning forward, but she slumps back again. I know then that it's more of a stunner than I thought. Nothing shuts up Kiki.
Finally she looks at me. “Why the hell didn't you tell me, Faren?”
I look at my hands, the left scarred from many surgeries, the right smooth and perfect. I lift my shoulders. “I... it was too much.”
Kiki blows out a breath that sounds like a deflated balloon. “Oh my god. Jared McKenna... the job… Your mom!”
I don't wince at the tone. Those are the same things I considered though not in that order.
“Yeah,” I say, taking a sip of my cool tea, grimacing, then setting it down.
We sit in silence, Kiki staring at the solid sheet of black that meets my window, midnight fast approaching. She looks at me. “I know this sounds hard... and shitty...”
“Months.”
Kiki puts her head in her hands and cries. “That's not long enough!”
I nod. Hell yes, it's not. I reach into the almost-empty tissue box and pluck out three tissues. They float and settle on her thighs like discarded clouds of sadness.
Kiki crumples them, her eyes pegging me with such intense sadness that I have to breathe through my own grief. Her wet face, the snot mixing with her tears, is too much. The reality is worse than what I’d envisioned.
“Are you sure, Faren?”
Her hope nails my sadness to the walls of emotions. It squirms for freedom.
“Yeah.”
“This is how you want to spend your... time? With a billionaire strip club owner, running from your stepfather, and dancing on laps?” Kiki shakes her head, trying to make sense of my reasoning.
Anger boils inside me. “It's about my mom. They'll put her in a state home!”
Kiki stares at me. Then slowly nods as my angry eyes beat the hell out of her. The situation makes me so mad, but Kiki's here, and she's asking the questions I don't want to explore
“True. So what's your excuse with Jared McKenna?”
I can't stop the blush that rolls over my skin in a hot wave of recall. “Wow, you've got it bad,” she says, watching my reaction.
“He has something I need,” I reply, not meeting her eyes.
Kiki leans forward. “I'm really sorry, Faren. You're my best friend, and I can't stand... can't even think...” She hiccups another half-sob.
“Don't,” I beg.
She nods, struggling with her emotions. Finally, Kiki wrestles them into submission. “Any guy has a cherry picker, Faren.”
I get a visual of a giant penis with a gizmo at the end- virgin slayer. I frown.
“He's your boss, he's...” She rolls her eyes as if the whole scenario is unbelievable.
Because it is.
“He's Jared McKenna. So far, you've been lucky the hunk-o-love moneybags hasn't put two and two together.”
Not yet but soon. “Not so far.” I put my hands under my butt and jiggle my legs.
“When he finds out you're a dancer, that your mom was... hurt by Bunce—”
“He knows.”
Kiki's brows shoot up. A laugh escapes my throat, which is so tight with grief I didn’t think it was possible to laugh. “He's had me investigated. I mean, he googled me.”
Kiki narrows her eyes. “That's just weird. I don't know if I should think that's flattering or you should run like hell.”
I laugh again. “I kinda told him that.”
“And?”
“Mick doesn't think there's such a thing as coincidence.”
Kiki shakes her head. “No guy believes in fate.”
I just stare at her.
Kiki whistles. “Huh, he's a different dude.”
“A different, filthy rich dude.”
“Yeah.” Kiki shoots me a significant glance. “Let's address the filthy part.”
I sigh. “I don't know why he peddles visual flesh.”
Kiki barks out a laugh a
nd points at me. “Making me laugh in the middle of this revelation is pretty smooth.”
We fall silent again.
“He didn't get rich by accident,” I say. “He wanted to fly airplanes but invented some fuel-saving thingie, and now he's got his own planes, pilots, the works.”
Kiki's nose scrunches up, then she wags her finger. “Uh-uh. No.” Her expression tunnels down to skepticism. “So he makes bank with the invention. He was a real guy before—”
“Kinda a real guy now too,” I say, somehow keeping a straight face.
“Stop with the sarcasm, ya witch,” Kiki says.
I smile. She can almost make me forget.
Almost.
“He's Mr. Right Now?”
I cross my arms in a huff. I can’t explain the enigma of chemistry. I've never felt it before, and I've had tons of opportunities. Why does it have to be Mick? Why couldn't losing my virginity happen with some anonymous fool who can give me the experience without caring about anything more?
My shoulders sag.
“I don't know. I can't explain it. I just know that it's not fair for me to offer him what's not there.”
“Faren,” Kiki says, as serious as a heart attack, “you gotta know he wants more than a few fun humps.”
Kiki thrusts her hips back and forth with a cocked brow, and I laugh again.
I know Mick and I share something. I keep saying we don't need to go further, that we can be casual. Somehow, he nods and says the right words while his body moves against mine like ownership, forever... and maybe the promise of something I can't contemplate.
Love.
The L word is worse than a curse right now. It's a have not.
“He can have anyone for a fuckfest, Faren. He doesn't need you.” Kiki folds her arms, deep in thought. “This is going to sound awful because you know I think you're a little hottie, but”—her eyes apologize—“he can have any hot piece of ass he wants. Experienced tail.”
“I know.” I shrug with a small, sad laugh. “I don't understand it either. The more he knows about me, the more he seems determined to have me.”
Blood Enchantment Page 31
